SONNET III.

From these wild heights, where oft the mists descend

In rains, that shroud the sun, and chill the gale,

Each transient, gleaming interval we hail,

And rove the naked vallies, and extend

Our gaze around, where yon vast mountains blend

With billowy clouds, that o'er their summits sail;

Pondering, how little Nature's charms befriend

The barren scene, monotonous, and pale.

Yet solemn when the darkening shadows fleet

Successive o'er the wide and silent hills,

Gilded by watry sun-beams, then we meet

Peculiar pomp of vision. Fancy thrills,

And owns there is no scene so rude and bare,

But Nature sheds or grace or grandeur there.