1 MARCH 1884, Page 14

AYSGARTH.

WHERE Aysgarth's arch spans lire's resplendent river,

Where down the rock the shining cataract leaps, And flashing from between its marble steeps, From ledge to ledge the silver lightnings shiver, I gaze, o'erwhelmed with stress of joyous thought, And backward trace the path of those sweet forces Which, from their home among the far hill-sources, This tumbling wealth of beauty here have brought. Ravine-born, mid the many-chasmed mountains, A thousand brooklets trickle into life, Mingling their myriad murmurs in sweet strife, And fill the constant stream from lonely fountains. So spring thy truest peace and holiest power, 0 Man ! not from the tumult of the hour !