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Stern nature frowns: her desolating rage Driving the whirlwind, or swoln flood, or blast Of fiery air imprisoned, from their base Has wildly hurled the uplifted rocks around The gloomy pass, where Aberglaslyn’s arch Yawns o’er the torrent. 

The disjointed crags O’er the steep precipice in fragments vast Impending, to the astonished mind recall The fabled horrors by demoniac force Of Lapland wizards wrought; who, borne upon The whirlwind’s wing, what time the vexèd sea Dashed ’gainst Norwegia’s cliffs, to solid mass Turned the swoln billows, and the o’erhanging waves Fixed e’er they fell.

How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely visited people All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures, Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and ’tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction.

They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said.'

It grieved his mother that he was not found, that her heart had not been harrowed by the look of the swoln corpse.—O good mother, rather thank God for it!—