On The Frith Of Clyde - In A Steamboat

Arran! a single-crested Teneriffe, A St. Helena next—in shape and hue, Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue; Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiff Built for the air, or winged Hippogriff? That he might fly, where no one could pursue, From this dull Monster and her sooty crew; And, as a God, light on thy topmost cliff. Impotent wish! which reason would despise If the mind knew no union of extremes, No natural bond between the boldest schemes Ambition frames, and heart-humilities. Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies, And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams.