Written with a pencil, standing by the Fall of Fyers, near Lockness

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods;

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,

Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds;

As high in air the bursting torrents flow,

As deep recoiling surges foam below,

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends,

And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends.

Dim-seen, thro' rising mists, and ceaseless show'rs,

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs.

Still, thro' the gap the struggling river toils,

And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils—

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