A waterfall plunges down a cliff, and the language immediately gives it a violent, almost human force — it “elbows” and “shoulders” its way through the rocks, roaring without pause. Beneath the thunderous noise, the speaker seems to hear stifled cries and howls, and the mist rolling upward feels like smoke from some underworld. The greenery around it is unnaturally deep and dark, as if the whole scene is soaked in dread. The speaker doesn’t just describe the cascade; he projects a sense of torment onto it, sensing “horrible mysteries” staring out from the chasm, a chaos of voices that can’t be understood. The mood is one of awe curdling into fear — nature here isn’t peaceful or beautiful, but a raging, inscrutable presence that hints at agony below the surface. It leaves you feeling small and unsettled, as if the landscape itself is alive with a suffering you can sense but never quite name.
Fragment — Summary
The cataract, whirling down the precipice, Elbows down rocks and, shouldering, thunders through. Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease; Hell and its agonies seem hid below. Thick rolls the mist, that smokes and falls in dew; The trees and greenwood wear the deepest green. Horrible mysteries in the gulph stare through, Roars of a million tongues, and none knows what they mean.