The troubled tomb’s presumptuous guest;
As of step profane aware,
Round me, more and more they glare.--
HERVARDOR, HIARVARDOR,--keep
Lasting slumber!--HRANI sleep!
And sleep ARGANTYR!--Chiefs of might,
Quiet be your mornless night!
INSCRIPTIONS.
EACH WRITTEN ON A CARD INCLOSED IN A LETTER-CASE,
NETTED BY THE AUTHOR,
AND PRESENTED TO HER FRIENDS.
TO MRS WINGFIELD OF SHREWSBURY.
OCTOBER 1794.
Since each soft virtue of domestic life,
Of tender parent, and of faithful wife,
Kind sister, duteous daughter, friend sincere,
Found in thy bosom a congenial sphere,
Whence all their purest emanations flow’d,
With pity melted, with affection glow’d,
So may each paper, which shall slumber here,
Thro’ many a vexing, many a waning year,
Speak of thy weal, and speak of their’s whose doom
Thy future days must darken, or illume.
TO MISS WINGFIELD OF SHREWSBURY.[67]
OCTOBER 1794.
Oft, when thy hands shall slip this rosy string,
Her may its nets to thy remembrance bring,
Who, as she wove them, still invok’d for thee
A fate from care, regret, and anguish free;
Each night, that health and peace may seal thine eyes,
Each morning prove a harbinger of joys,
That life, which must pass on, may glide, the while,
Mild as thy glance and cheering as thy smile!
TO MISS CATHERINE WINGFIELD.
OCTOBER 1794.
O may this silken prison long contain
Love’s tender vows, and Friendship’s cordial strain!
Yet ne’er for thee, may sorrow’s darken’d hours
Require, lov’d maid, their sympathetic powers;
Still may indulgent Heaven, with guardian care,
Ordain thee happy, as it form’d thee fair!
TO MISS REMMINGTON, OF LICHFIELD.[68]
JANUARY 1795.
Ne’er, sweet MARIA, may this net enfold
The lines of faithless love, or friend grown cold,
But those blest Talismans, whose spells can smooth
Life’s thorny path, and all its sorrows sooth!
Yet may thy ruling star so kindly glow
That few the thorns, and vanishing the woe!
TO MISS FERN OF LICHFIELD.
APRIL 1795.
If e’er, ELIZA, grief awakes thy sigh,
Pales that red lip, or dims that lucid eye,
O may this gay envelop then contain,
From hands belov’d, the lenitives of pain;
Yet seldom may thy fair and prosperous fate
Demand the pensive sympathetic trait,
But Friendship, tender, fervent, and sincere,
Breathe the glad strains of gratulation here!
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LADY ELEANOR BUTLER,
WITH THE SAME PRESENT.
Thou, who with firm, free step, as life arose,
Led thy loved friend where sacred Deva flows,
On Wisdom’s cloudless sun with thee to gaze,
And build your eyrie on that rocky maze;
Ah, ELEANORA! wilt thou gently deign
To bid these nets the tribute lines contain,
When Virtue, Genius, Rank, and Wealth, combine,
To pay ow’d homage at so pure a shrine?
And O! when kindling with the lovely theme,
The blest reality of Hope’s fond dream,
Friendship, that bliss unshar’d disdains to know,
Nor sees, nor feels one unpartaken woe;
When for such worth, in each exalted mind,
Resolv’d as man, and more than woman kind,
Their warm admirers ask a length of years,
Unchill’d by terror, and unstain’d by tears,
Then may the fervent benedictions lie!
And long, long hence meet ELEANORA’S eye,
While with her ZARA’S it shall frequent rove
The treasur’d records of esteem, and love!
TO MISS PONSONBY.
Seek, roseate net, inchanting ZARA’S hand,
And, tho’ unworthy, say thy fold aspires
To guard the gentle scriptures, where expand
Deserved attachment’s tributary fires!
Say, that in no charm’d spirit livelier dwells,
Than hers who wove thee, each ingenuous trace
Of the fair story this retirement tells,
The minds that sought it, and the forms that grace;
Davidean friendship, emulation warm,[69]
Coy blossoms, perishing in courtly air,
Its vain parade, restraint, and irksome form,
Cold as the ice, tho’ with the comet’s glare.
