Transversely cast—these monarchs of the wood,
Dark, gnarl’d, centennial oaks that throw their arms
So proudly up—those monstrous ribs of rock
That, shiver’d by the thunder-stroke, and hurl’d
From yonder cliff, their bed for centuries,
Here crush’d and wedged—all by their massiveness
And silent strength, impress us with a sense
Of Deity. And here are wanted not
More delicate forms of beauty. Numerous tribes
Of natural flowers do blossom in these shades,