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This cascade, distant about a mile and a half from the village of Buttermere, exceeds in extent of fall the renowned Niagara, yet, owing to a difficulty of access, it is frequently neglected by the tourist.

sweeps, as sweeps an army Adown the mountain side, With the voice of many thunders, Like the battle’s sounding tide.

Yet the sky is blue above it, And the dashing of the spray Wears the colour of the rainbow Upon an April day.

It rejoices in the sunshine, When after heavy rain It gathers the far waters To dash upon the plain.

It is terrible, yet lovely, Beneath the morning rays: Like a dream of strength and beauty, It haunted those who gaze.

We feel that it is glorious, Its power is on the soul; And lofty thoughts within us Acknowledge its control.

A generous inspiration Is on the outward world; It waketh thoughts and feelings In careless coldness furled.

To love and to admire Seems natural to the heart; Life’s small and selfish interests From such a scene depart.