Hark! 'Twas more than the deep murmur of the surge That struck the ear; whilst through the lurid gloom Gigantic phantoms seem to lift in air Their misty arms; yet, yet--bear boldly on-- The mist dissolves;--seen through the parting haze, Romantic rocks, like the depictured clouds, Shine out; beneath a blooming wilderness Of varied wood is spread, that scents the air; Where fruits of "golden rind," thick interspersed 130 And pendent, through the mantling umbrage gleam Inviting.

Cypress here, and stateliest pine, Spire o'er the nether shades, as emulous Of sole distinction where all nature smiles.
Some trees, in sunny glades alone their head And graceful stem uplifting, mark below The turf with shadow; whilst in rich festoons The flowery lianes braid their boughs; meantime Choirs of innumerous birds of liveliest song And brightest plumage, flitting through the shades, 140 With nimble glance are seen; they, unalarmed, Now near in airy circles sing, then speed Their random flight back to their sheltering bowers, Whose silence, broken only by their song, From the foundation of this busy world, Perhaps had never echoed to the voice, Or heard the steps, of Man.

What rapture fired The strangers' bosoms, as from glade to glade They passed, admiring all, and gazing still With new delight! 'Tis solitude around; 150 Deep solitude, that on the gloom of woods Primaeval fearful hangs: a green recess Now opens in the wilderness; gay flowers Of unknown name purple the yielding sward; The ring-dove murmurs o'er their head, like one Attesting tenderest joy; but mark the trees, Where, slanting through the gloom, the sunshine rests! Beneath, a moss-grown monument appears, O'er which the green banana gently waves Its long leaf; and an aged cypress near 160 Leans, as if listening to the streamlet's sound, That gushes from the adverse bank; but pause-- Approach with reverence! Maker of the world, There is a Christian's cross! and on the stone A name, yet legible amid its moss,-- Anna! In that remote, sequestered spot, Shut as it seemed from all the world, and lost In boundless seas, to trace a name, to mark The emblems of their holy faith, from all 170 Drew tears; while every voice faintly pronounced, Anna! But thou, loved harp! whose strings have rung To louder tones, oh! let my hand, awhile, The wires more softly touch, whilst I rehearse Her name and fate, who in this desert deep, Far from the world, from friends, and kindred, found Her long and last abode; there where no eye Might shed a tear on her remains; no heart Sigh in remembrance of her fate:-- She left 180 The Severn's side, and fled with him she loved O'er the wide main; for he had told her tales Of happiness in distant lands, where care Comes not; and pointing to the golden clouds That shone above the waves, when evening came, Whispered--Oh, are there not sweet scenes of peace, Far from the murmurs of this cloudy mart,-- Where gold alone bears sway,--scenes of delight, Where love may lay his head upon the lap Of innocence, and smile at all the toil 190 Of the low-thoughted throng, that place in wealth Their only bliss! Yes, there are scenes like these.
Leave the vain chidings of the world behind, Country, and hollow friends, and fly with me Where love and peace in distant vales invite.
What wouldst thou here! Oh, shall thy beauteous look Of maiden innocence, thy smile of youth, thine eyes Of tenderness and soft subdued desire, Thy form, thy limbs--oh, madness!--be the prey Of a decrepit spoiler, and for gold?
-- 200 Perish his treasure with him.

Haste with me; We shall find out some sylvan nook, and then, If thou shouldst sometimes think upon these hills, When they are distant far, and drop a tear, Yes--I will kiss it from thy cheek, and clasp Thy angel beauties closer to my breast; And whilst the winds blow o'er us, and the sun Sinks beautifully down, and thy soft cheek Reclines on mine, I will infold thee thus, And proudly cry, My friend--my love--my wife! 210 So tempted he, and soon her heart approved, Nay wooed, the blissful dream; and oft at eve, When the moon shone upon the wandering stream, She paced the castle's battlements, that threw Beneath their solemn shadow, and, resigned To fancy and to tears, thought it most sweet To wander o'er the world with him she loved.
Nor was his birth ignoble, for he shone 'Mid England's gallant youth in Edward's reign: With countenance erect, and honest eye 220 Commanding (yet suffused in tenderness At times), and smiles that like the lightning played On his brown cheek,--so gently stern he stood, Accomplished, generous, gentle, brave, sincere,-- Robert a Machin.

But the sullen pride Of haughty D'Arfet scorned all other claim To his high heritage, save what the pomp Of amplest wealth and loftier lineage gave.
Reckless of human tenderness, that seeks One loved, one honoured object, wealth alone 230 He worshipped; and for this he could consign His only child, his aged hope, to loathed Embraces, and a life of tears! Nor here His hard ambition ended; for he sought, By secret whispers of conspiracies, His sovereign to abuse, bidding him lift His arm avenging, and upon a youth Of promise close the dark forgotten gates Of living sepulture, and in the gloom Inhume the slowly-wasting victim.