X. Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Close to their master's side they press'd, And on the hunter hied his way, XI. The western waves of ebbing day Roll'd o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Where twined the path, in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, The rocky summits, split and rent, Or seem'd fantastically set With cupola or minaret, Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd, Or mosque of eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare, Nor lack'd they many a banner fair; All twinkling with the dew-drop sheen, XII. Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. Here eglantine embalm'd the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; The primrose pale, and violet flower, Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Group'd their dark hues with every stain With boughs that quaked at every breath, Grey birch and aspen wept beneath; Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock; And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious blue; So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream. XIII. Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep A narrow inlet, still and deep, Affording scarce such breadth of brim, As served the wild-duck's brood to swim; Lost for a space, through thickets veering, But broader when again appearing, Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face Could on the dark-blue mirror trace; An islet in an inland sea. XIV. And now, to issue from the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, |