Their flinty neighbour; who, o'erspread with moss,
Of varied hues, and deck'd with flow'ring heath,
That from each fissure hung luxuriant down,
Became a seat, where, king of all the scene,
The harper sate, and, in sweet melodies,
Now like the lark rejoicing at the dawn,
Now soothing as the nightingale's sad note,
Hail'd the departing sun, whose golden rays
Glitter'd upon the surface of the wave,
And, as a child upon its mother's arm