Poem by William Wordsworth

On the Frith of Clyde

ARRAN! a single-crested Teneriffe,
A St. Helena next,—in shape and hue
Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue;
Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiff
Built for the air, or wingéd Hippogriff,
That he might fly, where no one could pursue,
From this dull monster and her sooty crew;
And, as a god, light on thy topmost cliff?
Impotent wish! which reason would despise
If the mind knew no union of extremes,
No natural bond between the boldest schemes
Ambition frames and heart-humilities.
Beneath stern mountains many a soft vale lies,
And lofty springs give birth to lowly streams.

1. Monastery of Old Bangor
2. Processions
3. Roman Antiquities
4. On Revisiting Dunolly Castle
5. Monument of Mrs. Howard

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