From whence they did, at foot of yon high hill, As on a lake a floating isle they saw: Now lost, now found, upon the surface still, Rising as if to make for yonder shore; And now hot spouting wells in columns pour, Scald’d springs that rise from bowell’d-heated earth, That boil and bubbling flow with steamy store From out the surfaced ground, since Time’s rude birth, Oft found by sickly crowds t’ impart its healing worth. LXXIII. In quest of Nature in her pristine prime, Her freaks of masonry majestic wrought; Such “Fingal’s cave” by Staffa’s isle sublime, Whose entrance-arch the eye magnific caught; And columns reared high roofed, and deftly fraught, With yon fair other, named the “Cormorant’s cave,” Whom that lone bird its dreary cavern sought, When ocean dread with cadence loud doth lave, Far heard on sounding shore, its sadly moaning wave. LXXIV. Or where Killarney lifts its monstrous head, From whence cascades rush headlong tumbling down, Where, too, the royal bird doth rear its bed, Th’ eagle’s nest! so called and proudly known; Where echo dwells and calls the spot her own, Whom hid unseen, her voice through cave far deep, Re-echoes from her haunts seclusion lone, ’Mid wood and rocks where sparkling waters leap, And answer vocal gives, from every mountain steep. LXXV. Their vision bland beheld the Isle of Skye, Whose famed basaltic columns reared their head, Where falcon’s sweep, and num’rous wild birds fly, Here hither woo’d by crag and fastness led; And there by Swinna rushed two whirlpools dread, In huge circumference, cone-like, dang’rous played, As heedless vessels neared sucked down its bed, In ’whelming vortex depthless all conveyed; A sorry fate for souls, who there unweeting strayed. LXXVI. He thence did guide them to more placid scene, Where frowning Jura overlooked fair lake, That ran ’tween banks of ever verdant green, Whose waters sparkling led did rippling break, In murm’ring sweetness, heard for murmurs’ sake, And there the sun, ymolten, all beside Himself did cast bright beams his thirst to slake, In that so smooth and sweet transparent tide, Where gondolas, dressed gay, did on its surface glide. LXXVII. The thronging crowd that press’d each marvel see, That he the mentor Bard did deftly show, Were now called off by word of energy, That from his honeyed gentle lips did flow; Delectable in speech he was, I trow, With learned lore, and mild instruction fraught, And knowledge such as blessed only know, Based on eternal truth, ’twas thus he taught, Nor cared he more to teach, none other had he sought. LXXVIII.