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Scale the steep cliff, whose ample range
Gives to the eye a holder change;
The verdant fields which rivers lave,
The broken ledge where forests wave,
The distant towns obscurely seen,
The glittering spires that gem the green,
The pale, blue line that meets the eye,
Where mountains mingle with the sky,
The floating mist in volumes roll'd,
That hovers round their bosoms cold,
Woods, wilds, and waters, scattered free,
In nature's boldest majesty.
Mark, on the mountain's cultur'd breast,
The mansion-house in beauty drest ;
Above, to brave the tempest's shock,
The lonely tow'r that crowns the rock;
Beneath, the lake, whose waters dark
Divide before the gliding bark,
With snowy sail, and busy oar,
Moving with music to the shore.
And say while musing o'er the place,
Where art to nature lends her grace,
The crimes that blast the fleeting span
Of erring, suffering, wandering man,
Unfeeling pride, and cold disdain,
The heart that wills another's pain,
Pale envy's glance, the chill of fear,
And war, and discord come not here.
