Bowles observes, poetry and geological inquiry do not very amicably
travel together; we must, therefore, soon get out of the cave:--

But issuing from the Cave--look round--behold
How proudly the majestic Severn rides
On the sea,--how gloriously in light
It rides! Along this solitary ridge,
Where smiles, but rare, the blue Campanula,
Among the thistles, and grey stones, that peep
Through the thin herbage--to the highest point
Of elevation, o'er the vale below,
Slow let us climb. First, look upon that flow'r
The lowly heath-bell, smiling at our feet.
How beautiful it smiles alone! The Pow'r,
that bade the great sea roar--that spread the Heav'ns--
That call'd the sun from darkness--deck'd that flow'r,
And bade it grace this bleak and barren hill.
Imagination, in her playful mood,
Might liken it to a poor village maid,
Lowly, but smiling in her lowliness,
And dress'd so neatly, as if ev'ry day
Were Sunday. And some melancholy Bard
Might, idly musing, thus discourse to it:--
"Daughter of Summer, who dost linger here.
Decking the thistly turf, and arid hill,
Unseen--let the majestic Dahlia
Glitter, an Empress, in her blazonry
Of beauty; let the stately Lily shine,
As snow-white as the breast of the proud Swan,
Sailing upon the blue lake silently,