Lo! WHERE the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine;
And sees, on high, amidst th' encircling groves,
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine:
While waters, woods, and winds in concert join,
And Echo swells the chorus to the skies.

In truth, he was a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene. In darkness and in storm he found delight ; Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene The southern sun diffused his dazzling sheen. The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray ; And, hark! the river bursting every mound, Down the vale thunders, and with wasteful sway Uproots the grove, and rolls the shattered rocks away.

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AND oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, When all in mist the world below was lost. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, And view th' enormous waste of vapour, tossed In billows, lengthening to th' horizon round, Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed! And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound!

IS YONDER Wave the sun's eternal bed?

Soon shall the Orient with new lustre burn, And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed, Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.