If the dread seal of the all-silent grave, 145
Still uneffaced by Time’s slow-rolling wave,
Had marked the lines of some one treasur’d spot
On memory’s tablet;—who that page would blot!
No;—far from my fond hand to snatch one gem
From thy soft beauty’s regal diadem: 150
Queen of the rock! nymph of the silent shade!
Muse of the glen where my young feet have strayed;
Though now, a pilgrim, from those paths I fly,
’Mid all the goodly scenes that greet mine eye,