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'Midst their gray rocks no glen so rude, But thou hast loved its solitude! No path so wild but thou hast known, And traced its rugged course alone! The earliest wreath that bound thy hair, Was twined of glowing heath-flowers there. There, in the day-spring of thy years, Undimmed by passions or by tears, Oft, while thy bright, enraptured eye, Wandered o'er ocean, earth, and sky, While the wild breeze that round thee blew, Tinged thy warm cheek with richer hue; Pure as the skies that o'er thy head Their clear and cloudless azure spread; Pure as that gale, whose light wing drew Its freshness from the mountain dew; Glowed thy young heart with feelings high, A Heaven of hallowed ecstacy! Such days were thine! ere love had drawn A cloud o'er that celestial dawn!