ON THE FRITH OF CLYDE

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, asa 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.