100 Amidst the crags, and scarce discerned so high, Hangs here and there a sheep, by its faint bleat Discovered, whilst the astonished eye looks up, And marks it on the precipice's brink Pick its scant food secure:--and fares it not Ev'n so with you, poor orphans, ye who climb The rugged path of life without a friend; And over broken crags bear hardly on, With pale imploring looks, that seem to say, My mother! she is buried, and at rest, 110 Laid in her grave-clothes; and the heart is still, The only heart that throughout all the world Beat anxiously for you! Oh, yet bear on; He who sustains the bleating lamb shall feed And comfort you: meantime the heaven's pure beam, That breaks above the sable mountain's brow, Lighting, one after one, the sunless crags, Awakes the blissful confidence, that here, Or in a world where sorrow never comes, All shall be well.

120 Now through the whispering wood We steal, and mark the old and mossy oaks Imboss the mountain slope; or the wild ash, With rich red clusters mantling; or the birch, In lonely glens light-wavering; till behold! The rapid river shooting through the gloom Its lucid line along; and on its side The bordering pastures green, where the swinked ox Lies dreaming, heedless of the numerous flies That, in the transitory sunshine, hum 130 Round his broad breast; and further up the cot, With blue, light smoke ascending; images Of peace and comfort! The wild rocks around Endear your smile the more, and the full mind, Sliding from scenes of dread magnificence, Sinks on your charms reposing; such repose The sage may feel, when, filled and half-oppressed With vast conceptions, smiling he returns To life's consoling sympathies, and hears, With heartfelt tenderness, the bells ring out; 140 Or pipe upon the mountains; or the low Of herds slow winding down the cottaged vale, Where day's last sunshine linger.

Such repose He feels, who, following where his SHAKSPEARE leads, As in a dream, through an enchanted land, Here, with Macbeth, in the dread cavern hails The weird sisters, and the dismal deed Without a name; there sees the charmed isle, The lone domain of Prospero; and, hark! Wild music, such as earth scarce seems to own, 150 And Ariel o'er the slow-subsiding surge Singing her smooth air quaintly! Such repose Steals o'er her spirits, when, through storms at sea, Fancy has followed some nigh-foundered bark Full many a league, in ocean's solitude Tossed far beyond the Cape of utmost Horn, That stems the roaring deep; her dreary track Still Fancy follows, and at dead of night Hears, with strange thunder, the huge fragments fall Crashing, from mountains of high-drifting ice 160 That o'er her bows gleam fearful; till at last She hails the gallant ship in some still bay Safe moored; or of delightful Tinian; Smiling, like fairy isle, amid the waste; Or of New Zealand, where from sheltering rocks The clear cascades gush beautiful, and high The woodland scenery towers above the mast, Whose long and wavy ensign streams beneath.
Far inland, clad in snow, the mountains lift Their spiry summits, and endear the more 170 The sylvan scene around; the healing air Breathes o'er green myrtles, and the poe-bird flits, Amid the shade of aromatic shrubs, With silver neck and blue enamelled wing.
Now cross the stream, and up the narrow track, That winds along the mountain's edge, behold The peasant girl ascend: cheerful her look, Beneath the umbrage of her broad black hat, And loose her dark-brown hair; the plodding pad That bears her panting climbs, and with sure step 180 Avoids the jutting fragments; she, meantime, Sits unconcerned, till, lessening from the view, She gains the summit and is seen no more.
All day, along that mountain's heathy waste, Booted and strapped, and in rough coat succinct, His small shrill whistle pendent at his breast, With dogs and gun, untired the sportsman roams; Nor quits his wildly-devious range, till eve, Upon the woods, the rocks, and mazy rills Descending, warns him home: then he rejoins 190 The social circle, just as the clear moon, Emerging o'er the sable mountain, sails Silent, and calm, and beautiful, and sheds Its solemn grandeur on the shadowy scene.
To music then; and let some chosen strain Of HANDEL gently recreate the sense, And give the silent heart to tender joy.
Pass on to the hoar cataract,[67] that foams Through the dark fissures of the riven rock; Prone-rushing it descends, and with white whirl, 200 Save where some silent shady pool receives Its dash; thence bursting, with collected sweep, And hollow sound, it hurries, till it falls Foaming in the wild stream that winds below.
Dark trees, that to the mountain's height ascend, O'ershade with pendent boughs its mossy course, And, looking up, the eye beholds it flash Beneath the incumbent gloom, from ledge to ledge Shooting its silvery foam, and far within Wreathing its curve fantastic.

If the harp 210 Of deep poetic inspiration, struck At times by the pale minstrel, whilst a strange And beauteous light filled his uplifted eye, Hath ever sounded into mortal ears, Here I might think I heard its tones, and saw, Sublime amidst the solitary scene, With dimly-gleaming harp, and snowy stole, And cheek in momentary frenzy flushed, The great musician stand.

Hush, every wind That shakes the murmuring branches! and thou stream, 220 Descending still with hollow-sounding sweep, Hush! 'Twas the bard struck the loud strings: Arise, Son of the magic song, arise! And bid the deep-toned lyre Pour forth its manly melodies.
With eyes on fire, CARADOC rushed upon the foe; He reared his arm--he laid the mighty low! O'er the plain see him urge his gore-bathed steed! They bleed, the Romans[68] bleed! 230 He lifts his lance on high, They fly! the fierce invaders fly! Fear not now the horse or spear, Fear not now the foeman's might; Victory the cry shall hear Of those who for their country fight; O'er the slain That strew the plain, Stern on her sable war-horse shall she ride, And lift her red right hand, in their heart's blood deep dyed! 240 Return, my Muse! the fearful sound is past; And now a little onward, where the way Ascends above the oaks that far below Shade the rude steep, let Contemplation lead Our footsteps; from this shady eminence 'Tis pleasant and yet fearful to look down Upon the river roaring, and far off To see it stretch in peace, and mark the rocks One after one, in solemn majesty Unfolding their wild reaches; here with wood 250 Mantled, beyond abrupt and bare, and each As if it strove, with emulous disdain, To tower in ruder, darker amplitude.
Pause, ere we enter the long craggy vale; It seems the abode of Solitude.