By firmness won, by constancy secured,
Ye nobler pleasures, be ye long their meed,
Theirs, who, each meteor vanity abjured,
The life of Angels in an Eden lead.
INSCRIPTIONS,
SEALED UP AND INCLOSED IN NET LETTER-CASES,
PRESENTED TO THE
CHARITABLE REPOSITORY AT LICHFIELD.
TO THE YOUNG MARRIED LADY WHO HUMANELY PURCHASES THIS TRIFLE.
SEPTEMBER 1800.
If, gentle Lady, thou hast paid
Thy faithful vows at Hymen’s shrine,
Oft in these silken folds be laid
Each tender animated line,
Which absent Love sincerely pours
As business urges forc’d delay;
Kind sun-beams of the winter’d hours,
When thy dear Lord is far away.
And, gentle Lady, round thy knees
Do blooming infants gaily sport,
With duteous smiles essay to please,
With lifted eyes thy favour court?
O! may their virtues noon-tide rays,
That now, in Life’s fresh morning dawn,
Illuminate thy waning days,
When Time’s dim veils are o’er thee drawn!
TO THE YOUNG UNMARRIED LADY, WHO PURCHASES ME.
SEPTEMBER 1800.
Sweet maid, is thy soft, snowy hand
Unplighted yet, and gaily free?
O may thy graces soon command
A power, that shall resemble me!
Since me a silken cage thou’lt find
For all thy future swains fond letters,
And may thy charms his wishes bind
In as indissoluble fetters!
And when, enamour’d, he shall yield
All power his freedom to regain,
With sense, and smiles, and virtue, gild
His viewless, but eternal chain!
LYDIA LETTER-CASE.
TO THE LADY,
WHETHER SINGLE OR MARRIED, WHO SHALL CHARITABLY PURCHASE THIS TRIFLE.
SEPTEMBER 1800.
If, Lady, thou art fair, take heed, I pray,
That more than charms exterior round thee play!
Each sun, that looks on Beauty, wastes her power,
E’en as it feeds, and fades, the summer flower;
Then O! collect, against such failing sway,
Charms of the mind, that fear no pale decay;
And, as the holly’s cluster’d berries rise
Bright in the year’s dim wane, and icy skies,
So may those charms, when fled thy youthful prime,
Glow with gay strength amid the snows of time!
TO THE LADY
WHO MAY PURCHASE THIS ENVELOPE, AND WHO MAY NOT BE A CELEBRATED BEAUTY.
SEPTEMBER 1800.
In courts and balls each undistinguish’d face,
Boasting nor Hebe’s bloom, nor Helen’s grace,
To no more purpose of delight is there,
Than to enhance the triumphs of the fair;
Obscured, near Beauty’s shining forms to stray,
As moon and stars around the sun by day;
Or by that homage find their pride sustain’d
Which their eclipsing rivals had disdain’d;
The wretched gleanings, with tired hand, to rake,
And insincere attention give and take.
But O! if thine the Mind’s true charms appear.
To dazzling Beauty leave her proper sphere;
Unenvying leave her to her transient sway,
The speedy darkning of her solar ray!
Thou, in thy milder orb--of private life;
As duteous Daughter, and endearing Wife,
Kind Sister, gentle Mistress, faithful Friend,
Shalt find with Life alone thy empire end!
TO THE DOWAGER LADY BLAKISTON,
WITH A LETTER-CASE.
Conscious that she, whose hand these nets enwove,
Honour’d the virtuous man, who once was thine,[70]
Permit the precious scriptures of his love
Here in their folds to find a faithful shrine!
O! to the treasur’d sorrows of thy breast
May future years no sad accession bring,
But comfort, peace, and resignation blest,
Fall on thy heart from Time’s unpausing wing,
Till late it shall present the final day,
From mortal bonds that sets thee ever free,
And calls to his thy willing soul away,
Who once an Eden made this earth to thee.
TO
MRS SIDDONS.
SIDDONS, when first commenc’d thy ardent course,
The powers that guard the Drama’s aweful shrine,
Beauty, and grandeur, tenderness, and force,
Silence that speaks, and eloquence divine,
For thee erected that approachless throne
None may or hope to conquer, or to share,
And all our subject passions trembling own
Each various sense subdued and captive there:
Yet the heart says, respect a rival claim,
A claim that rises in unvanquish’d strife;
Behold, dividing still the palm of Fame,
Her radiant Science, and her spotless Life!
