Bright beams the lonely mountain horse illume,
Feeding 'mid purple heath, "green rings," 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 o'er 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,
Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs, and falling floods,
Not undelightful are the simplest charms,
Found by the verdant door of mountain farms.

Sweetly ferocious, round his native walks,
Pride of his sister-wives, the monarch stalks;
Spur-clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread;
A crest of purple tops his warrior head.

Bright sparks his black and haggard eye-ball hurls
Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls;

Whose state, like pine-trees, waving to and fro,
Droops, and o'er-canopies his regal brow;
On tiptoe reared, he strains his clarion throat,
Threatened by faintly-answering farms remote:
Again with his shrill voice the mountain rings,
While, flapped with conscious pride, resound his wings!

* "Vivid rings of green."— GREENWOOD's Poem on Shooting. +"Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings."- Beattie.

"Dolcemente feroce."-TASSO. In this description of the cock, I remembered a spirited one of the same animal in the l'Agriculture, ou Les Géorgiques Françoises, of M. Rossuet.

Brightening 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 the 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
An edge all flame, the broadening sun appears;
A long blue bar its ægis orb divides,

And breaks the spreading of its golden tides;
And now it touches on the purple steep
That flings its image on the pictured deep.
'Cross the calm lake's blue shades the cliffs aspire,
With towers and woods a "prospect all on fire ;"
The coves and secret hollows, through a ray
Of fainter gold, a purple gleam betray;
The gilded turf invests with richer green
Each speck of lawn the broken rocks between;
Deep yellow beams the scattered stems illume,
Far in the level forest's central gloom;
Waving his hat, the shepherd, from the vale,
Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,
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 twisted roots;

The Druid stones their lighted fane unfold,
And all the babbling brooks are liquid gold;
Sunk to a curve, the day-star lessens still,
Gives one bright glance, and drops behind the hill.*

In these secluded vales, if village fame, Confirmed by silver hairs, belief may claim; When up the hills, as now, retired the light, Strange apparitions mocked the gazer's sight.

A desperate form appears, that spurs his steed
Along the midway cliffs with violent speed;
Unhurt pursues his lengthened flight, while all
Attend, at every stretch, his headlong fall.
Anon, in order mounts a gorgeous show
Of horsemen shadows winding to and fro;
At intervals imperial banners stream,
And now the van reflects the solar beam,

The rear through iron brown betrays a sullen gleam;
Lost gradual, o'er the heights in pomp they go,
While silent stands the admiring vale below;
Till, save the lonely beacon, all is fled,
That tips with eve's last gleam his spiry head.t

Now, while the solemn evening shadows sail,
On red slow-waving pinions, down the vale;
And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines,
Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines,
How pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray
Where winds the road along a secret bay;

* From Thomson. See Scott's Critical Essays.

+ See a description of an appearance of this kind in Clark's Survey of the Lakes, accompanied by vouchers of its veracity, that may amuse the reader.

By rills that tumble down the woody steeps,
And run in transport to the dimpling deeps;
Along the "wild meandering shore" to view
Obsequious Grace the winding Swan pursue:
He swells his lifted chest, and backward flings
His bridling neck between his towering wings;
In all the majesty of ease, divides

And, glorying, looks around the silent tides;
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;
The Female with a meeker charm succeeds,
And her brown little-ones around her leads,
Nibbling the water lilies as they pass,

Or playing wanton with the floating grass.
She, in a mother's care, her beauty's pride
Forgets, unwearied watching every side;
She calls them near, and with affection sweet
Alternately relieves their weary feet;
Alternately they mount her back, and rest
Close by her mantling wings' embraces prest.

Long may ye float upon these floods serene; Yours be these holms untrodden, still, and green, Whose leafy shades fence off the blustering gale, Where breathes in peace the lily of the vale. Yon Isle, which feels not even the milk-maid's feet, Yet hears her song, “by distance made more sweet," Yon isle conceals your home, your cottage bower, Fresh water rushes strew the verdant floor; Long grass and willows form the woven wall, And swings above the roof the poplar tall.

Thence issuing often with unwieldy stalk,
With broad black feet ye crush your flowery walk;
Or, from the neighbouring water, hear at morn
The hound, the horse's tread, and mellow horn;
Involve your serpent necks in changeful rings,
Rolled wantonly between your slippery wings,
Or, starting up with noise and rude delight,
Force half upon the wave your cumbrous flight.

Fair Swan! by all a mother's joys caressed, Haply some wretch has eyed, and called thee blessed; The while upon some sultry summer's day She dragged her babes along this weary way; Or taught their limbs along the burning road A few short steps to totter with their load.

I see her now, denied to lay her head,
On cold blue nights, in hut or straw-built shed,
Turn to a silent smile their sleepy cry,
By pointing to a shooting star on high:
I hear, while in the forest depth, he sees
The Moon's fixed gaze between the opening trees,
In broken sounds her elder grief demand,
And skyward lift, like one that prays, his hand,
If, in that country, where he dwells afar,

His father views that good, that kindly star;

Ah me! all light is mute amid the gloom, The interlunar cavern, of the tomb.

When low-hung clouds each star of summer hide,

And fireless are the valleys far and wide,
Where the brook brawls along the painful road,
Dark with bat-haunted ashes stretching broad,
Oft has she taught them on her lap to play
Delighted, with the glow-worm's harmless ray