Girdled with mists, light-floating as to hide
The rock-built palace of immortal powers;
Where far on high the sunbeam finds repose,
Amidst th’ eternal pomp of forests and of snows.
XLVIII.
Those savage cliffs and solitudes might seem
The chosen haunts where Freedom’s foot would roam;
She loves to dwell by glen and torrent-stream,
And make the rocky fastnesses her home.
And in the rushing of the mountain flood,