ODE
ON ENGLAND’S NAVAL TRIUMPHS IN THE PRESENT WAR.[71]
Sublime to all the rising winds
BRITANNIA’S ensigns gaily stream;
From HOWE’S bright day proud Gallia finds
Her naval strength a vanish’d dream;
“That Britain rules the subject waves,
“And vows her sons shall ne’er be slaves.
When JERVIS, on the Atlantic deep,
Intrepid crush’d Iberia’s sails,
He taught St Vincent’s rocky steep,
Her torrid hills, and sultry vales,
“That great Britannia rul’d the waves,
“And vow’d her sons should ne’er be slaves.
And when illustrious DUNCAN stood
To France and Holland’s blended train,
In tyrant and apostate blood
Afresh he stampt the patriot strain,
“Rule Britannia, rule the waves,
“Britons never shall be slaves.
But hark! from Afric’s glowing shores
What sounds exulting Glory brings!
How loud Britannia’s Lion roars,
How high her Genius soars--and sings
“Rule Britannia, &c.
The motley flag of France no more
Shall vaunting greet her bloody coast,
Before resistless NELSON’S power
It sunk!--appall’d!--o’erwhelm’d!--and lost!
“Rule Britannia, &c.
Invaded Egypt, at the sight,
Her grateful shores illumin’d wide;
Old Nile records that wondrous night,
Resounding o’er his purpled tide,
“Rule Britannia, &c.
Ye partners of that matchless hour,
Return, to future ages famed;
Return the charter’d song to pour
When NELSON and the Nile are named,
“Rule Britannia, rule the waves,
“Britons never shall be slaves.
* * * * *
[After the preceding stanzas were written and sung at a music
meeting at Birmingham, Admiral Warren’s speedily-succeeding Victory
was announced.]
The flag of triumph yet again
Floats from the temple’s gilded height!
Gay fires ascend!--the patriot strain
Redoubled rends the vault of night!
“Rule Britannia, rule the waves,
“Britons never shall be slaves!
On green Ierne’s menaced strand
Rebellion, darkly cowering, stood,
And heard the charter’d song expand
’Mid skies of flame, o’er seas of blood,
“Rule Britannia, &c.
Saw fell Invasion’s routed horde,
Victorious WARREN, strike to thee,
Loud as thy cannon’s thunder pour’d,
And hail’d redeem’d Ierne free,
Whose sons, while Britain rules the waves,
To haughty France shall ne’er be slaves.
O SOURCE OF MERCIES! to thy name
Shall Praise her grateful notes prolong,
That thus ascends, in high acclaim,
Thy favour’d nation’s hallow’d song,
“Rule Britannia, rule the waves,
“Britons never shall be slaves.”
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE MARCHIONESS OF DONEGALL,
WITH MR HAYLEY’S
LIFE OF MILTON.
Go, rescuing Volume, seek her gentle hands
Whose heart o’er every noble deed expands!
To such thy page inevitably dear,
Where Truth, resistless as Ithuriel’s spear,
From party-prejudice, malignant spleen,[72]
And literary envy draws the screen,
Whose sophist reasoning, and detractive powers,
Satanic influence breath’d in Eden’s bowers;
Yet with some merits, pious, liberal, kind,
Held union strange in JOHNSON’S mighty mind.
Lo! all is day in this redeeming tome!
Again in light the amaranth garlands bloom;
And, as unveil’d appears each dark’ning aim,
Great in the lustre of his former fame,
Immortal MILTON stands to future times,
Nor sighing Goodness mourns his fancied crimes.
These leaves while graceful DONEGALL explores,
New pleasures shall augment her bosom’s stores;
Increase the happiness, that hourly swells
Where the soul’s sunshine, conscious Virtue, dwells.
And O! what virtue more unclouded beams
Than from her spotless life continual streams?
Virtue, that ’mid distinction’s dazzling rays,
And in the tempting and the dangerous days
Of blooming charms, and inexperienc’d youth,
Shone the bright pattern of connubial truth;
With growing lustre and with strength’ning powers
From life’s gay morning to its noontide hours.
