Lines On The Fall Of Fyers Near Loch-Ness.
Written with a Pencil on the Spot.
Among the heathy hills and ragged woods
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods;
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, thro’ a shapeless breach, his stream resounds.
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,
As deep recoiling surges foam below,
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,
And viewles Echo’s ear, astonished, rends.
Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show’rs,
The hoary cavern, wide surrounding lours:
Still thro’ the gap the struggling river toils,
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils—