The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles ... With memoir, critical dissertation, and explanatory notes, by the Rev. George Gilfillan

Front matter

W. L. BOWLES' POETICAL WORKS. EDINBURGH : *»»*»> B,_ULLAOTT«xU„,oo«A«, S* —^^-SJJORK. THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES, CANON OF ST PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, AND RECTOR OF EREMHILL. auttf) Memoir, Critical Dissertation, anD Œrplanatorg Ji3)ote*s, BY THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. VOL. II. EDINBURGH: JAMES NICHOL, 9 NOETH BANK STREET. LONDON : JAMES NISBET AND CO. DUBLIN : W. ROBERTSON. M.DCCC.LV. MEMOIE AND CEITICISM ON THE WOKKS OF THE KEY. ¥. L. BOWLES. The poetry of each age may be considered as vitally con nected with, and as vividly reflective of, its character and progress, as either its politics or its religion. You see the nature of the soil of a garden in its tulips and roses, as much as in its pot-herbs and its towering trees. We purpose, ac cordingly, to compare briefly the poetry of the past and of the present centuries, as indices of some of the points of contrast between the two, and to show also how, and through what causes, the one grew into the other.

This will be a fitting introduction to a consideration of the life and writings of the first of the poets of • this century included in our series, the more as he was in a measure the father of modern poetry. It is impossible to take up a volume of the poetry of the eighteenth century, such as, for instance, Churchill's, or Pope's, or Johnson's, and to compare it with some of the leading poetical works of the present, such as the poems of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, and Byron, and not to feel as if you were reading the productions of two different races of beings — so different are the style, the sentiments, the modes of thought, the imagery, the temperament, and the b MEMOIR AND CRITICISM ON THE VI spirit of the poets and the poetry. It is like stepping, we will not say from the frigid, but from the temperate into the torrid zone.

In the one class of authors you find the prevalence of strong sense, flanked by wit and by fancy, but without much that can be called imaginative or romantic. In the other, imagination or fancy is the regnant faculty ; and if wit and sense are there too, they are there as slaves, the " Slaves of the lamp," to the imperious imaginative power. The style of the one is clear, masculine, sententious, and measured ; that of the other is bold, unmeasured, diffuse, fervid, and some times obscure. The one style may be compared to a clear crescent ; the other to a full, but partially eclipsed, moon. The sentiment of the one is chiefly the sublimation of pas sion : bitter contempt, noble indignation, a proud, stern patriotism, sometimes united with a sombre, but manly melancholy, are the principal feelings expressed ; that of the other, although occasionally morbid, is far more varied, more profound, purer, on the whole, and more poetical.

Preface

.1 The estimation of a Poem of this nature must depend, first, on its arrange ment, plan, and disposition ; secondly, on the judgment, propriety, and feeling with which — in just aud proper succession and relief — picture, pathos, moral and religious reflections, historical notices, or affecting incidents, are interwoven. The reader will, in the next place, attend to the versification, or music, in which the thoughts are conveyed. Shakspeare and Milton are the great masters of the verse I have adopted. But who can be heard after them ? The reader, however, will at least find no specimens of sonorous harmony end ing with such significant words as " of," " and," " if," " but," etc of which we have had lately some splendid examples. I would therefore only request of him to observe, that when such passages occur in this poem as "vanish ing," "hush!" etc. it was from design, and not from want of ear.2 An intermixture of images and characters from common life might be thought, at first sight, out of keeping with the higher tone of general colouring ; but the interspersion of the comic, provided the due mock-heroic stateliness be kept up in the language, has often the effect of light and shade, as will be apparent on looking at Cowper's exquisite " Task," although he has often " offended against taste."

The only difficulty is happily to steer " from grave to gay." So far respecting the plan, the execution, the versification, and style. As to the sentiments conveyed in this poem, and in the notes, I must explicitly de clare, that when I am convinced, as a clergyman and a magistrate, that there has been an increase of crime, owing, among other causes, to the system pur sued by some " nominal Christians," who will not preach " these three " (faith, hope, and charity) according to the order of St Paul, but keep two of these graces, and the greatest of all, out of sight, upon any human plea or pretension; when they do not preach, " Add to your faith virtue ; " when they will not preach, Christ died for the sins of " the world, and not for ours only ; " when, from any pleas of their own, or persuaded by any sophistry or faction, they 1 This poem, published in 1829, was dedicated to Dr Henry Law, the Bishop of B;tth and Wells 2 Of blank verse of the kind to which I have alluded, I am tempted to give a specimen : — " *Twas summer, and we sailed to Greenwich in A four-oared boat.

