SONNET IV. Written at Church-Hop, Isle of Portland.
On the grey rock with tumbling fragments rude,
The conscious castle, proud in ruin, frowns,
While far beneath as rolls the welt'ring flood,
Each feebler sound its deep-ton'd murmur drowns.
From this steep crag, where Terrour leagu'd with Power
Invasion's troubled tempest would defy,
Dimly is seen the
distant cliff to tower,
Or the faint ocean mingling with the sky.
Amid the tangles of the briared dell,
A high arch'd abbey's shrub-twin'd fragments show,
Where many a sinking stone forgets to tell
To Fame's deaf ear, the dust that lies below.
Rude scene! 'till thou'rt no more, shall Wildness claim
“A local habitation, and a name.”
