Ye silent, solemn, strong, stupendous heights,
Whose terror-striking frown the school-boy frights
From the young daw; whilst in your rugged breast
The chattering brood, secured by Horror, rest.
Say, Muse, what arm the low'ring brothers cleft,
And the calm stream in this low cradle left?
Coëval with Creation they look down,
And, sunder'd, still retain their native frown.
Beneath those heights, lo! balmy springs arise,
To which pale Beauty's faded image flies;
Their kindly powers life's genial heat restore,
The tardy pulse, whose throbs were almost o'er,
Here beats a livelier tune. The breezy air,
To the wild hills invites the languid fair:
Fear not the western gale, thou tim'rous maid,
Nor dread its blast shall thy soft form invade;
Tho' cool and strong the quick'ning breezes blow,
And meet thy panting breath, 'twill quickly grow
More strong; then drink the odoriferous draught,
With unseen particles of health 'tis fraught.
Sit not within the threshold of Despair,
Nor plead a weakness fatal to the fair;
Soft term for , politely given,
By which we win no joy from earth or heaven.
Foul Fiend! thou bane of health, fair Virtue's bane,
Death of true pleasure, source of real pain!
Keen exercise shall brace the fainting soul,
And bid her slacken'd powers more vigorous roll.