It was a dreadful day when late I passed
O'er thy dim vastness, Skiddaw! Mist and cloud
Each subject fell obscured, and rushing blast
To thee made darling music, wild and loud,
Thou mountain-monarch! Rain in torrents played
As when at sea a wave is borne to heaven —
A watery spire, then on the crew dismayed
Of reeling ship with downward wrath is driven.
I could have thought that every living form
Had fled, or perished in that savage storm,
So desolate the day. To me were given
Peace, calmness, joy; then, to myself I said,
Can grief, time, chance, or elements control
Man's chartered pride — the liberty of soul?