In Katrine’s mirror watch the mountains sleep, 125
And wander on Helvellyn’s mighty steep;
Or where the belting Severn rolls sublime
Her copious stream, full as the tide of time,
By rock and headland wander idly by;—
Or trace thy bowers—my own romantic Wye! 130
Oh pardon!—no false renegade to thee,
With well pleased eye these milder shades I see;—
Their’s is the grace of Nature, deck’d by art,
But thou art ever nearest to my heart!