XI. THE FAERY CHASM. No fiction was it of the antique age: A sky-blue stone, within this sunless cleft, Which tiny Elves impressed ; — on that smooth stage Of some sweet babe, flower stolen, and coarse weed left For the distracted mother to assuage Her grief with, as she might! - But, where, oh! where Is traceable a vestige of the notes That ruled those dances wild in character? - Deep underground? — Or in the upper air, On the shrill wind of midnight? or where floats O'er twilight fields the autumnal gossamer? XII. HINTS FOR THE FANCY. ON, loitering Muse-The swift Stream chides us—on ! Albeit his deep-worn channel doth immure Objects immense pourtrayed in miniature, Wild shapes for many a strange comparison ! Abodes of Naiads, calm abysses pure, Bright liquid mansions, fashioned to endure When the broad Oak drops, a leafless skeleton, Palace and Tower, are crumbled into dust! The Bard who walks with Duddon for his guide, Shall find such toys of Fancy thickly set: Turn from the sight, enamoured Muse -- we must; And, if thou canst, leave them without regret! XIII. OPEN PROSPECT. HAIL to the fields with Dwellings sprinkled o'er, And one small hamlet, under a green hill, Clustered with barn and byer, and spouting mill! A glance suffices; should we wish for more, Gay June would scorn us; but when bleak winds roar Through the stiff lance-like shoots of pollard ash, Dread swell of sound! loud as the gusts that lash The matted forests of Ontario's shore By wasteful steel unsmitten, then would I Turn into port, — and, reckless of the gale, Reckless of angry Duddon sweeping by, While the warm hearth exalts the mantling ale, At all the merry pranks of Donnerdale ! XIV. O MOUNTAIN Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot XV. FROM this deep chasm-where quivering sunbeams play Upon its loftiest crags mine eyes behold A gloomy NICHE, capacious, blank, and cold; In semblance fresh, as if, with dire affray, |