Page:The Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich - Clough (1848).pdf/25

 Here, the pride of the plunger, you stride the fall and clear it; Here, the delight of the bother, you roll in beaded sparklings, Here into pure green depth drop down from lofty ledges. Hither, a month agone, they had come, and discovered; hither (Long a design, but long unaccountably left unaccomplished), Leaving the well-known bridge and pathway above to the forest, Turning below from the track of the carts over stone and shingle, Piercing a wood, and skirting a narrow and natural causeway Under the rocky wall that hedges the bed of the streamlet, Rounded a craggy point, and saw on a sudden before them Slabs of rock, and a tiny beach, and perfection of water, Picture-like beauty, seclusion sublime, and the goddess of bathing. There they bathed, of course, and Arthur, the glory of headers, Leapt from the ledges with Hope, he twenty feet, he thirty; There, overbold, great Hobbes from a ten-foot height descended, Prone, as a quadruped, prone with hands and feet protending; There in the sparkling champagne, ecstatic, they shrieked and shouted. "Hobbes's gutter" the Piper entitles the spot, profanely, Hope "the Glory" would have, after Arthur, the glory of headers; But, for before they departed, in shy and fugitive reflex Here in the eddies and there did the splendour of Jupiter glimmer, Adam adjudged it the name of Hesperus, star of the evening. Hither, to Hesperus, now, the star of evening above them, Come in their lonelier walk the pupils twain and Tutor; Turned from the track of the carts, and passing the stone and shingle, Piercing the wood, and skirting the stream by the natural causeway, Rounded the craggy point, and now at their ease looked up; and Lo, on the rocky ledge, regardant, the Glory of headers, Lo, on the beach, expecting the plunge, not cigarless, the Piper.— And they looked, and wondered, incredulous, looking yet once more. Yes, it was he, on the ledge, bare-limbed, an Apollo, down-gazing, Eyeing one moment the beauty, the life, ere he flung himself in it, Eyeing thro' eddying green waters the green-tinting floor underneath them, Eyeing the bead on the surface, the bead, like a cloud, rising to it, Drinking-in, deep in his soul, the beautiful hue and the clearness, Arthur, the shapely, the brave, the unboasting, the glory of headers; Yes, and with fragrant weed, by his knapsack, spectator and critic, Seated on slab by the margin, the Piper, the Cloud-compeller. Yes, they were come; were restored to the party, its grace and its gladness, Yes, were here, as of old; the light-giving orb of the household,