The sun was shining, and The scenes delightful; while we gazed on The river winding, till we landed al The Ship." become, most emphatically, " dumb dogs" to the sublime and affecting moral parts of that gospel which they have engaged before God to deliver ; and above all, when crimes, as I am verily persuaded have been, are, and must be, the consequence of such public preaching, — leaving others to " stand or fall" to their own God ; I shall be guided by my own understanding, and the plain Word of God, as I find it earnestly, simply, beautifully, and divinely set before me by Christ and his Apostles ; and so feeling, I shall as fearlessly deliver my own opinions, being assured, whether popular or unpopular, whether they offend this man or that, this sect or that sect, they will not easily be shaken.

I might ask, why did St Paul add, so emphatically, " these three," when he enumerated the Christian graces ? Doubtless, because he thought the dis tinction very important. Why did St Peter 3ay, " Add to your faith virtue " ? Because he thought it equally important and essential. Why did St John say, " Christ died for the sins of the whole world, aud not for ours only " ? Because he thought it equally important and necessary. Never omitting the atonement, justification by faith, the fruits of the Spirit, and never separating faith from its hallowed fellowship, we shall find all other parts of the gospel unite in harmonious subordination ; but if we shade the moral parts down, leave them out, contradict them, by insidious sophistry, the Scripture, so far from being " rightly divided," will be discordant and clash ing.

The man, be he whom he may, who preaches " faith " without charity; who preaches "faith without virtue," is as pernicious and false an expounder of the divine message, as he who preaches " good works," without their legi timate and only foundation — Christian faith. One would suppose, from the language of some preachers, the " civil," "decent," " moral " people, from the times of Baxter to the present, want amendment most. We all know that mere morals, which have no Christian basis, are not the gospel of Christ ; but 1 might tell Richard, with great respect notwithstanding, for I respect his sincerity and his heart, that, at least, "decent," and " civil," and "moral" people,1 are not worse than indecent, immoral, and uncivil people ; and when there are so many of these last, I think a word or two of reproof would not much hurt them, let the " decent " " moral," and " civil " be as ivicked as they may.

I hope it is not necessary for me to disclaim, in speaking of facts, the most remote idea of throwing a slight on the sincerely pious of any portion of the community ; but, if religion does not invigorate the higher feelings and priu ciples of moral obligation; if a heartless and hollow jargon is often substituted for the fundamental laws of Christiau obedience ; if ostentatious affectation supersedes the meek, unobtrusive character of feminine devotion ; if a petty peculiarity of system, a kind of conventional code of godliness] usurps the place of the specific righteousness, visible in its fruits, " of what soever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are lovely ; " if, to be fluent and flippant in the jargou of this petty peculiarity of code, is made the criterion of exclusive godliness ; when, by thousands and thousands, after the example of Hawker, and others of the same school, Christianity is represented as having neither " an if, or but," the conclusion being left for the innumerable disciples of such a gospel school; when because none-" no, not one "—is without sin, and none can stand' upright 1 Baxter's " Saints' Rest." in the sight of Him whose eyes are too pure to behold iniquity, they who have exercised themselves to " have a conscience void of offence toward God and man," though sensible of innumerable offences, are considered, by implica tion, before God, as no better than Burkes or Thurtles, for the imputation of utter depravity must mean this, or be mere hollow verba et voces ; when amusements, or recreations, vicious only in their excess, are proclaimed as national abominations, while real abominations stalk abroad, as is the case in large manufacturing towns, with " the Lord," " the Lord," on the lips of some of the most depraved ; when, from these causes, I do sincerely believe the heart has been hardened, and the understanding deteriorated, the wide effects being visible on the great criminal body of the nation,— I conceive I do a service to Evangelical Religion by speaking as I feel of that ludicrous caricature which so often in society usurps its name, and apes and disgraces its divine character.

