On, loitering Muse--the swift Stream chides us--on! Albeit his deep-worn channel doth immure Objects immense portrayed in miniature, Wild shapes for many a strange comparison! Niagaras, Alpine passes, and anon Abodes of Naiads, calm abysses pure, Bright liquid mansions, fashioned to endure When the broad oak drops, a leafless skeleton, And the solidities of mortal pride, Palace and tower, are crumbled into dust!-- The Bard who walks with Duddon for his guide, Shall find such toys of fancy thickly set: Turn from the sight, enamoured Muse--we must; And, if thou canst, leave them without regret!