THE old inventive Poets, had they seen, Or rather felt, the entrancement that detains Thy waters, Duddon! 'mid these flowery plains-- The still repose, the liquid lapse serene, Transferred to bowers imperishably green, Had beautified Elysium! But these chains Will soon be broken;--a rough course remains, Rough as the past; where Thou, of placid mien, Innocuous as a firstling of the flock, And countenanced like a soft cerulean sky, 10 Shalt change thy temper; and, with many a shock Given and received in mutual jeopardy, Dance, like a Bacchanal, from rock to rock, Tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!
