 | Teresa and Other Poems |  |
100
XX
GARPEL GLEN
Dear friends, forget not—I shall ne'er forget—
That summer-tide at eve when Garpel's Glen
Lay like an inkblot flung from Nature's pen
Between the sun-bleached uplands; whilst afret
To overleap his mountain parapet
The stream, here curdling like a wisp of wool,
Flung out his gold fleece pendent o'er the pool,
Where, far below, beech, oak, and ilex met.
A spirit-haunted spot! As there we stood,
Behold the form of ancient Solitude!
That, chin on hand, slow-dropping tear on tear,
Sat, Sphinx-like, crouched upon a ledge of stone,
One moment seen; the next his very throne
Had vanished, and the cliff rose stark and sheer.
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