IT was a dreadful day, when late I passed
O’er thy dim vastness, Skiddaw! Mist and cloud
Each subject fell obscured, and rushing blast
To thee made darling music, wild and loud,
Thou Mountain Monarch! Rain in torrents played,
As when at sea a wave is borne to heaven,
A watery spire, then on the crew dismayed
Of reeling ship with downward wrath is driven.
I could have thought that every living form
Had fled, or perished in that savage storm,
So desolate the day. To me were given
Peace, calmness, joy; then to myself I said,
Can grief, time, chance, or elements control
Man’s chartered pride, the liberty of soul?