I am not among those who divide the clergy of the Church of England into classes ; and I think it my duty ingenuously to declare, that the opinions I have expressed of the effects of such public doctrines as I have described, be they preached or published by whom they may, were written without com .nunication with any one living. I think it right to declare this, most ex plicitly, lest the distinguished person to whom this poem is inscribed, might be supposed to have any participation in such sentiments ; though, I trust, no possible objection could be made to the manly avowal of my opinion of the injurious effects of Antinomian, or shades of Antinomian doctrines. Further, the object of my remarks is not piety, but ostentatious publicity and affectation, — far more disgusting in the assumed garb of female piety than under any shape ; and often attended by acting far more disgusting than any acting on any stage.

BANWELL CAVE. The following extract of a letter from Mr Warner will enable the reader to form his own opinion concerning the vast accumulation of bones in this cave : — " The sagacity of Mr Beard having detected the existence of the cavern, and his perseverance effected a precipitous descent into it, the objects offered to his notice were of the most astonishing and paradoxical description — ' an antre vast,' rude from the band of nature, of various elevations, and branching into several recesses ; its floor overspread with a huge mingled mass of bones and mud, black earth (or decomposed animal matter), and sand from the Severn sea, which flows about six miles to the northward of Banwell village. The quantity of bones, and the mode by which they could be conveyed to, and deposited in, the place they occupied, were points of equal difficulty to be explained : as the former amounted to several waggon loads ; and as no access to the cavern appeared to exist, except a fissure from above, utterly incapable, from its narrow dimensions, of admitting the falling in of any animal larger than a common sheep ; whereas it was evident that huge quadrupeds, such as unknown beasts of the ox tribe, bears, wolves, and pro bably hyenas and tigers, had perished in the cave.

But, though the questions how and when were unanswerable, this conclusion was irresistibly forced upon the mind, by the phenomena submitted to the eye, that, as the receptacle was infinitely too small to contain such a crowd of animals in their living state, they must necessarily have occupied it in succession : one portion of them after another paying the debt of nature, and (leaving their bones only, as a memorial of their existence on the spot) thus making room in the cavern for a succeeding set of inhabitants, of similarly ferocious habits to themselves. The difficulty, indeed, of the ingress of such beasts into the cave did not long continue to be invincible ; as Mr Beard discovered and cleared out a lateral aperture in it, sufficiently inclining from the perpendicular, and sufficiently large in its dimensions, to admit of the easy descent into this subterraneous apartment of one of its unwieldy tenants, though loaded with its prey.

" From the circumstances premised, you will probably anticipate my thoughts on these remarkable phenomena ; if not, they are as follow : — I consider the cavern to have been formed at the period of the original deposi tion and consolidation of the matter constituting the mountain limestone in. which it is found ; possibly by the agency of some elastic gas, imprisoned in the mass, which prevented the approximation of its particles to each other ; or by some unaccountable interruption to the operation of the usual laws of its crystallization ; — that, for a long succession of ages anterior to the Deluge, and previously to man's inhabiting the colder regions of the earth, Banwell Cave had been inhabited by successive generations of beasts of prey ; which, as hunger dictated, issued from their den, pursued and slaughtered the gregarious animals, or wilder quadrupeds, in its neighbourhood ; and dragged them, either bodily or piecemeal, to this retreat, in order to feast upon them at leisure, and undisturbed ; — that the bottom of the cavern thus became a kind of charnel-house, of various and unnumbered beasts ; — that this scene of excursive carnage continued till ' the flood came,' blending ' the oppressor with the oppressed,' and mixing the hideous furniture of the den with a quantity of extraneous matter, brought from the adjoining shore, and sub jacent lands, by the waters of the Deluge, which rolled, surging (as Kirwan imagines), from the northwestern quarter ; — that, previously to this total sub mersion, as the flood increased on the lower grounds, the animals which fed upon them ascended the heights of Mendip, to escape impending death ; and with panic rushed (as many as could gain entrance) into this dwelling place of their worst enemies ; — that numberless birds also, terrified by the elemental tumult, flew into the same den, as a place of temporary refuge ; — that the interior of the cavern was speedilly filled by the roaring Deluge, whose waters, dashing and crushing the various substances which they embraced, against the rugged rocks, or against each other ; and con tinuing this violent and incessant action for at least three months, at length tore asunder every connected form, separated every skeleton, and produced that confusion of substances, that scene of disjecta membra, that mixture and disjunction of bones, which were apparent on the first inspection of the cavern ; and which are now visible in that part of it which has been hitherto untouched."

