James Beattie

Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size
And glitt'ring cliff on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.

Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size
And glitt'ring cliff on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.

On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.

On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
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Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrown,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.

Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god,
He made the barren waste his lone abode,
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Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god,
He made the barren waste his lone abode,
And oft on soaring pinions hover'd o'er
The lofty palace then his own no more.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.