Written On Skiddaw, During A Tempest

It was a dreadful day, when late I passed O'er thy dim vastness, Skiddaw!—Mist and cloud Each subject Fell obscured, and rushing blast To thee made darling music, wild and loud, Thou Mountain-Monarch! Rain in torrents played, As when at sea a wave is borne to Heaven, A watery spire, then on the crew dismayed Of reeling ship with downward wrath is driven. I could have thought that every living form Had fled, or perished in that savage storm, So desolate the day. To me were given Peace, calmness, joy: then, to myself I said, Can grief, time, chance, or elements control Man's chartered pride, the Liberty of Soul?