On rocks below, and listen to the roar.
Thy milder terrors, Night, I frequent woo,
Thy silent lightnings, and thy meteor’s glare,
Thy northern fires, bright with ensanguine hue,
That light in heaven’s high vault the fervid air.
But chief I love thee, when thy lucid car
Sheds through the fleecy clouds a trembling gleam,
And shews the misty mountain from afar,
The nearer forest, and the valley’s stream.
And nameless objects in the vale below,