And brightly plays the stream, ere yet its tide
In foam and thunder cleave the mountain side:
But all is wild beyond—and Hamet’s eye
Roves o’er a world of rude sublimity.
That dell beneath, where e’en at noon of day
Earth’s charter’d guest, the sunbeam, scarce can stray;
Around, untrodden woods; and far above,
Where mortal footstep ne’er may hope to rove,
Bare granite cliffs, whose fix’d, inherent dyes
Rival the tints that float o’er summer skies:[103]