Then, with all your glittering train,
Together your proud course maintain,
And with imperial Windermere,
All your boastful honours share;
With loud acclaim, exulting, hail!
The monarch of the stately vale.

Say, Brathay, as I walk your side,
List'ning to your murmuring tide,
What sights, what wonders have you seen,
Passing your barrier hills between?
View'd you old Langdale's solid towers,[1]
And Elter-water's peaceful bowers;
Where the quarry's yawning scar
Hangs hideous in the midnight air!
Or, rather higher Langdale's rocks,
Hardknot and his mountain twin,[2]
At whose rude base your streams begin,
Where the widely-straying floods,
And the fragrant smelling kine,
Their ample wealth combine,
And to their happy peasant's board,
A frugal, friendly meal afford;
Bestowing health and calm content,
The greatest blessing heaven has lent:
I heard you rattling through the wood,
and pass by Colwith's [3] foaming flood;
His loose, dishevel'd, hoary head,
Affrighted, seeks a calmer bed,
Tumbling, from rock to rock, his course,
With wild majestic, sullen force; /