HOW grand the scene from this stupendous height! How awfully sublime! the king of day Flames in the east; old ocean’s waves display One globe of fire! one boundless flood of light! With what unclouded lustre blaze the skies! While {209} Mona’s flats, ting’d with a golden hue, Burst with transcendent beauty on the view; And, Man, thy scarce seen mountains proudly rise. Nature, beneath, seems prostrate! and my sight Can hardly grasp the vast immensity! Can then the muse attempt to sing of thee, Nature’s great God! Father of life and light! Who bade the sun his annual circle roll, Who guides, directs, and animates the whole. SONNET VIII. _To my Dog_. YES, thou hast been companion of my Tour, And partner of my toils! hast rov’d with me, Thro’ Cambria’s rude and wild variety, And often sooth’d the solitary hour With thy caresses; yet false man can claim Superior reason, claim a mind endued With love, with faithfulness, and gratitude; Love, a mere sound, and gratitude, a name. Yes, faithful creature! and when thou art gone, With fond attention shall thy bones be laid, And a small tribute to thy mem’ry paid, In these few words, engraven on thy stone: “Here let in peace the faithful Sylvio lie, The truest picture of fidelity!” * * * * * _FINIS_. * * * * * CHART.