Respecting the language of the Poem, I had nearly forgotten one re mark. In almost all the local poems I have read, there is a confusion of the following nature. A local descriptive poem must consist, first, of the graphic view of the scenery around the spot from whence the view is taken; and, secondly, of the reflections and feelings which that view may be supposed to excite. The feelings of the heart naturally asso ciate themselves with the idea of the tones of the supposed poetical harp ; but external scenes are the province of the pencil, for the harp cannot paint woods and hills, and therefore, in almost all descriptive poems, the pencil and the lyre clash. Hence, in one page, the poet speaks of his lyre, and in the next, when he leaves feelings to paint to the eye, before the harp is out of the hand, he turns to the pencil !

This fault is almost inevitable ; the reader, therefore, will see in the first page of this Poem, that the graphic pencil is assumed, when the tones of the harp were inappropriate. ARGUMENT. PART FIRST. Introduction— Retrospect— General view— Cave— Bones— Brief sketch of events since the deposit — Egypt — Druid — Roman — Saxon — Dane— Norman —Hill— Campanula— Bleadon— Weston— Steep Holms— Solitary flower en Steep Holms, the Peony— Flat Holms— Three unknown graves— Sea — Sea treacherous in its tranquillity — Mr Elton's children— Packet-boat sunk. PART SECOND. First sound of the sea — First sight of the sea— Mother — Children — Uphill parsonage — Father — Wells clock — Clock figure — Contrast of village manners — Village maid — Rural nymph before the justices — State of agriculturil districts— Cause of crime — Workhouse girl — Manufactory ranters — Prosing parson — Prig parson — Calvinistic commentators, etc. — Anti-moral preaching — True and false piety — Crimes passed over by anti-moral preachers — Bible, without note or comment — English Juggernaut — Village picture of Coombe — Villageschool children, educated by Mrs P. Scrope — Annual meeting on the lawn of 140 children — Old nurse — Benevolence of English landlords — Poor widow and daughter — Stourhead — Ken at Longleat — Marstor house — Early travels in Switzerland — Compton house — Clergyman's wife — Village clergyman.

PART THIRD. A tale of a Cornish maid — Her prayer-book— Her mother — Widow and son — Tales of sea life — Phantom-ship of the Cape. PART FOURTH. Solitary sea— Ship — Sea scenes of Southampton contrasted — Solitary sand- Young Lady — Severn — Walton Castle — Picture of Bristol — Congresburj — Brockley-Coombe— Fayland — Cottage— Poor Dinah — Goblin- Coombe — Langford court — Mendip lodge — Wrington — Blagdon — Author of the turns of " Auld Robin Gray " — Auld Robin Gray — Auld Lang Syne. PART FIFTH. Lang syne — Return to the Delnge — Vision of the Flood — Archangel — Trump Voice — Phantom-horse — Dove of the Ark — Dove ascending — Conclusion. PART FIRST. INTRODUCTION— GENERAL VIEW— CAVE— ASCENT— VIEW- STEEP HOLMS-FLAT HOLMS— SEA. If, gazing from this eminence, I wake, With thronging thoughts, the harp of poesy Once more, ere night descend, haply with tones Fainter, and haply with a long farewell ; If, looking back upon the lengthened way My feet have trod, since, long ago, I left Those well-known shores, and when mine eyes are filled With tears, I take the pencil in its turn, And shading light the landscape spread below, So smilingly beguile those starting tears ; 10 Something, the feelings of the human heart — Something, the scene itself, and something more — A wish to gratify one generous mind — May plead for pardon.

To this spot I came To view the dark memorials of a world1 1 The reader is referred to Dr Buckland's most interesting illustrations of these remains of a former world. The Bishop of Bath and Wells has built a picturesqne and appropriate cottage near the cave, on the hill commanding this fine view. Perished at the Almighty's voice, and swept 17 With all its noise away ! Since then, unmarked, In that rude cave those dark memorials lay, And told no tale ! Spirit of other times, Sad shadow of the ancient world, come forth ! Thou who has slept four thousand years, awake ! Rise from the cavern's last recess, and say, What giant cleft in twain the neighbouring rocks,1 Then slept for ages in vast Ogo's Cave,2 And left them rent and frowning from that hour ; Say, rather, when the stern Archangel stood, Above the tossing of the flood, what arm Shattered this mountain, and its hollow chasm so Heaped with the mute memorials of that doom !

