No More Learning

whether it was mine to stray,
With shrill winds whistling round my lonely way, [168]
On [169] the bleak sides of Cumbria's heath-clad moors,
Or where dank sea-weed lashes Scotland's shores;
To scent the sweets of Piedmont's breathing rose, 595
And orange gale that o'er Lugano blows;
Still have I found, where Tyranny prevails,
That virtue languishes and pleasure fails, [170]
While the remotest hamlets           share
In thy loved [171] presence known, and only there; 600
_Heart_-blessings--outward treasures too which the eye
Of the sun peeping through the clouds can spy,
And every passing breeze will testify.