Not Envying Latian Shades, If Yet They Throw A Grateful Coolness Round That Crystal Spring, Blandusia, Prattling As When Long Ago The Sabine Bard Was Moved Her Praise To Sing; Careless Of Flowers That In Perennial Blow Round The Moist Marge Of Persian Fountains Cling; Heedless Of Alpine Torrents Thundering Through Ice-Built Arches Radiant As Heaven'S Bow; I Seek The Birthplace Of A Native Stream. All Hail, Ye Mountains! Hail, Thou Morning Light! Better To Breathe At Large On This Clear Height Than Toil In Needless Sleep From Dream To Dream: Pure Flow The Verse, Pure, Vigorous, Free, And Bright, For Duddon, Long-Loved Duddon, Is My Theme!