What then was innocence and faith sincere,
The blush of modesty and pity’s tear,
Now glows with energies, that widely spread
Comfort on penury’s deserted head,
And guards that Worth, which rank and wealth behold
Change all their tinsel to Intrinsic Gold.
TO
MISS GODFREY,[73]
WITH MR HAYLEY’S
LIFE OF MILTON.
Here, from that excellence of mind and heart
Which seated MILTON high in Honour’s fane,
From genius, piety, and lyric art,
Recedes injustice’ dark but transient stain.
Thou, gentle Maid, whose kindred spirit shares
Each virtue thy fair sister’s life displays,
Wilt joy to see expos’d the sophist snares
That wilder judgment in their artful maze.
And O! to each more bright these leaves will shine,
Their truth, their eloquence, more welcome prove,
Viewing the Bard, whose songs ye feel divine,
Given back to Glory by the Friend ye love.
SONNET I.[74]
When life’s realities the soul perceives
Vain, dull, perchance corrosive, if she glow
With rising energy, and open throw
The golden gates of Genius, she achieves
His fairy clime delighted, and receives
In those gay paths, where thornless roses blow,
Full compensation.--Lo, with alter’d brow
Lours the false world, and the fine spirit grieves!
No more young Hope tints with her light and bloom
The darkening scene.--Then to ourselves we say,
Come, bright Imagination, come! relume
Thy orient lamp; with recompensing ray
Shine on the mind, and pierce its gathering gloom
With all the fires of intellectual day!
SONNET II.
The future, and its gifts alone we prize,
Few joys the present brings, and those alloy’d;
Th’ expected fulness leaves an aching void;
But Hope stands by, and lifts her sunny eyes
That gild the days to come.--She still relies
The phantom Happiness not thus shall glide
Always from life.--Alas!--yet ill betide
Austere Experience, when she coldly tries
In distant roses to discern the thorn!
Ah! is it wise to anticipate our pain?
Arriv’d, it then is soon enough to mourn.
Nor call the dear consoler false and vain,
When yet again, shining through April-tears,
Those fair enlight’ning eyes beam on advancing years.
SONNET III.
WRITTEN AT BUXTON IN A RAINY SEASON.
From these wild heights, where oft the mists descend
In rains, that shroud the sun, and chill the gale,
Each transient, gleaming interval we hail,
And rove the naked vallies, and extend
Our gaze around, where yon vast mountains blend
With billowy clouds, that o’er their summits sail;
Pondering, how little Nature’s charms befriend
The barren scene, monotonous, and pale.
Yet solemn when the darkening shadows fleet
Successive o’er the wide and silent hills,
Gilded by watry sun-beams, then we meet
Peculiar pomp of vision. Fancy thrills,
And owns there is no scene so rude and bare,
But Nature sheds or grace or grandeur there.
SONNET IV.
TO
HONORA SNEYD,[75]
WHOSE HEALTH WAS ALWAYS BEST IN WINTER.
MAY 1770.
And now the youthful, gay, capricious Spring,
Piercing her showery clouds with crystal light,
And with their hues reflected streaking bright
Her radiant bow, bids all her warblers sing;
The lark, shrill carolling on soaring wing;
The lonely thrush, in brake, with blossoms white,
That tunes his pipe so loud; while, from the sight
Coy bending their dropt heads, young cowslips fling
Rich perfume o’er the fields.--It is the prime
Of hours that beauty robes:--yet all they gild,
Cheer and delight in this their fragrant time,
For thy dear sake, to me less pleasure yield
Than, veil’d in sleet, and rain, and hoary rime,
Dim Winter’s naked hedge and plashy field.
SONNET V.
TO A
FRIEND,
WHO THINKS SENSIBILITY A MISFORTUNE.
Ah, thankless! canst thou envy him who gains
The Stoic’s cold and indurate repose?
Thou! with thy lively sense of bliss and woes!--
From a false balance of life’s joys and pains
Thou deem’st him happy.--Plac’d ’mid fair domains,
Where full the river down the valley flows,
As wisely might’st thou wish thy home had rose
On the parch’d surface of unwater’d plains,
For that, when long the heavy rain descends,
Bursts over guardian banks their whelming tide!--
Seldom the wild and wasteful flood extends,
But, spreading plenty, verdure, beauty wide,
The cool translucent stream perpetual bends,
And laughs the vale as the bright waters glide.
