216 



ON THE LYDFORD WATERFALL. 



It is a shadowy crevice of the Wood, 



Wild, though not stern, and lonesome, but not rude ; 



So green and fresh with mingling boughs around, 



And waving fret- work o*er the untrodden ground ; 



The tall dark crag, its roughness worn away, 



Shines with the dashing Cataract's frothy spray ; 



Which like a snow-white pillar seems to tower 



Far in the deep recesses of its bower ; 



Its hoary head among the verdure hides. 



And bathes the dripping leaves that arch its sides. 



Green oaks and hazels over-hanging all 



The steepy edges of the Waterfall; 



'Till far above, their clustering arms between. 



Small space of sky in narrow glimpse is seen ; 



And there the sun at blaze of Noon ye view. 



Piercing with arrowy rays the foliage through ; 



That change the lucid water's scattered face 



To molten crystal in that secret place ; 



While from its broken column, sprinkling dews 



Hang in the air, and o'er the leaves diffuse. 



In glittering wreathes the rapid waves alight, 



And 'mid the darkling hollow re-»:nite : 



Then onward tending to their native place. 



Roll their soothed billows into Lyd's embrace, 



As thence composed, along the forest-lea 



He journeys gaily downward to the Sea; 



And watery Nymphs around his footsteps pay 



Their foam-light crowns, and sing the spousal lay. 



Now further through that wild-wood dell advance. 

 Where jocund Fairies weave their moon-lit dance; 

 Or 'mid a thousand flowers their revels hold. 

 And elfin banquet pledge in solid gold. 

 Fit scene, meet haunt, around ye may descry 

 For spirit-things — if spirits should be nigh : — 

 Cool waves the sycamore its darksome shades. 

 And silvery aspens bend in light arcades ; 

 The clustered oaks a greener roof extend, 

 And tlie grey ash doth with the beeches blend. 



