The Retreat
.
Happy
those
early
days,
when
I
Shin'd
in
my
angel-infancy!
Before
I
understood
this
place
Appointed
for
my
second
race,
Or
taught
my
soul
to
fancy
ought
But
a
white,
celestial
thought;
When
yet
I
had
not
walk'd
above
A
mile
or
two
from
my
first
love,
And
looking
back
(at
that
short
space)
Could
see
a
glimpse
of
his
bright
face;
When
on
some
gilded
cloud
or
flow'r
My
gazing
soul
would
dwell
an
hour,
And
in
those
weaker
glories
spy
Some
shadows
of
eternity;
Before
I
taught
my
tongue
to
wound
My
conscience
with
a
sinful
sound,
Or
had
the
black
art
to
dispense,
A
sev'ral
sin
to
ev'ry
sense,
But
felt
through
all
this
fleshly
dress
Bright
shoots
of
everlastingness.
O
how
I
long
to
travel
back,
And
tread
again
that
ancient
track!
That
I
might
once
more
reach
that
plain,
Where
first
I
left
my
glorious
train,
From
whence
th'
enlighten'd
spirit
sees
That
shady
city
of
palm
trees.
But
ah!
my
soul
with
too
much
stay
Is
drunk,
and
staggers
in
the
way.
Some
men
a
forward
motion
love,
But
I
by
backward
steps
would
move;
And
when
this
dust
falls
to
the
urn,
In
that
state
I
came,
return.