SONNET VI.
WRITTEN AT LICHFIELD,
IN AN EASTERN APARTMENT OF THE BISHOP’S PALACE,
WHICH COMMANDS A VIEW OF STOW VALLEY.
In this chill morning of a wintry Spring
I look into the gloom’d and rainy vale;
The sullen clouds, the stormy winds assail,
Lour on the fields, and with impetuous wing
Disturb the lake:--but Love and Memory cling
To their known scene, in this cold influence pale;
Yet priz’d, as when it bloom’d in Summer’s gale,
Ting’d by his setting sun.--When sorrows fling,
Or slow disease, thus o’er some beauteous form
Their shadowy languors, form, devoutly dear
As thine to me, HONORA, with more warm
And anxious gaze the eyes of love sincere
Bend on the charms, dim in their tintless snow,
Than when with health’s vermilion hues they glow.
SONNET VII.
By Derwent’s rapid stream as oft I stray’d,
With Infancy’s light step and glances wild,
And saw vast rocks, on steepy mountains pil’d,
Frown o’er th’ umbrageous glen; or pleased survey’d
The cloudy moonshine in the shadowy glade,
Romantic Nature to th’ enthusiast child
Grew dearer far than when serene she smil’d,
In uncontrasted loveliness array’d.
But O! in every scene, with sacred sway,
Her graces fire me; from the bloom that spreads
Resplendent in the lucid morn of May,
To the green light the little glow-worm sheds
On mossy banks, when midnight glooms prevail,
And softest silence broods o’er all the dale.
SONNET VIII.
TRANSLATION.
Short is the time the oldest being lives,
Nor has longevity one hour to waste;
Life’s duties are proportion’d to the haste
With which it fleets away;--each day receives
Its task, that if neglected, surely gives
The morrow double toil.--Ye, who have pass’d
In idle sport the days that fled so fast,
Days, that nor Grief recalls, nor Care retrieves,
At length be wise, and think, that of the part
Remaining in that vital period given,
How short the date, and at the prospect start,
Ere to the extremest verge your steps be driven!
Nor let a moment unimprov’d depart,
But view it as the latest trust of Heaven!
SONNET IX.
Seek not, my LESBIA, the sequester’d dale,
Or bear thou to its shades a tranquil heart;
Since rankles most in Solitude the smart
Of injur’d charms and talents, when they fail
To meet their due regard;--nor ev’n prevail
Where most they wish to please:--Yet, since thy part
Is large in life’s chief blessings, why desert
Sullen the world?--Alas! how many wail
Dire loss of the best comforts Heaven can grant!
While they the bitter tear in secret pour,
Smote by the death of friends, disease, or want,
Slight wrongs if thy self-valuing soul deplore,
Thou but resemblest, in thy lonely haunt,
NARCISSUS pining on the watry shore.
SONNET X.
TO
HONORA SNEYD.
APRIL 1773.
HONORA, should that cruel time arrive
When ’gainst my truth thou should’st my errors poize,
Scorning remembrance of our vanish’d joys;
When for the love-warm looks, in which I live,
But cold respect must greet me, that shall give
No tender glance, no kind regretful sighs;
When thou shalt pass me with averted eyes,
Feigning thou see’st me not, to sting, and grieve,
And sicken my sad heart, I could not bear
Such dire eclipse of thy soul-cheering rays;
I could not learn my struggling heart to tear
From thy loved form, that thro’ my memory strays;
Nor in the pale horizon of despair
Endure the wintry and the darken’d days.
SONNET XI.
How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil’d,
In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide
Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide;
To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,
That comes soft creeping o’er the flowery field,
And shadow’d waters; in whose bushy side
The mountain-bees their fragrant treasure hide
Murmuring; and sings the lonely thrush conceal’d:
Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
When forced and frivolous the themes arise,
With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls
At thee, and thine, my sense!--how oft it sighs
For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and water-falls;
And feels th’ untemper’d heat of sultry skies!
SONNET XII.
JULY 1773.
