The Sun-Beams Streak The Azure Skies, And Line With Light The Mountain'S Brow: With Hounds And Horns The Hunters Rise, And Chase The Roebuck Thro' The Snow. From Rock To Rock, With Giant-Bound, High On Their Iron Poles They Pass; Mute, Lest The Air, Convuls'D By Sound, Rend From Above A Frozen Mass. [1] The Goats Wind Slow Their Wonted Way, Up Craggy Steeps And Ridges Rude; Mark'D By The Wild Wolf For His Prey, From Desert Cave Or Hanging Wood. And While The Torrent Thunders Loud, And As The Echoing Cliffs Reply, The Huts Peep O'Er The Morning-Cloud, Perch'D, Like An Eagle'S Nest, On High.