Page:Beachy Head and Other Poems.pdf/41

Rh

Beneath the shadow of a gnarled thorn, Bent by the sea blast, from a seat of turf With fairy nosegays strewn, how wide the view! Till in the distant north it melts away, And mingles indiscriminate with clouds: But if the eye could reach so far, the mart Of England's capital, its domes and spires Might be perceived—Yet hence the distant range Of Kentish hills, appear in purple haze; And nearer, undulate the wooded heights, And airy summits, that above the mole Rise in green beauty; and the beacon'd ridge Of Black-down shagg'd with heath, and swelling rude Like a dark island from the vale; its brow Catching the last rays of the evening sun That gleam between the nearer park's old oaks,