For heroines it may well suffice
Once to have left these azure skies.
Heroes themselves, in days of yore,
Bold as they were, achiev'd no more,
Without a dread descent you may
The mines in their effects survey;
And with an easy eye look down
On that fair port and happy town.

Where late along the naked strand The fisher's cot did lonely stand, And his poor bark unshelter'd lay, Of every swelling surge the prey, Now lofty piers their arms extend, And with their strong embraces bend Round crowded fleets, which safe defy All storms that rend the wintry sky, And bulwarks beyond bulwarks chain The fury of the roaring main. The peopled vale fair dwellings fill, And length'ning streets ascend the hill; Where Industry, intent to thrive, Brings all her honey to the hive; Religion strikes with reverent awe, Example works th' effect of law, And Plenty's flowing cup we see Untainted yet by luxury.

These are the glories of the mine! Creative Commerce, these are thine!

Here while delighted, you impart
Delight to every eye and heart;
Behold, grown jealous of your stay,
Your native stream his charms display,
To court you to his banks again,
Now wind in wanton waves his train,
Now spread into a chrystal plain;
Then hid by pendent rocks would steal,
But tuneful falls his course reveal,
As down the bending vales he roves

Thro' Yanwath woods, and Buckholm's groves;
Whose broad o'erspreading boughs beneath
Warbling he flows, while Zephyrs breathe.

Here softly swells the spacious lawn,
Where bounds the buck, and skips the fawn,
Or, couch'd beneath the hawthorn-trees,
In dappled groups enjoy the breeze.

Amid yon' sunny plain, alone, To patriarchal reverence grown, An oak for many an age has stood Himself a widely waving wood,

While men and herds, with swift decay,

Race after race, have pass'd away;

See still his central trunk sustain

Huge boughs, which round o'erhang the plain,

And hospitable shade inclose,

Where flocks and herds at ease repose!

There the brown fells ascend the sky,
Below, the green inclosures lie;
Along their sloping sides supine
The peaceful villages recline :

On azure roofs bright sun-beams play,
And make the meanest dwelling gay.
Thus oft' the wise all-ruling mind
Is to the lowly cottage kind;
Bids there his beams of favor fall,
While sorrow crowds the lofty hall;
That this may fear his awful frown,
And grateful that his goodness own.

If, grown
familiar to the sight,
Lowther itself should less delight,

Then change the scene: to Nature's pride,
Sweet Keswick's vale, the Muse will guide.
The Muse, who trod th' inchanted ground,
Who sail'd the wondrous lake around,
With you will haste once more to hail
The beauteous brook of Borrowdale.

From savage parent, gentle stream!
Be thou the Muse's favorite theme:
O soft insinuating glide

Silent along the meadow's side!
Smooth o'er the sandy bottom pass
Resplendent all thro' fluid glass,
Unless upon thy yielding breast
Their painted heads the lilies rest,

To where in deep capacious bed
The widely-liquid lake is spread.

Let other streams rejoice to roar Down the rough rocks of dread Lodore, Rush raving on with boisterous sweep, And foaming rend the frighted deep, Thy gentle Genius shrinks away From such a rude unequal fray; Thro' thine own native dale, where rise Tremendous rocks amid the skies; Thy waves with patience slowly wind, Till they the smoothest channel find, Soften the horrors of the scene, And thro' confusion flow serene.

Horrors like these at first alarm,

But soon with savage grandeur charm,
And raise to noblest thoughts your mind:
Thus by thy fall, Lodore, reclin'd,
The cragged cliff, impendent wood,
Whose shadows mix o'er half the flood,
The gloomy clouds, which solemn sail,
Scarce lifted by the languid gale

O'er the cap'd hill, and darken'd vale ;
The ravening kite, and bird of Jove,
Which round th' aerial ocean rove,
And, floating on the billowy sky,
With full expanded pinions fly,

Their fluttering or their bleating prey

Thence with death-dooming eye survey:
Channels by rocky torrents torn,
Rocks to the lake in thunder borne,
Or such as o'er our heads appear
Suspended in their mid career;
To start again at his command,
Who rules fire, water, air, and land,
I view with wonder and delight,
A pleasing, tho' an awful sight:
For, seen with them, the ardent isles
Soften with more delicious smiles,
More tempting twine their opening bowers,
More lively glow the purple flowers,
More smoothly slopes the border gay,
In fairer circle bends the bay,
And last, to fix our wandering eyes,
Thy roofs, O Keswick, brighter rise
The lake and lofty hills between,
Where giant Skiddow shuts the scene.

Supreme of mountains, Skiddow, hail!
To whom all Britain sinks a vale!
Lo, his imperial brow I see
From foul usurping vapors free!

'Twere glorious now his side to climb,

Boldly to scale his top sublime!

And thence-my Muse, these flights forbear,

Nor with wild raptures tire the fair.

Hills, rocks, and dales have been too long

The subject of thy rambling song.