Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.
How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
Recognizes ever and anon The breeze of Nature stirring in his soul.
But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.
A genial hearth, a hospitable board, and a refined rusticity.
A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.