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 !