Written With A Pencil, Standing By The Fall Of Fyers, Near Loch-Ness

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds, As high in air the bursting torrents flow, As deep-recoiling surges foam below, Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. Dim seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'rs, The hoary cavern, wide surrounding, low'rs. Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils, And still below, the horrid cauldron boils—