BURGEOIS. Scabd

Led by revolving thought, my wand'ring steps Explor'd the vale of solitude. A rill, Slow-tinkling, murmur'd as I pass'd along, Its bank gay-rob'd with beauty's balmy train. O'er me the steepy cliffs impending, frown'd Horrifick; from their sides, the mould'ring earth Crumbled, and gradual shook the hanging arch, Whose dark spire quiver'd o'er the void below. Between their gleaming sides, refulgent flam'd The sun's broad orb. As on I walk'd, the seene Open'd, and from the plain one winding path (Ragged with stones loud rattling down the height;) Led to the summit of the cliff. I scal'd Th' ascent, and wond'ring, from its brow beheld A boundless prospect, shagg'd with rising hills, Rocks, desarts, woods, dales, landscapes, groves, and spires. Far on the left, a bare and barren heath, (Save where the wild trees form'd a little grove, Crown'd with spontan'ous herbage) rushing chill'd My veins. 'Twas all a solemn scene, retir'd Like that where ancient Druids liv'd remote, Conversing with the moon! and airy shapes (So Fame reports) beneath the wan dim ray, Sweep shadowy o'er the blighted lawn, or soar High on the streamy flame, or ride the winds; Or hear the murm'ring wood, when darkness wraps Her cloudy curtain round the world, and Fear Knocks at the heart of Man.—Such is the haunt Of fairy-trains, when silver tips the hills; That in the deep grove's shadowy gloom disport; Or hear the wild wind whistle, or repos'd,—