Though lovely be the lake that holds Saint Herbert’s old abode;
Though Crummock slumber pleasantly, 'neath high Scale Force’s roar,
“And Butter”-mere “is beautiful, but that you knew before;”
Though Wastwater and Ennerdale look sternly dark, but clear;
Though Eden-like the islets be of regal Windermere;
Though each hath its own beauties, yet amongst them is not one
Can boast of beauty varied so as thine, sweet Conistone!
Thy rivulets are bright as is air bell or crystal bead,
And high, and wild, and lone the Tarns those rivulets that feed.
Thy sunny sky is cloudless oft, and healthful are thy gales;