With many a pause and oft reverted eye I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near Warble in shade their wild-wood melody: Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear. Up scour the startling stragglers of the flock 5 That on green plots o'er precipices browze: From the deep fissures of the naked rock The Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs (Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white) Where broad smooth stones jut out in mossy seats, 10 I rest:--and now have gain'd the topmost site. Ah! what a luxury of landscape meets My gaze! Proud towers, and Cots more dear to me, Elm-shadow'd Fields, and prospect-bounding Sea! Deep sighs my lonely heart: I drop the tear: 15 Enchanting spot! O were my Sara here! FOOTNOTES: [94:1] First published in 1796: included in 1797 (_Supplement_), 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834. LINENOTES: Title] Effusion xxi. Composed while climbing the Left Ascent of Brockley Coomb, in the County of Somerset, May 1795 1796: Sonnet v. Composed, &c. 1797: Sonnet xiv. Composed, &c. 1803. [7] deep] forc'd 1796, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829. LINES IN THE MANNER OF SPENSER[94:2] O Peace, that on a lilied bank dost love To rest thine head beneath an Olive-Tree, I would that from the pinions of thy Dove One quill withouten pain ypluck'd might be! For O! I wish my Sara's frowns to flee, 5 And fain to her some soothing song would write, Lest she resent my rude discourtesy, Who vow'd to meet her ere the morning light, But broke my plighted word--ah! false and recreant wight! Last night as I my weary head did pillow 10 With thoughts of my dissever'd Fair engross'd, Chill Fancy droop'd wreathing herself with willow, As though my breast entomb'd a pining ghost. 'From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast, Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way; 15 But leave me with the matin hour, at most! As night-clos'd floweret to the orient ray, My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey.' But Love, who heard the silence of my thought, Contriv'd a too successful wile, I ween: 20 And whisper'd to himself, with malice fraught-- 'Too long our Slave the Damsel's _smiles_ hath seen: To-morrow shall he ken her alter'd mien!' He spake, and ambush'd lay, till on my bed The morning shot her dewy glances keen, 25 When as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head-- 'Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!' the laughing Elfin said.