View From The Top Of Black Comb

This Height a ministering Angel might select: For from the summit of BLACK COMB (dread name Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range Of unobstructed prospect may be seen That British ground commands: low dusky tracts, Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian hills To the south-west, a multitudinous show; And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth To Tiviot's stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde: Crowding the quarter whence the sun comes forth Gigantic mountains rough with crags; beneath, Right at the imperial station's western base Main ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched Far into silent regions blue and pale; And visibly engirding Mona's Isle That, as we left the plain, before our sight Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly (Above the convex of the watery globe) Into clear view the cultured fields that streak Her habitable shores, but now appears A dwindled object, and submits to lie At the spectator's feet. Yon azure ridge, Is it a perishable cloud? Or there Do we behold the line of Erin's coast? Land sometimes by the roving shepherdswain (Like the bright confines of another world) Not doubtfully perceived. Look homeward now! In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene The spectacle, how pure! Of Nature's works, In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea, A revelation infinite it seems; Display august of man's inheritance, Of Britain's calm felicity and power!