Anna Seward (1747–1809)

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 valleys, 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 wat’ry sunbeams: 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.