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Walter Scott - Waverly
Work rating: Low

Late, when the Autumn evening fell
On Mirkwood–Mere`s romantic dell,
The lake return`d, in chasten’d gleam,
The purple cloud, the golden beam:
Reflected in the crystal pool,
Headland and bank lay fair and cool;
The weather-tinted rock and tower,
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower,
So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
As if there lay beneath the wave,
Secure from trouble, toil, and care,
A world than earthly world more fair.

But distant winds began to wake,
And roused the Genius of the Lake!
He heard the groaning of the oak,
And donn`d at once his sable cloak,
As warrior, at the battle-cry,
Invests him with his panoply:
Then, as the whirlwind nearer press’d
He `gan to shake his foamy crest
O`er furrow`d brow and blacken`d cheek,
And bade his surge in thunder speak.
In wild and broken eddies whirl`d.
Flitted that fond ideal world,
And to the shore in tumult tost
The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

Yet, with a stern delight and strange,
I saw the spirit-stirring change,
As warr`d the wind with wave and wood,
Upon the ruin`d tower I stood,
And felt my heart more strongly bound,
Responsive to the lofty sound,
While, joying in the mighty roar,
I mourn’d that tranquil scene no more.

So, on the idle dreams of youth,
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth,
Bids each fair vision pass away,
Like landscape on the lake that lay,
As fair, as flitting, and as frail,
As that which fled the Autumn gale.-— 
For ever dead to fancy`s eye
Be each gay form that glided by,
While dreams of love and lady`s charms
Give place to honour and to arms!
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