The bard, and minor poems | ||
284
HIGH CLIFF.
Hail, mighty cliff! hail, monarch of the plain;Brother of clouds, fit tenant of the sky!
What mighty earthquake rear'd this remnant high?
From what fierce deluge first commenced thy reign?
Those rugged features tell of grief and pain,
Those ghastly rents of fearful agony!
And, say, what ancient people did espy
Yon towering summit, and its name ordain?
It recks not;—thou hast spurn'd the greedy main.
Majestic, as when Druids worshipp'd there:
Thy ministrations more enduring stand
Than bloody rites of Saxon, or of Dane;
And blessings greet thee from the summer air,
Showers, breezes, sunbeams, a perpetual band!
The bard, and minor poems | ||