"Thus the sun's parting beams on the hills are delaying.
The vale's overshadowed where daily I roam;
But one lingering ray's on the waterfall playing,
Over deep Polh-an-eas with its bosom of foam.

As I stand in that glen so romantlo and lonely,
where the wild clover screams from its heath-bower of green.,
Nought now is heard save the cataract only,
And its echoes, that roll down the mountain ravine.

Polh~an~eas! how long, since a lover of nature,
With thrilling sensation of pleasure and awe,
First gazed on thy face; where each time-worn feature
Bears impress of Him who gave nature its law?

And ages shall roll as the spray that rolls o'er thee,
Unheeded, unfelt as the sigh of the gale;
When the heart that now pours its effusion before thee
Shall be laid in the dust a mere cloud of the vale."