said upon the
advantages derived to these scenes from a changeable atmosphere, would
apply, perhaps still more forcibly, to their appearance under the varied
solemnities of night. Milton, it will be remembered, has given a
_clouded_ moon to Paradise itself. In the night-season also, the
narrowness of the vales, and comparative smallness of the lakes, are
especially adapted to bring surrounding objects home to the eye and to
the heart. The stars, taking their stations above the hill-tops, are
contemplated from a spot like the Abyssinian recess of Rasselas, with
much more touching interest than they are likely to excite when looked
at from an open country with ordinary undulations: and it must be
obvious, that it is the _bays_ only of large lakes that can present such
contrasts of light and shadow as those of smaller dimensions display
from every quarter. A deep contracted valley, with diffused waters, such
a valley and plains level and wide as those of Chaldea, are the two
extremes in which the beauty of the heavens and their connexion with the
earth are most sensibly felt. Nor do the advantages I have been speaking
of imply here an exclusion of the aerial effects of distance. These are
insured by the height of the mountains, and are found, even in the
narrowest vales, where they lengthen in perspective, or act (if the
expression may be used) as telescopes for the open country.

The subject would bear to be enlarged upon: but I will conclude this
section with a night-scene suggested by the Vale of Keswick. The
Fragment is well known; but it gratifies me to insert it, as the Writer
was one of the first who led the way to a worthy admiration of this
country.

Now sunk the sun, now twilight sunk, and night
Rode in her zenith; not a passing breeze
Sigh'd to the grove, which in the midnight air
Stood motionless, and in the peaceful floods
Inverted hung: for now the billows slept
Along the shore, nor heav'd the deep; but spread
A shining mirror to the moon's pale orb,
Which, dim and waning, o'er the shadowy cliffs,
The solemn woods, and spiry mountain tops,
Her glimmering faintness threw: now every eye,
Oppress'd with toil, was drown'd in deep repose,
Save that the unseen Shepherd in his watch,
Propp'd on his crook, stood listening by the fold,
And gaz'd the starry vault, and pendant moon;
Nor voice, nor sound, broke on the deep serene;
But the soft murmur o