Farewell thy printless sands and pebbly shore !
I hear the white surge beat thy coast no more,
Pure, gentle source of the high, rapturous mood!-

-

Where'er, like the great Flood, by thy dread force
Propell'd-shape Thou my calm, my blameless course,
Heaven, Earth, and Ocean's Lord!-and Father of the Good!

*

A CORRECTED AND MUCH ENLARGED EDITION, WITH NOTES.

LONDON :

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE Hill which gives title to the following Poem is situated in the western part of Dorsetshire. This choice of a subject, to which the Author was led by his residence near the spot, may seem perhaps to confine him to topics of mere rural and local description. But he begs leave here to inform the Reader that he has advanced beyond those narrow limits to something more general and important. On the other hand he trusts, that in his farthest

excursions the connexion between him and his sub