Where falcons hang their giddy nest,
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye
From many a league his prey could spy;
Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne,
The terrors of the robbers' horn;
Cliffs, which, for many a later year,
The warbling Doric reed shall hear,
When some sad swain shall teach the grove,
Ambition is no cure for love!
"Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine,