Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty 



and wide ; 

 All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 

 And starting around me the echoes replied. 

 On the right, Stridcn-cdge round the Red -tarn 



• was bending, 

 And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, 

 One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 

 When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer 



had died. 



Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown 



mountain-heather, 

 Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay, 

 Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather, 

 Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. 

 Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 

 For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, 

 The much-loved remains of her master defended, 

 And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 



How long didst thou think that his silence was 



slumber ? 

 When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst 



thou start ? 

 How many long days and long weeks didst thou 



number, 

 Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? 



136 



