The Chosen Site
Not on the headland cliff above the sea,
Enforced to hear the sullen lion-roar
Of caverend waves: not on the languid shore
Where the palm-fringèd sands reach endlessly
Teased by the foam: not where the stunted tree
Grapples the barren crag, while torrents pour
Their veils of mist, and mountain eagles soar:—
Not e'en a heathery moorland home for me!
But by the bouldered streamlet's lyric flow,
Be my abode, whence, to the beetling crest,
Infrequently at sunset I may stroll
To hear the hill-top phantom bugles blow,
And, for the moment, balm the troubled soul
With unaccustomed splendors of the West.
Enforced to hear the sullen lion-roar
Of caverend waves: not on the languid shore
Where the palm-fringèd sands reach endlessly
Teased by the foam: not where the stunted tree
Grapples the barren crag, while torrents pour
Their veils of mist, and mountain eagles soar:—
Not e'en a heathery moorland home for me!
But by the bouldered streamlet's lyric flow,
Be my abode, whence, to the beetling crest,
Infrequently at sunset I may stroll
To hear the hill-top phantom bugles blow,
And, for the moment, balm the troubled soul
With unaccustomed splendors of the West.
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