That Raven is sitting on Kernal Rock; Counting the lambs in a mountain flock. Pleasant their bleat is, pleasant to hear, Pleasant to think of; but shepherds are near. Cattle are calling below in the vale, Maidens singing a true-love tale. List to them, Raven. That Raven will sit upon Kernal Rock Till the mountains reel in the world's last shock. Till the new things come to end like old, He will roll his eye, and his wings unfold, And settle again; and his solemn brow Draw close to his shoulders, and muse as now. That Raven. NOTES TO "THE RAVEN ON KERNAL CRAG." Kernal Crag is a huge mass of solid rock, with a face of broken precipice, on the side of Coniston Old Man. In that unique and admirable Guide Book entitled "The Old Man; or Ravings and Ramblings round Conistone," it is said; "on this Crag, probably for ages, a pair of ravens have annually had their nest, and though their young have again and again been destroyed by the shepherds, they always return to this favourite spot; and frequently when one of the parents has been shot in the brooding season, the survivor has immediately been provided with another helpmate; and, what is still more extraordinary, and beautifully and literally illustrative of a certain impressive scripture passage--it happened a year or two since, that both the parent birds were shot, whilst the nest was full of unfledged young, and their duties were immediately undertaken by a couple of strange ravens, who attended assiduously to the wants of the orphan brood, until they were fit to forage for themselves." LORD DERWENTWATER'S LIGHTS. 1716. You yet in groves round Dilston Hall May hear the chiding cushat's call; Its true-love burden for the mate That lingers far and wanders late. But who in Dilston Hall shall gaze On all its twenty hearths ablaze; Its courteous hosts, its welcome free, And all its hospitality; The grace from courtly splendour, won By Royal Seine, that round it shone; Or feel again the pride or power Of Radcliffe's name in hall and bower;-- As when the cause of exiled James Filled northern hearts with loyal flames, And summers wore their sweetest smile Round Dilston's Courts and Derwent's Isle; Ere Mar his standard wide unrolled, And tower to tower the rising told, And Southwards on the gathering came, All kindling at the Prince's name?-- The glory and the pomp are shorn; The banners rent, the charters torn; The loved, the loving, dust alone; Their honours, titles carved in stone. * * * * * On Witches' Peak the winds were laid: Crept Glenderamakin mute in shade: El-Velin's old mysterious reign Hung stifling over field and plain.