Till they the smoothest channel find,
Soften the horrors of the scene,
And through confusion flow serene.

Horrors like these at first alarm,
But soon with savage grandeur charm,
And raise to noblest thoughts the mind;
Thus by thy fall, Lowdore, reclin'd,
The craggy cliff, impendant wood,
Whose shadows mix o'er half the flood,
The gloomy clouds with solemn sail,
Scarce lifted by the languid gale,
O'er the capp'd hill, and dark'ned vale:-
The rav'ning kite, and bird of Jove,
Which round the aerial ocean rove,
And, floating on the billowy sky,
With full expanded pinions fly,
Then flutt'ring on their bleating prey,
Thence with death-dooming eye survey:-
Channels by rocky torrents torn,
Rocks to the lake in thunders borne,
Or such as o'er our heads appear
Suspended in their midst career,
To start again at his command,
Who rules fire, water, air, and land,
I view with wonder and delight,
A pleasing, though an awful sight:
For, seen with them, the verdant isles
Soften with more delicious smiles,
More tempting twine their op'ning bowers,
More lovely grow the purple flowers,
More smoothly slopes the border gay,
In fairer circles bends the bay,
And last, to fix our wand'ring eyes,
Thy roofs, O Keswick, brighter rise,
The lake, and lofty hills between,
Where giant Skiddaw shuts the scene.