Then turn and gaze on Clarens.”
The picture now is not so different from what it was almost a hundred years ago.
“Day glimmered and I went, a gentle breeze
Ruffling the Leman Lake. Wave after wave,
If such they might be called, dashed as in sport
Not anger, with the pebbles on the beach
Making wild music, and far westward caught
The sun-beam—where alone and as entranced,
Counting the hours, the fisher in his skiff