 | Poems |  |
DALEGARTH FORCE.
What great voice of Birker Moor,With a loud and louder lure,
Tempts us up this stony brook?
Dalegarth's haunted Ghyll is near!
'Tis the Water Spirit's call!
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Hearken to the Waterfall;—
Hearken and look!
Fairer scene was ne'er beholden;
Wilder Fall thou wilt not list:
There the mosses, green and golden,
Bathe in brightening showers of mist;
Wild flowers there, in motley dresses,
Careless dip their colours gay;
There the birch tree droops her tresses,
Shining through the web of spray,—
While the Water Spirit presses
Through the granite chaos grey;
Yet, as his own shout confesses,
Cannot get away;
Flinging off, with vain endeavour,
Chains that leave him chainless never,—
There he chafes and foams for ever
Night and day.
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