On either hand. A dream it well might be:
Hills rising here, and mountains looming there;
Islands reposing on a moonlit sea
With which the winds are toying; everywhere
The shores are bold, precipitous and fair.
G ROSSE Isle sits dreamily-languid; all around,
Its subject-islands slumber. In the air
The clouds have melted into light. No sound
Stirs the sweet calm, save where the jovial billows bound.