Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/164

130 Where'er we gaze—around—above—below,—

What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found!

Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound,

And bluest skies that harmonise the whole:

Beneath, the distant Torrent's rushing sound

Tells where the volumed Cataract doth roll

Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul.

XLIX.

Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill,

Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh

Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still,

Might well itself be deemed of dignity,

The Convent's white walls glisten fair on high:

Here dwells the caloyer, nor rude is he,N21

Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by

Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee

From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see.