Till echo seem’d an answering blast;
And on the Hunter hied his way,[30]
To join some comrades of the day;
Yet often paused, so strange the road,
And wondrous were the scenes it show’d.
XI.
The western waves of ebbing day
Roll’d o’er the glen their level way;[31]
Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
Was bathed in floods of living fire.