Stay, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs On this commodious Seat! for much remains Of hard ascent before thou reach the top Of this huge Eminence,--from blackness named, And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land, 5 A favourite spot of tournament and war! But thee may no such boisterous visitants Molest; may gentle breezes fan thy brow; And neither cloud conceal, nor misty air Bedim, the grand terraqueous spectacle, 10 From centre to circumference, unveiled! Know, if thou grudge not to prolong thy rest, That on the summit whither thou art bound, A geographic Labourer pitched his tent, With books supplied and instruments of art, 15 To measure height and distance; lonely task, Week after week pursued!--To him was given Full many a glimpse (but sparingly bestowed On timid man) of Nature's processes Upon the exalted hills. He made report 20 That once, while there he plied his studious work Within that canvass Dwelling, colours, lines, And the whole surface of the out-spread map,[1] Became invisible: for all around Had darkness fallen--unthreatened, unproclaimed-- 25 As if the golden day itself had been Extinguished in a moment; total gloom, In which he sate alone, with unclosed eyes, Upon the blinded mountain's silent top! In the editions of 1815 and 1820, the note to the previous poem, _View from the top of Black Comb_, was appended to this one. In 1827 it was transferred to its appropriate and permanent place.--ED. VARIANTS: [1] 1837. Within that canvass Dwelling, suddenly The many-coloured map before his eyes 1815. NOVEMBER, 1813 Composed November 1813.--Published 1815 Included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty."--ED. Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright, Our aged Sovereign sits, to the ebb and flow Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe, Insensible. He sits deprived of sight, And lamentably wrapped in twofold night, 5 Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind ensued, Through perilous war, with regal fortitude, Peace that should claim respect from lawless Might. Dread King of Kings, vouchsafe a ray divine To his forlorn condition! let thy grace 10 Upon his inner[1] soul in mercy shine; Permit his heart to kindle, and to embrace[2] (Though it were[3] only for a moment's space) The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE!