Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, And pensive mark the lingering snow In all his scaurs abide, And slow dissolving from the hill In many a sightless, soundless rill, Feed sparkling Bowmont's tide. Fair shines the stream by bank and lea, As wimpling to the eastern sea She seeks Till's sullen bed, Indenting deep the fatal plain, Where Scotland's noblest, brave in vain, Around their monarch bled. And westward hills on hills you see, Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea Heaves high her waves of foam, Dark and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's wold To the proud foot of Cheviot roll'd, Earth's mountain billows come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT NIGHT; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THERE IS NO NATURAL RELIGION (B) by WILLIAM BLAKE EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ON LIBERTY AND SLAVERY by GEORGE MOSES HORTON THE CONFLICT OF CONVICTIONS by HERMAN MELVILLE ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 9. AT STUDY by MARK AKENSIDE TO A GARDEN IN APRIL by WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG |