Dungeon Ghyll in Great Langdale is a deep chasm or fissure in the southern face of the first great buttress of the Pikes. It is formed by a considerable stream from Pike o' Stickle; which after making several fine leaps down the mountain side, tumbles at length over a lofty precipice about eighty feet between impending and perpendicular rocks into a deep and gloomy basin. A few slender branches are seen springing from the crevices in either face of the chasm near the top; and immediately above the basin, a natural arch, made by two large stones which have rolled from a higher part of the mountain, and got wedged together between the cheeks of rock. By scrambling over some rough stones in the bed of the stream, the largest and finest chamber may be reached; and the visitor stands underneath the arch, and in front of the waterfall. Over the bridge thus rudely formed, Wordsworth's "Idle Shepherd Boy" challenged his comrade to pass; and even ladies have had the intrepidity or temerity to cross it, undeterred by the narrowness and awkwardness of the footing, and the threatening aspect of the dismal gulf below. The station in the field adjoining the farm house called Skelwith-Fold, is the site where the Danish fortress is assumed to have stood. THE CHURCH AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. In this sweet vale where peace has found An undisturbed abode, The everlasting hills surround A temple reared to God; Where one pure stream, the Gospel's sound, Flows as it ever flow'd. Here never reach the angry jars Which break the Church's rest. The unity that strife debars Is on this Branch imprest; Her truths of old no discord mars; Here peace is in her breast. One Book reveals the living lore Of prophets, saints, and kings. One mild apostle here its store To every household brings; And on this temple's sacred floor The pure glad tidings sings. Race follows race from field and home, And all in earth are laid: But steadfast as the starry dome Above, the truth is spread Around their feet, howe'er they roam, Unquestioned, ungainsaid. How blest, to live and hope in peace Like these! nor hear the knell Of some sure promise, made to cease Beneath the mystic's spell, Or subtle casuist's caprice-- And know that all is well. In vainest strifes we cast away Too much from life's fair page. The flock becomes the spoiler's prey, Because the shepherds rage. And while the life is but a day, The warfare lasts an age. But here may piety rejoice To tread the ancient ways: Still make the one true part the choice Of even the darkest days; And lift an undivided voice Of thankful prayer and praise.