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height, hanging broken over the lake in horrible grandeur; some of them a thousand feet high, the woods climbing up their steep and shaggy s'ides, where mortal fo'ot/ never yet approa'ched. On these dreadful he'ights/ the e'agles build their ne'sts; a variety of wa'ter-falls/ is seen pouring from their sum'mits, and tum'bling (in vast sheets) from ro'ck to ro`ck/ in ru ́de and terrible mag'nificence; while on all sides of this immense amphitheatre, the lofty mountains rise around, piercing the clouds in sha'pes/ as sp'iry and fantastic/ as the very rocks of Dov'edale. To th'is/ I must ad'd the frequent and bold projection of the cliffs into the la'ke, forming noble b'ays and promontories: in other parts/ they finely reti're-from-it, and often o'pen/ in abrupt chasm's or cle'fts/, through which, at han'd, you see rich and cultivated vales; and beyond the ́se (at various di'stance) mo'untain rising over mountain; among wh'ich, new prospects present themselves in mi`st, till the eye is lo`st/ in an agreeable perplexity
Where active fan'cy/ travels beyond sense,
And pictures thi'ngs/ unsee'n
Were I to analyze the two places in their constituent pr'inciples, I should te'll-you, that the fu'll perfection of Ke'swick/ consists of three circumstances-beauty, horror, and imm'ensity, uni'ted; (the second of which alo'ne/ is found in Dovedale.) Of beauty/ it has lit'tle, (nature having left it almost a de'sert); neither its small exten't, nor the diminutive and lifeless form of the hills/, admits magn'ificence; but/ to give you a completeidea of these three perfe'ctions (as they are joined in Keswick) would require the united powers of Cla'ude, Salvator, and Pous'sin. The first/ should throw his delicate su'nshine over the cultivated va'les, the scattered co'ts, the gro'ves, the lak`e, and wooded i'slands: the se'cond/ should dash out the horror of the rugged cliffs, the stee'ps, the hanging wo`ods, and foaming water-falls; while the grand pencil of Pou'ssin/ should crown the whole/ with the majesty of the impending mountains.
So much for what I could call the pe'rmanent-beauties of this astonishing-scene. Were I not afraid of being tire'some, I could now dwell as long on its varying or accide^ntal-beauties. I would sail round the la'ke, anchor in every b'ay, and land you on every promontory and is'land. I would point out the perpetual cha'nge of prospect; the wo'ods, rocks, cliffs, and mountains, by turns va'nishing or rising into view; now
gaining on the sight, hanging over our heads/ in their full dimen'sions, beautifully dreadful; and no'w (by a change of situation) assuming new romantic shap`es; retiring and les`sening on the e'ye, and insensibly losing the'mselves/ in an azure mis't. I would remark the contrast of light and shade, produced by the mo'rning and e^vening-sun; the on'e/ gilding the western, the o'ther/ the e^astern-side of this immense amphitheatre; while the vast sha'dow/ projected by the mo'umtains/ buries the opposite part/ in a deep and purple glo ́om, which the e'ye can hardly pe'netrate. The natural variety of c'olouring/ which the several objects produce, is no less won'derful than pleasing; the ruling tints in the valley/ being those of a'zure, green, and go'ld; yet ever va'rious, arising from an intermixture of the la'ke, the woods, the gra'ss and corn-fields: the'se/ are finely contrasted by the grey rocks and cliffs and the whole/ heightened by the yellow streams of light, the purple hues and misty a'zure of the mountains. Sometimes/ a serene air and clear sky/ disclose the tops of the highest hi'lls; at other-times/ you see the clouds involving their su`mmits, re'sting on their si'des, or descending to their b'ase, and ro'lling/ among the v'alleys/ as in a vast furnace. When the winds are high, they roar among the cliffs and c'averns/like peals of thunder; th ́en,-too, the clouds are seen in vast bo'dies/ sweeping along the hills in gloomy greatness, while the la^ke/ joi'ns the tu'mult, and tos'ses like a s'ea. But in călm-weather, the whole scene becomes ne'w; the la'ke is a perfect mir`ror, and the landscape/ is in all its beauty: islands, fi'elds, woo'ds, rocks, and mountains, are seen inv'erted, and floating on its surface. I will now carry you to the top of a cliff, wh'ere (if you dare approach the r'idge) a new scene of astonishment/ presents itself; where the valley,* lak`e, and i̇'slands, seem lying at your feet; where this expanse of wa'ter/ appears diminished to a little po'ol (amidst the vast and immeasurable o`bjects/ that surround it); for here/ the summits of more distant hills/ appear beyond tho`se you have already se'en; a'nd, rising behind each other/ in successive ranges and azure groups-of craggy and broken-steeps, form an immense and awful picture, which can only be expre'ssed/ by the image of a tempes
*Though giving" valley" the rising slide may be considered a departure from rule, I feel persuaded the euphony is not diminished by it.-ED.
tuous s'ea of mountains. Let me now conduct you down to the valley, and conclude with one circumstance more; which is', th'at/ when I walk by still mo'on-light (at which time the distant water-falls are heard in all the variety of sound/ among these enchanting-dales), it opens such scenes of d'elicate beau'ty, rep'ose, and solemnity, as exceed a'll description.
CELADON AND AMELIA.
They loved; but, such their guileless pas'sion was,
'Twas friendship, height'ened by the mutual wish':
In Heaven, repr'essed her fea'r; it grew', and shook
Her frame/ near dissolu`tion. He perceived
(Which thunders terror through the guilty heart', "With tongues' of se'raphs/ whispers peace to thine'. "'Tis safety/ to be near thee sure', and thus'/ "To clasp perfection!" From his void embrace', (Mysterious Heaven!) that moment to the ground/, A blackened corse' was struck' the beauteous maid'. But, wh'o can paint the lover as he stood, Pierced by severe amazement, hating life', Speech'less, and fixed in all the death' of wo`? So', (faint resemblance !) on the marble tomb', The well-dissembled mourner, stooping stands', For ever si'lent, and for e'ver sad'.
OTHELLO'S ADDRESS TO THE SENATE.
MOST po'tent, grave', and reverend Sig'niors,
A simile or comparison should be pronounced in a lower tone of voice-something in the way of a parenthesis.
†This mighty master of "The Passions"-this prince of dramatic poets-"whom no age or nation can pretend to equal"-died at Stratfordupon-Avon (which had the honour of giving birth to the immortal bard) on the 23rd of April, 1616, aged 52.
Till now' (some nine moons wast'ed) they have used
Of my whole course of love'; what drugs', what charms',
(For such proceed'ings/ I am charged withal',)
I w'on his daughter with.
Her fa'ther loved me; o'ft invited me ;
I ran it through', even from my bo'yish days,
Of hair-breadth 'scapes', in the im'minent, dea'dly breach';
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence';
Where'in/ I had to com'bat plagues' and fa`mine;
Yet bold' in dangerous mu'tiny. All the`se to hear'
But still the house-affairs/ would draw her thence',