Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear ; 

 What is the creature doing here ? 



It was a cove, a huge recess, 



That keeps, till June, December's snow ; 



A lofty precipice in front, 



A silent tarn below ! 



Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 



Remote from public road or dwelling, 



Pathway, or cultivated land ; 



From trace of human foot or hand. 



There sometimes doth a leaping fish 

 Send through the tarn a lonely cheer ; 

 The crags repeat the raven's croak, 

 In symphony austere ; 

 Thither the rainbow comes — the cloud — 

 And mists that spread the flying shroud ; 

 And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast, 

 That, if it could, would hurry past ; 

 But that enormous barrier binds it fast. 



Not free from boding thoughts, a while 

 The shepherd stood ; then makes his way 

 Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones, 

 As quickly as he may ; 

 Nor far had gone before he found 

 A human skeleton on the ground ; 

 The appalled discoverer with a sigh 

 Looks round, to learn the history. 



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