337
Full oft his doings leave me to deplore
Tall ash-tree sown by winds, by vapours nursed,
In the dry crannies of the pendant rocks;
Light birch, aloft upon the horizon's edge,
Transparent texture, framing in the east
A veil of glory for the ascending moon;
And oak whose roots by noontide dew were damped,
And on whose forehead inaccessible
The raven lodged in safety.—Many a ship
Launched into Morecamb bay, hath owed to him
Her strong knee-timbers, and the mast that bears
The loftiest of her pendants. Help he gives
To lordly mansion rising far or near;
The enormous wheel that turns ten thousand spindles,
And the vast engine labouring in the mine,
Content with meaner prowess, must have lacked
The trunk and body of their marvellous strength,
If his undaunted enterprize had failed
Among the mountain coves, or keen research
In forest, park, or chace. Yon household Fir,
A guardian planted to fence off the blast,
But towering high the roof above, as if
Its humble destination were forgot;
