Into a gradual calm the breezes [26] sink, [27] 115 A blue rim borders all the lake's still brink; There doth the twinkling aspen's foliage sleep, And insects clothe, like dust, the glassy deep: [28] And now, on every side, the surface breaks Into blue spots, and slowly lengthening streaks; 120 Here, plots of sparkling water tremble bright With thousand thousand twinkling points of light; There, waves that, hardly weltering, die away, Tip their smooth ridges with a softer ray; And now the whole wide lake in deep repose 125 Is hushed, and like a burnished mirror glows, [29] Save where, along the shady western marge, Coasts, with industrious oar, the charcoal barge. [30] Their panniered train a group of potters goad, Winding from side to side up the steep road; 130 The peasant, from yon cliff of fearful edge Shot, down the headlong path darts with his sledge; [31] Bright beams the lonely mountain-horse illume Feeding 'mid purple heath, "green rings," [K] and broom; While the sharp slope the slackened team confounds, 135 Downward [L] the ponderous timber-wain resounds; [32] In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song, Dashed o'er [33] the rough rock, lightly leaps along; From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet, Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat; 140 Sounds from the water-side the hammered boat; And 'blasted' quarry thunders, heard remote! Even here, amid the sweep of endless woods, Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs and falling floods, Not undelightful are the simplest charms, 145 Found by the grassy [34] door of mountain-farms. Sweetly ferocious, [M] round his native walks, Pride of [35] his sister-wives, the monarch stalks; Spur-clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread; A crest of purple tops the warrior's head. [36] 150 Bright sparks his black and rolling [37] eye-ball hurls Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls; [38] On tiptoe reared, he strains [39] his clarion throat, Threatened by faintly-answering farms remote: Again with his shrill voice the mountain rings, 155 While, flapped with conscious pride, resound his wings! [40] Where, mixed with graceful birch, the sombrous pine And yew-tree [41] o'er the silver rocks recline; I love to mark the quarry's moving trains, Dwarf panniered steeds, and men, and numerous wains: 160 How busy all [42] the enormous hive within, While Echo dallies with its [43] various din! Some (hear you not their chisels' clinking sound?) [44] Toil, small as pigmies in the gulf profound; Some, dim between the lofty [45] cliffs descried, 165 O'erwalk the slender [46] plank from side to side; These, by the pale-blue rocks that ceaseless ring, In airy baskets hanging, work and sing.[47]