Return, Content! For Fondly I Pursued, Even When A Child, The Streams, Unheard, Unseen; Through Tangled Woods, Impending Rocks Between; Or, Free As Air, With Flying Inquest Viewed The Sullen Reservoirs Whence Their Bold Brood Pure As The Morning, Fretful, Boisterous, Keen, Green As The Salt-Sea Billows, White And Green Poured Down The Hills, A Choral Multitude! Nor Have I Tracked Their Course For Scanty Gains; They Taught Me Random Cares And Truant Joys, That Shield From Mischief And Preserve From Stains Vague Minds, While Men Are Growing Out Of Boys; Maturer Fancy Owes To Their Rough Noise Impetuous Thoughts That Brook Not Servile Reins.