 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
79
Wastdale Church and Mountains
Beside a Chapel quaint and small I knelt,By yews and laurels screened, a circling pale,
Right in the heart of silent, lone Wastdale:
The towering mountains with a mighty belt
Of shadow rose all round me, and I felt
Beneath their awfulness my heart to quail;
For His own House God claimed this solemn vale,
And throned amid the eternal hills He dwelt.
Gable, Great-End, Yewbarrow, and Lingmell,
Climbed with their scarr'd and giant forms on high,
By hugest Scawfell led; but green Kirkfell,
With his near vastness, mostly drew my eye
And cheered my spirit; for he seemed to tell
Here for long ages prayer had sought the sky!
| Lyra Pastoralis | |