Chapter 16 No.16

The western waves of ebbing day

185 Rolled o'er the glen their level way;

Each purple peak, each flinty spire,

Was bathed in floods of living fire.

But not a setting beam could glow

Within the dark ravines below,

190 Where twined the path in shadow hid,

Round many a rocky pyramid,

Shooting abruptly from the dell

Its thund