The pilgrim o’er the waste who trode;
But check thou not one holy tear
Which Penitence devotes to God!
Through scenes so lone the wild-deer ne’er
Was roused by huntsman’s bugle there—
So rude, that scarce might human eye
Sustain their dread sublimity—
So awful, that the timid swain,
Nurtured amidst their dark domain,
Had peopled with unearthly forms