THY Genius, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge Amid thy woods and vales, thy rocks and streams, Formed for the train that haunt poetic dreams, Naiads and nymphs, -- now hears the toiling barge And the swart Cyclops' ever-changing forge Din in thy dells; -- permits the dark-red gleams, From umbered fires on all thy hills, the beams, Solar and pure, to shroud with columns large Of black sulphureous smoke, that spread their veils Like funeral crape upon the sylvan robe Of thy romantic rocks, pollute thy gales, And stain thy glassy floods; -- while o'er the globe To spread thy stores metallic, this rude yell Drowns the wild woodland song, and breaks the Poet's spell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LONGING FOR HEAVEN by ANNE BRADSTREET YOUTH AND CUPID by ELIZABETH I AT LULWORTH COVE A CENTURY BACK by THOMAS HARDY WEIGHTS AND MEASURES, BY OUR OWN TOM DALY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 4 by MARK AKENSIDE AT PARTING by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS TO ONE BEREFT by ETHEL KNAPP BEHRMAN |