What He--who, mid the kindred throng Of Heroes that inspired his song, Doth yet frequent the hill of storms, The stars dim-twinkling through their forms! What! Ossian here--a painted Thrall, 5 Mute fixture on a stuccoed wall; To serve--an unsuspected screen For show that must not yet be seen; And, when the moment comes, to part And vanish by mysterious art; 10 Head, harp, and body, split asunder, For ingress to a world of wonder; A gay saloon, with waters dancing Upon the sight wherever glancing; One loud cascade in front, and lo! 15 A thousand like it, white as snow-- Streams on the walls, and torrent-foam As active round the hollow dome, Illusive cataracts! of their terrors Not stripped, nor voiceless in the mirrors, 20 That catch the pageant from the flood Thundering adown a rocky wood. What pains to dazzle and confound! What strife of colour, shape and sound In this quaint medley, that might seem 25 Devised out of a sick man's dream![27] Strange scene, fantastic and uneasy As ever made a maniac dizzy, When disenchanted from the mood That loves on sullen thoughts to brood! 30 O Nature--in thy changeful visions, Through all thy most abrupt transitions[28] Smooth, graceful, tender, or sublime-- Ever averse to pantomime, Thee neither do they know nor us 35 Thy servants, who can trifle thus; Else verily[29] the sober powers Of rock that frowns, and stream that roars, Exalted by congenial sway Of Spirits, and the undying Lay, 40 And Names that moulder not away, Had wakened[30] some redeeming thought More worthy of this favoured Spot; Recalled some feeling--to set free The Bard from such indignity! 45