THE ROCKY BOULDERS OF CORNWALL.

Piled on the lofty peaks of rugged Tors, Strewn down the smooth hill-slope and river-side, Scattered upon the lone and dreary moors, These ponderous mammoth forms for aye abide. Their cold gray hue at dawn's first livid beam Is bathed in golden light as hours roll on, And all bedecked they glow with purple gleam When sunset warns us that the day is done. As twilight fades, their outlines seem to change, And some appear to float on misty sea; Fantastic monsters take new forms, more strange, And scare belated wanderers on the lea. Just after nightfall, black and dim they rise, From shadowy depths of gloom and mystery,[1] Looming like spectral gnomes of giant size,[2] Shapeless and vague against the boding sky. On yonder height a nodding mass appears,[3] Crowning the rocky battlement so vast; Many a rude monolith itself uprears,[4] Bidding defiance to the angry blast. Wild legends hang about these time-worn stones; Some of them move—at dead of night—they say;[5] Others do sigh and utter troubled moans, As evil spirits near them wend their way. Some possess virtue—so 'tis even thought— To grant release from sickness, woe, and pain;[6] Whilst other stones such mystic spells have wrought, That envious crags have reft themselves in twain! Many were poised by Incantation's charm,[7] Some by the Giants fiercely have been flung![8] Others were wielded by some saintly arm,[9] In days when power was great, and faith was young. When midnight shrouds the mountains from our view, The phantom Huntsman's hounds are heard to bay; Unearthly goblins shriek their last adieu, While myriad corpse-lights glimmer on their way. There stands a group of death-struck impious folk[10] Just as they circled, so they must remain, Bound by a stony spell—until awoke To judgment in their flesh and blood again. Where dwellers on the ancient wilds have sought 'Neath sheltering clefts a refuge and a home, Coverts half-built, half-burrowed, they have wrought, Closed in above with blocks to form a dome.[11] When vivid lightning rends the towering rock,[12] And earthquakes do the human heart appal, When lurid flash vies with convulsive shock, The mighty landslip thunders to its fall! And while around the rocks of hill and dale Cling weird traditions of the dead and lost, So also is there many a doleful tale Haunting grim boulders on the frowning coast.[13] Hard by the scenes where pagan hosts have striven, And where their valiant chieftains fell, 'tis said, Great mounds are raised o'er slabs all roughly riven, Which serve to guard the ashes of the dead.[14] On Long Stones, set erect, brief words are traced,[15] Names of the mighty, and their noble sires— The memory of their deeds long since effaced!— In dark oblivion their renown expires. Some rude memorials bear the sacred sign Which shews a Christian has been laid beneath;[16] Nor need his relics any gilded shrine While the fair wild-flowers gem his native heath. Dotting the pilgrim-tracks across the moor At the Three-turnings, churchyard, market-place, Boulder-hewn symbols, carved in days of yore, Did guide the erring, and proclaim God's grace.