Now down the mountain's rugged western side, Descending slow, our lonely travellers hied, Deep in a narrow glen, within whose breast The rolling fragments of the mountain rest; Rocks tumbled on each other by rude chance, Crown'd with grey fern, and mosses, met the glance, Through which a brawling river braved its way, Dashing among the rocks in foamy spray. Here, 'mid the fragments of a broken world, In wild and rough confusion, idly hurl'd, Where ne'er was heard the woodman's echoing stroke, Rose a huge forest of gigantic oak; With heads that tower'd half up the mountain's side, And arms extending round them far and wide, They look'd coeval with old mother earth, And seem'd to claim with her an equal birth. There, by a lofty rock's moss-mantled base, Our tired adventurers found a resting place; Beneath its dark, o'erhanging, sullen brow, The little bevy nestled snug below, And with right sturdy appetite, and strong, Devour'd the rustic meal they brought along. The squirrel eyed them from his lofty tree, And chirp'd as wont, with merry morning glee; The woodcock crow'd as if alone he were, Or heeded not the strange intruders there, Sure sign they little knew of man's proud race In that sequester'd mountain 'biding place; For wheresoe'er his wandering footsteps tend, Man never makes the rural train his friend; Acquaintance that brings other beings near, Produces nothing but distrust or fear: Beasts flee from man the more his heart they know, And fears, at last, to fix'd aversion grow, As thus in blithe serenity they sat, Beguiling resting time with lively chat, A distant, half heard murmur caught the ear, Each moment waxing louder and more near, A dark obscurity spread all around, And more than twilight seem'd to veil the ground, While not a leaf e'en of the aspen stirr'd, And not a sound but that low moan was heard. There is a moment when the boldest heart That would not stoop an inch to 'scape death's dart, That never shrunk from certain danger here, Will quail and shiver with an aguish fear; 'Tis when some unknown mischief hovers nigh, And heaven itself seems threatening from on high. Brave was our Basil, as became a man, Yet still his blood a little cooler ran, 'Twixt fear and wonder, at that murmur drear, That every moment wax'd more loud and near. The riddle soon was read--at last it came, And nature trembled to her inmost frame; The forest roar'd, the everlasting oak, In writhing agonies the storm bespoke, The live leaves scatter'd wildly everywhere, Whirl'd round in maddening circles in the air; The stoutest limbs were scatter'd all around, The stoutest trees a stouter master found, Crackling, and crashing, down they thundering go, And seem to crush the shrinking rocks below: Then the thick rain in gathering torrents pour'd, Higher the river rose, and louder roar'd,