Chill’d by unkind HONORA’S alter’d eye,
“Why droops my heart with pining woe forlorn,”
Thankless for much of good?--what thousands, born
To ceaseless toil beneath this wintry sky,
Or to brave deathful oceans surging high,
Or fell Disease’s fever’d rage to mourn,
How blest to them would seem my destiny!
How dear the comforts my rash sorrows scorn!--
Affection is repaid by causeless hate!
A plighted love is changed to cold disdain!
Yet suffer not thy wrongs to shroud thy fate,
But turn, my soul, to blessings which remain;
And let this truth the wise resolve create,
The Heart estranged no anguish can regain.
SONNET XIII.
JULY 1773.
Thou child of Night and Silence, balmy Sleep,
Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!
And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how
Vanish’d that priz’d Affection, wont to keep
Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.
Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow
Loos’d the dire strings;--and Care, and anxious Dread
From my cheer’d heart, on sullen pinion fled.
But now, the spell dissolv’d, th’ enchantress gone,
Ceaseless those cruel fiends infest my day,
And sunny hours but light them to their prey.
Then welcome midnight shades, when thy wish’d boon
May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep,
Thou child of Night and Silence, balmy Sleep!
SONNET XIV.
JULY 1773.
Ingratitude, how deadly is thy smart
Proceeding from the form we fondly love!
How light, compar’d, all other sorrows prove!
Thou shed’st a Night of woe, from whence depart
The gentle beams of patience, that the heart
’Mid lesser ills, illume.--Thy victims rove
Unquiet as the ghost that haunts the grove
Where Murder spilt the life-blood.--O! thy dart
Kills more than life,--e’en all that makes life dear;
Till we “the sensible of pain” would change
For phrenzy, that defies the bitter tear;
Or wish, in kindred callousness, to range
Where moon-ey’d Idiocy, with fallen lip,
Drags the loose knee, and intermitting step.
SONNET XV.
WRITTEN ON RISING GROUND NEAR LICHFIELD.
MAY 1774.
The evening shines in May’s luxuriant pride,
And all the sunny hills at distance glow,
And all the brooks, that thro’ the valley flow,
Seem liquid gold.--O! had my fate denied
Leisure, and power to taste the sweets that glide
Thro’ waken’d minds, as the blest seasons go
On their still varying progress, for the woe
My heart has felt, what balm had been supplied?
But where great Nature smiles, as here she smiles,
’Mid verdant vales, and gently swelling hills,
And glassy lakes, and mazy, murmuring rills,
And narrow wood-wild lanes, her spell beguiles
Th’ impatient sighs of grief, and reconciles
Poetic minds to life, with all her ills.
SONNET XVI.
TRANSLATED FROM BOILEAU.
APOLLO, at his crowded altars, tired
Of votaries, who for trite ideas thrown
Into loose verse, assume, in lofty tone,
The Poet’s name, untaught, and uninspir’d,
Indignant struck the Lyre.--Straight it acquired
New powers, and complicate. Then first was known
The rigorous Sonnet, to be framed alone
By duteous bards, or by just taste admir’d.--
Go, energetic Sonnet, go, he cried,
And be the test of skill!--For rhymes that flow
Regardless of thy rules, their destin’d guide,
Yet take thy name, ah! let the boasters know
That with strict sway my jealous laws preside,
While I no wreaths on rebel verse bestow.
SONNET XVII.[76]
Ah! why have I indulged my dazzled sight
With scenes in Hope’s delusive mirror shewn?
Scenes, that too seldom human life hath known
In more than vision rise;--but O! how bright
The Mind’s soft sorceress pour’d her rosy light
On every promis’d good;--oft on the boon
Which might at Fame’s resounding shrine be won,
Then lanc’d its beams where all the Loves invite!
Now, with stern hand, Fate draws the sable veil
O’er the frail glass!--Hope, as she turns away,
The darken’d crystal drops.--Heavy and pale,
Rain-drizzling clouds quench all the darts of day;
Low mourns the wind along the gloomy dale,
And tolls the death-bell in the pausing gale.
SONNET XVIII.
AN EVENING IN NOVEMBER,
WHICH HAD BEEN STORMY, GRADUALLY CLEARING UP, IN A MOUNTAINOUS COUNTRY.