Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/28

 Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, To Fancy's ear sweet is your murm'ring deep! For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave; Watching, with wistful eye, the sad'ning tints of eve. Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove, Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide Lone-glittering, thro' the high tree branching wide. And here, in eager hour, When most the big soul feels the madning pow'r, These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er, Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar, With wild unequal steps he pass'd along Oft pouring on the winds a broken song: Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow Would pause abrupt—and gaze upon the waves below