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Where from the barren wall's unsheltered end
Sweet Rill, farewell! To morrow's noon again
While, near the midway cliff, the silvered kite
* Ghyll, dingle.
Where scarce the foxglove peeps, or thistle's beard ; And restless stone-chat, all day long, is heart.
How pleasant, as the yellowing sun declines, And with long rays and shades the landscape shines, To mark the birches' stems all golden light, That lit the dark slant woods with silvery white; The willow's weeping trees that, twinkling hoar, Glanced oft upturned along the breezy shore, Low bending o'er the coloured water, fold Their moveless boughs and leaves like threails of gold; The skiffs with naked masts at anchor laid, Before the boat-house peeping through the shade ; The unwearied glance of woodman's echoed stroke ; And, curling from the trees, the cottage smoke.
Their panniered train a group of potters goad, Winding from side to side up the steep roail ; The peasant, from yon cliff of fearful edge Shot, down the headlong path darts with his sledge; Bright beams the lonely mountain-horse illume Feeding 'mid purple heath,“ green rinys,” 5 and broom ; While the sharp slope the slackened team confounds, Downward the ponderous timber-wain resounds ; In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song, Dashed down the rough rock, lightly leaps along; From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet, Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat; Sounds from the water-side the hammered boat; And blasted quarry thunders, heard remote !
Even here amid the sweep of endless woods,
Sweetly ferocious, round his native walks, Pride of his sister-wives, the monarch stalks ;
Spur-clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread;
Bright'ning the cliffs between, where sombrous pine And yew-trees o'er the silver rocks recline, I love to mark the quarry's moving trains, Dwarf panniered steeds, and men, and numerous wains : How busy the enormous hive within, While Echo dallies with the various din ! Some (hardly heard their chisels' clinking sound) Toil, small as pigmies in the gulf profound ; Some, dim between th' aërial cliffs descried, O'erwalk the slender plank from side to side : These, by the pale-blue rocks that ceaseless ring, Glad from their airy baskets hang and sing.
Hung o'er a cloud above the steep that rears,
That barking, busy 'mid the glittering rocks, Hunts, where he points, the intercepted flocks. Where oaks o'erhang the road, the radiance shoots On tawny earth, wild weeds, and twistel roots ;
The druid-stones their lighted fane enfold ;
In these lone vales, if aught of faith may claiin
ир the hills, as now, retreats the light,
Now, while the solemn evening shadows sail, On red slow-waving pinions, down the vale ; And, fronting the bright west, in stronger lines, The oak its darkening boughs and foliage twines; How pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray Where winds the road along a secret bay, Along the “ wild meandering shore” to view, Obsequious grace the winding swan pursue ; He swells his lifted chest, and backward flings; His bridling neck beneath his tow'riny wings; On as he floats, the silvered waters glow, Proud of the varying arch and moveless form of snow. While tender cares and mild domestic loves With furtive watch pursue her as she moves,
* From Thomson.