Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/396

336 NARROW GLEN.

this still place, remote from men,

Sleeps Ossian, in the ;

In this still place, where murmurs on

But one meek Streamlet, only one:

He sang of battles, and the breath

Of stormy war, and violent death;

And should, methinks, when all was past,

Have rightfully been laid at last

Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent

As by a spirit turbulent;

Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild,

And every thing unreconciled;

In some complaining, dim retreat,

For fear and melancholy meet;

But this is calm; there cannot be

A more entire tranquillity.