'T WAS here that Nature to the Poet's dream
Gave her enchanting forms, and bless'd his Muse
With scenes that Mole from his proud summit views
Enamour'd still; where M ULLA'S wizard stream,
With hues unborrow'd of the Solar beam,
In frolic dance her glittering wave pursues;
Or where the cold and leafless rocks accuse
The ear, that heard unmov'd the giant-scream
Of many an ancient forest, crush'd and slain.
'Twas here that from Lismore , with state oppress'd
The Fugitive took shelter: it was here
That verse could soothe Ambition's goading pain,
With charm inspir'd: — Historian, blot the rest!
And spare the Muses a degrading tear!