1-t ON THE ASCENT OF CADEtt IDRIS. 



The sun had now attained its midday course, 



Since first I crossed the Mawddach's rippling wave, 



And skirting by its southern shore, past Arthog's Falls, 



Across the moorland decked with heath and gorse, 



The purple heath flower and the yellow gorse, 



Had climbed the lofty crag of Towr Mur. 



Here turning round to gaze, a nobler view 



Of purest Nature, blest by God's munificence, 



Than that which lay beneath, I never saw. 



The river, filled to silence by the tide, 



Lay like a still cold serpent far below, 



While in and out among its wooded isles 



Long lines of sea-fowl winged their steady flight; 



Beyond, the everlasting mountains reared their crests, 



With peak on peak, and height succeeding height; 



While, stretching far to north, a yellow line of sand 



Skirted the sea's illimitable plain, 



Whose waves, refracted by the midday's sun, 



Twinkled incessantly with starry gems of light. 



Here having gazed, with mind insatiate I turned. 



And passing o'er a brown and heathy wold, 



Well stored with saxifrage and homed moss, 



I reached the base of Cader's barren crest. 



Not far from hence, (so ancient shepherds tell,) 



On a bare lofty peak that stands alone, 



The last of Cambria's eagles lived and died: 



The crag is still the safe abode of birds, 



Where, unmolested, they may rear their young. 



From hence unto the summit of the mount, 



One vast chaotic mass of broken rock, 



In wild confusion tossed, lay scattered round, 



And scarce a break or sign of life appeared, 



Save where a gushing stream with magic touch 



Transformed the leaden grey to living green. 



This passed, the long-expected height was gained; 



But how describe the scene: 



I gazed not merely at each object there, 



Noting them down in memory's sure page; 



I saw, and felt again that power, 



That earnest secret longing after good, 



That something unattainable, which oft, 



Amid the wild and fever'd dream of life, 



When thirst for gain and thoughts of earth are stilled, 



The burdened heaven-born soul of man desires. 



Speak out, ye everlasting hills, and tell, 



'Mid all your glorious beauty, what Creation's Lord 



Has done to mar your messages of love. 



Long time I gazed, 

 Standing above the dark and dizzy precipice 

 Which flanks the northern brow of Cader, 

 A sheer descent, eight hundred fathoms deep, 

 A riven wall of stone, where dwell secure 

 The ravening birds of prey, and at its base, 

 Beyond the loose debris, a still, dark lake. 



