Supposed to be written on the summit of Snowdon.
How gay was yesterday!—no storm was heard
To mutter round thy steep—yon sun arose
With golden splendor, and in still repose
Nature majestic through her works appear’d.
To-day how chang’d—loud howls the hollow blast!
The thin mists undulate! thy tow’ring height
Is veil’d in tempest and eternal night!
So ’tis with man! contrasting prospects past
With dreams of future happiness—to-day
In gallant trim his little bark may glide
On the smooth current of the tranquil tide:
To-morrow comes!—the gathering storms display
A sad vicissitude—the whirlwind’s sweep
Grasps at its prey, and whelms it in the deep.