By lonely Otter’s sleep-persuading stream.
Or where his wave with loud unquiet song
Dashed o’er the rocky channel froths along,
Or where his silver waters smoothed to rest
The tall tree’s shadow sleeps upon his breast.
The last two lines describe with exquisite felicity the peaceful passages between the “stickles” of the bickering river.
In the year 1789, he cut his initials, “S. T. C.,” on the rock just outside Pixie’s Parlour, a small cavern in the sandstone on the left bank half a mile down stream.
Always keenly sensible to music, the cadence of the old church bells rang in his ears in later life when far away from home, for he sings:—
Of my sweet birthplace, and the old Church Tower
Whose bells, the poor man’s only music, rang