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Page 231:-
Till to his sister's [1] arms he flies,
And, wide-expanded to the skies,
On oozy bed supinely lies.-
Again behold him raise his head,
As if awaken'd from the dead,
Plumb down the rock of Skelwith dash,
With hoarse reverberated crash;
And, boist'rous boiling from below,
Again across the peaceful meadows flow.
So the lorn maniac, in his moods,
Sullen o'er his sorrows broods;
With unaverted eye, he strays
Along the lonely desert ways,
With solemn, measur'd, thoughtful pace,
Despair depicted in his face:
Then starts, and with a stedfast gaze,
Replete with horror and amaze,
From rock to rock, from steep to steep,
Reckless he takes the dangerous leap;
Then scours along the level plain
Till, all his strength exhaust again,
He sinks upon the earth's cold breast,
Toil-worn, to take his broken rest.
But, Rothay, you a gentler tide,
Serenely through the valleys glide.
Peaceful Grasmere's wooded hills,
Pour forth for you their tinkling rills.
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[1]
The river Brathay is formed chiefly from two steams,- the one
rising in Little Langdale, the other in Great Langdale, where it
passes the Pikes and the slate quarry: these join in the small
lake of Elter-water. Another of its feeders is the stream from
Loughrigg Tarn, a very small but beautiful lake, in the bosom of
the mountains, a little to the right of the road as you cross
over from Elter-water, or Skelwith-bridge, to Grasmere. /
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