Southey describes a scene that he had witnessed on Derwent Lake, as "a sight more dreamy and wonderful than any scenery that fancy ever yet devised for Faery-land. We had walked down," he writes, "to the lake side, it was a delightful day, the sun shining, and a few white clouds hanging motionless in the sky. The opposite shore of Derwentwater consists of one long mountain, which suddenly terminates in an arch, thus [arch symbol], and through that opening you see a long valley between mountains, and bounded by mountain beyond mountain; to the right of the arch the heights are more varied and of greater elevation. Now, as there was not a breath of air stirring, the surface of the lake was so perfectly still, that it became one great mirror, and all its waters disappeared; the whole line of shore was represented as vividly and steadily as it existed in its actual being--the arch, the vale within, the single houses far within the vale, the smoke from the chimneys, the farthest hills, and the shadow and substance joined at their bases so indivisibly, that you could make no separation even in your judgment. As I stood on the shore, heaven and the clouds seemed lying under me; I was looking down into the sky, and the whole range of mountains, having the line of summits under my feet, and another above me, seemed to be suspended between the firmaments. Shut your eyes and dream of a scene so unnatural and so beautiful. What I have said is most strictly and scrupulously true; but it was one of those happy moments that can seldom occur, for the least breath stirring would have shaken the whole vision, and at once unrealised it. I have before seen a partial appearance, but never before did, and perhaps never again may, lose sight of the lake entirely; for it literally seemed like an abyss of sky before me, not fog and clouds from a mountain, but the blue heaven spotted with a few fleecy pillows of cloud, that looked placed there for angels to rest upon them." THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. The martial Musgraves sheathed the sword, And held in peace sweet Edenhall. For never that house or that house's lord May evil luck or mischance befal, While their crystal chalice can soundly ring, Or sparkle brim-full at St. Cuthbert's spring. Rude warlike men were the race of old: And seldom with priest of holy rood Or penance discoursed their knights so bold, Who won them the Forest of Inglewood. For better lov'd they to grasp the spear, Than beads to count or masses to hear. There came a bright Lady from over the sea, Once to look on their youthful heir. Saintly and like a spirit was she; And sweetest words did her tongue declare; When filling a beautiful glass to the brim At St. Cuthbert's Well, she gave it to him.