Spirit of other times, thou speakest not ! Yet who could gaze a moment on that wreck Of desolation, but must pause to think Of the mutations of the globe — of time, Hurrying to onward spoil — of his own life, Swift passing, as the summer light, away — Of Him who spoke, and the dread storm went fortb The surge came, and the surge went back, and there — There — when the black abyss had ceased to roar, 40 And waters, shrinking from the rocks and hills, Slept in the solitary sunshine—there The bones that strew the inmost cavern lay : And when forgotten centuries had passed, And the gray smoke went up from villages, And cities, with their towers and temples, shone, And kingdoms rose and perished — there they lay ! The crow sailed o'er the spot ; the villager ■The stupendous Cheddar Cliffs, in the neighbourhood. — > Wookey, Antrum Ogonis.

Plodded to morning toil, yet undisturbed They lay : — when, lo ! as if but yesterday 49 The Archangel's trump had thundered o'er the deep, The mighty shade of ages that are passed Towers into light ! Say, Christian, is it true, That dim recess, that cavern, heaped with bones, Will echo to thy Bible ! But a while Here let me stand, and gaze upon the scene ; That headland, and those winding sands, and mark The morning sunshine, on that very shore Where once a child I wandered. Oh ! return, (I sigh) return a moment, days of youth, 60 Of childhood, — oh, return ! How vain the thought, Vain as unmanly ! yet the pensive Muse, Unblamed, may dally with imaginings ; For this wide view is like the scene of life, Once traversed o'er with carelessness and glee, And we look back upon the vale of years, And hear remembered voices, and behold, In blended colours, images and shades Long passed, now rising, as at Memory's call, Again in softer light. 70 I see thee not, Home of my infancy — I see thee not, Thou fane that standest on the hill alone,1 The homeward sailor's sea-mark ; but I view Brean Down beyond ; and there thy winding sands, Weston ; and, far away, oue wandering ship, Where stretches into mist the Severn sea.

There, mingled with the clouds, old Cambria draws Its stealing line of mountains, lost in haze ; There, in mid-channel, sit the sister holms,2 80 1 Uphill church.—2 Flat and Steep Holms. Secure and tranquil, though the tide's vast sweep, 82 As it rides by, might almost seem to rive The deep foundations of the earth again, Threatening, as once, resistless, to ascend In tempest to this height, to bury here Fresh-weltering carcases ! But, lo, the Cave ! Descend the steps, cut rudely in the rock, Cautious. The yawning vault is at our feet ! 90 Long caverns, winding within caverns, spread On either side their labyrinths ; all dark, Save where the light falls glimmering on huge bones, In mingled multitudes. Ere yet we ask Whose bones, and of what animals they formed The structure, when no human voice was heard In all this isle ; look upward to the roof That silent drips, and has for ages dripped, From which, like icicles, the stalactites Depend : then ask of the geologist, 100 How nature, vaulting the rude chamber, scooped Its vast recesses * he with learning vast Will talk of limestone rock, of stalactites, And oolites, and hornblende, and graywacke — With sounds almost as craggy as the rock Of which he speaks — feldspar, and gneis, and schorl !

But let us learn of this same troglodyte,1 Who guides us through the winding labyrinth, The erudite " Professor " of the cave, Not of the college ; stagyrite of bones. no He leads, with flickering candle, through the heaps Himself has piled, and placed in various forms, Grotesque arrangement, while the cave itself 1 Mr Beard, of Banwell, called familiarly " the Professor," but in reality the guide. Seems but his element of breathing ! Look ! 114 This humereus is that of the wild ox. The very candle, as with sympathy, Flares while he speaks, in glimmering wonderment ! But who can mark these visible remains, Nor pause to think how awful, and how true, The dread event they speak ! What monuments 120 Hath man, since then, the lord, the emmet, raised On earth ! He hath built pyramids, and said, Stand there ! and in their solitude they stood, Whilst, like the camel's shadow on the sands Beneath them years and ages passed.

