Wye Dale, Buxton.
Here Nature, with a lavish bounty, poursHer grandest beauties from her richest stores;On either hand high rifted rocks uprearTheir summits proud that touching heaven appear,Whilst on their shelves soft mountain herbage grows,Fresh moss springs green, the pretty wild flower blows,And many a tree, on their steep sides, is seenStretching broad branches, decked in living green,’Mongst which the yew its gloomy boughs extends,Where the grey crag’s terrific form impends;Here the gay warbler’s sweetly carolled songResounds reverberating rocks among,Whilst o’er mossed stones Wye’s new-born waters wailSpreading their murmurs through this lonely dale.
Here Nature, with a lavish bounty, poursHer grandest beauties from her richest stores;On either hand high rifted rocks uprearTheir summits proud that touching heaven appear,Whilst on their shelves soft mountain herbage grows,Fresh moss springs green, the pretty wild flower blows,And many a tree, on their steep sides, is seenStretching broad branches, decked in living green,’Mongst which the yew its gloomy boughs extends,Where the grey crag’s terrific form impends;Here the gay warbler’s sweetly carolled songResounds reverberating rocks among,Whilst o’er mossed stones Wye’s new-born waters wailSpreading their murmurs through this lonely dale.
Here Nature, with a lavish bounty, poursHer grandest beauties from her richest stores;On either hand high rifted rocks uprearTheir summits proud that touching heaven appear,Whilst on their shelves soft mountain herbage grows,Fresh moss springs green, the pretty wild flower blows,And many a tree, on their steep sides, is seenStretching broad branches, decked in living green,’Mongst which the yew its gloomy boughs extends,Where the grey crag’s terrific form impends;Here the gay warbler’s sweetly carolled songResounds reverberating rocks among,Whilst o’er mossed stones Wye’s new-born waters wailSpreading their murmurs through this lonely dale.
Here Nature, with a lavish bounty, pours
Her grandest beauties from her richest stores;
On either hand high rifted rocks uprear
Their summits proud that touching heaven appear,
Whilst on their shelves soft mountain herbage grows,
Fresh moss springs green, the pretty wild flower blows,
And many a tree, on their steep sides, is seen
Stretching broad branches, decked in living green,
’Mongst which the yew its gloomy boughs extends,
Where the grey crag’s terrific form impends;
Here the gay warbler’s sweetly carolled song
Resounds reverberating rocks among,
Whilst o’er mossed stones Wye’s new-born waters wail
Spreading their murmurs through this lonely dale.