178 MATLOCK.
In sweet confusion to imprint thee deep On memory s page.
But when the thunder rolls, Yon silent cliffs forget their quietude, And like the watchman, when the foe is near, Shout to each other.
Every rifted peak
Takes up the battle-cry, and volleying pours Reverberated peals, till the hoarse cloud Expends its vengeance, and, exhausted, sweeps O er the unanswering dales.
See where yon rocks,
Fretted and ribbed as if the storms had snatched The sculptor s chisel, and amid their freaks Channelled and grooved and wrought without a plan, Lift their worn frontals. Here and there, the trees Insert themselves perforce, against the will Of the stern crags, by coarse and scanty earth Nurtured in contumacy, while the blasts Do sorely wrench and warp them, well resolved To punish such usurpers : still they cling And gather vigor from adversity. On, by those crevice-holders to the lawns Of Willersly, and to its garden-heights, And gaze, astonished, on the scene below.
Lo ! with what haste the full-orbed Moon doth steal Close on the footsteps of departing day, Eager to greet the landscape that she loves. Strong Derwent murmurs at the intrusive shades
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