He said, My name shall never die ! and like the God Of silence,1 with his finger on his lip, Oblivion mocked, then pointed to a tomb, 'Mid vast and winding vaults, without a name. Where art thou, Thebes 1 The chambers of the dead 130 Echo, Behold ! and twice ten thousand men, Even in their march of rapine and of blood, Involuntary halted,2 at the sight Of thy majestic wreck, for many a league — Sphynxes, colossal fanes, and obelisks — Pale in the morning sun ! Ambition sighed A moment, and passed on. In this rude isle, The Druid altars frowned ; and still they stand, As silent as the barrows at their feet, Yet tell the same stern tale. Soldier of Rome, 140 Art thou come hither to this land remote Hid in the oceanwaste \ Thy chariot wheels Rung on that road below !3 — Cohorts, and tunns, With their centurions, in long file appear, Their golden eagles glittering to the sun, 1 Egyptian god of silence. — *" Halt of the French army at the sight of the ruins. — * The Roman way passes immediately under Banwell.

O'er the last line of spears ; and standard-flags 146 Wave, and the trumpets sounding to advance, And shields, and helms, and crests, and chariots, mark The glorious march of Cæsar's soldiery, Firing the gray horizon ! They are passed ! iso And, like a gleam of glory, perishing, Leave but a name behind ! So passes man, An armed spectre o'er a field of blood, And vanishes ; and other armed shades Pass by, red battle hurtling as they pass. The Saxon kings have strewed their palaces From Thames to Tyne. But, lo ! the sceptre shakes ; The Dane, remorseless as the hurricane That sweeps his native cliff's, harries the land ! What terror strode before his track of blood ! 160 What hamlets mourned his desultory march, When on the circling hills, along the sea, The beacon-flame shone nightly ! He has passed !

Now frowns the Norman victor on his throne, And every cottage shrouds its lonely fire, As the sad curfew sounds. Yet Piety, With new-inspiring energies, awoke, And ampler polity : in woody vales, In unfrequented wilds, and forest-glens, The towers of the sequestered abbey shone, no As when the pinnacles of Glaston-Fane First met the morning light. The parish church, Then too, exulting o'er the ruder cross, Upsprung, till soon the distant village peal Flings out its music, where the tapering spire Adds a new picture to the sheltered vale. Uphill, thy rock, where sits the lonely church, Above the sands, seems like the chronicler Of other times, there left to tell the tale ! But issuing from the cave, look round, behold iso How proudly the majestic Severn rides On to the sea ; how gloriously in light It rides !

Along this solitary ridge, Where smiles, but rare, the blue campanula, Among the thistles and gray stones that peep Through the thin herbage, to the highest point Of elevation, o'er the vale below, Slow let us climb. First look upon that flower, The lowly heath-bell, smiling at our feet. How beautiful it smiles alone ! The Power iso That bade the great sea roar, that spread the heavens, That called the sun from darkness, decked that flower, And bade it grace this bleak and barren hill. Imagination, in her playful mood, Might liken it to a poor village maid, Lowly, but smiling in her lowliness, And dressed so neatly as if every day Were Sunday. And some melancholy bard Might, idly musing, thus discourse to it : — Daughter of Summer, who dost linger here, 200 Decking the thistly turf, and arid hill, Unseen, let the majestic dahlia Glitter, an empress, in her blazonry Of beauty * let the stately lily shine, As snow-white as the breast of the proud swan Sailing upon the blue lake silently, That lifts her tall neck higher as she views Her shadow in the stream!

Such ladies bright May reign unrivalled in their proud parterres ! Thou wouldst not live with them ; but if a voice, 210 Fancy, in shaping mood, might give to thee, To the forsaken primrose thou wouldst say — Come, live with me, and we two will rejoice : 230 been 240 Nor want I company ; for when the sea Shines in the silent moonlight, elves and fays, Gentle and delicate as Ariel, That do their spiritings on these wild holts, Circle me in their dance, and sing such songs As human ear ne'er heard ! But cease the strain, Lest wisdom and severer truth should chide. Behind that windmill, sailing round and round, Like days on days revolving, Bleadon lies, Where first I pondered on the grammar-lore, Sad as the spelling-book, beneath the roof Of its secluded parsonage ; Brean Down Emerges o'er the edge of Hutton Hill, Just seen in paler light !