“Its uplands sloping deck the mountain’s side,
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride.”
—Goldsmith, Traveller.
“In one they find a lone sequestered place,
Where, to a crescent curved, the shore extends
Two moony horns, that in their sweep embrace
A spacious bay,—a rock the port defends;
Inward it fronts, and broad to ocean bends
Its back, whereon each dashing billow dies,
When the wind rises and the storm descends;