Classic Poem

Often I climb, with weary steps and slow,
Yon rugged steep; and then I bend my way
Along the heath, while all the vale below
Beams with the lustre of meridian day:
Woods, rivers, lawns, and distant hills look gay,
Around my feet the purple heath-flowers grow,
The sky-lark carols forth a cheering lay,
And on my cheek the balmy zephyrs blow:
Ah! then awhile my heart forgets to sigh
O'er " sober certainty " and blank despair!
Hope, for a moment, animates my eye;
And in the distant scene, with anxious care,
I trace a fane that glitters in the sky —
Then cry with secret rapture, " He is there! "