Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was fashioned; and at length, When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond
Than common feelings of fraternal love. But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections; Nature there
Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee; and even so didst thou become A silent Poet; from the solitude
Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear,
And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. -Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone ; Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours Could I withhold thy honoured name,—and now I love the fir-grove with a perfect love.* Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong; And there I sit at evening, when the steep Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful lake, And one green island, gleam between the stems Of the dark firs, a visionary scene!
And, while I gaze upon the spectacle Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee,
My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost. Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Among the mountains, through the midnight watch
* And now I call the pathway by thy name,
And love the fir-grove with a perfect love.-Edit. 1815.
Art pacing thoughtfully the vessel's deck * In some far region, here, while o'er my head, At every impulse of the moving breeze, The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, Alone I tread this path ;-for aught I know, Timing my steps to thine; and, with a store Of undistinguishable sympathies,
Mingling most earnest wishes for the day
When we, and others whom we love, shall meet A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale.
Note. This wish was not granted; the lamented Person not long after perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the Honourable East India Company's Vessel, the Earl of Abergavenny.
*to and fro the vessel's deck.-Edit. 1815.
PENCIL UPON A STONE, THE
LARGEST OF A HEAP LYING NEAR A DESERTED QUARRY, UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS AT RYDAL.
STRANGER! this hillock of mis-shapen stones Is not a Ruin spared or made by time,* Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the Cairn Of some old British Chief: 'tis nothing more Than the rude embryo of a little Dome Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle. But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned That from the shore a full-grown man might wade, And make himself a freeman of this spot At any hour he chose, the prudent Knight + Desisted, and the quarry and the mound
Are monuments of his unfinished task.
The block on which these lines are traced, perhaps, Was once selected as the corner-stone
Of that intended Pile, which would have been Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill, So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush, And other little builders who dwell here,
* Is not a Ruin of the ancient time.-Edit. 1815. the Knight forthwith.-Edit. 1815.
Had wondered at the work. For old Sir William was a gentle Knight, Bred in this vale, to which he appertained With all his ancestry. Then peace to him, And for the outrage which he had devised Entire forgiveness !—But if thou art one On fire with thy impatience to become An inmate of these mountains,-if, disturbed By beautiful conceptions,* thou hast hewn Out of the quiet rock the elements
Of thy trim Mansion destined soon to blaze In snow-white splendour,-think again; and, taught By old Sir William and his quarry, leave Thy fragments to the bramble and the rose; There let the vernal slow-worm sun himself, And let the redbreast hop from stone to stone.
WRITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL ON A STONE, ON THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN OF BLACK COMB.†
STAY, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs On this commodious Seat! for much remains Of hard ascent before thou reach the top Of this huge Eminence, from blackness named, And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land, A favourite spot of tournament and war! But thee may no such boisterous visitants Molest; may gentle breezes fan thy brow;
* What imaginative person has not felt this in the tumult of his youth, without words to express the nature of his feeling ?-ED.
And neither cloud conceal, nor misty air Bedim, the grand terraqueous spectacle, From centre to circumference, unveiled! Know, if thou grudge not to prolong thy rest, That on the summit whither thou art bound, A geographic Labourer pitched his tent, With books supplied and instruments of art, To measure height and distance; lonely task, Week after week pursued !—To him was given Full many a glimpse (but sparingly bestowed On timid man) of Nature's processes Upon the exalted hills. He made report
That once, while there he plied his studious work Within that canvass Dwelling, colours, lines, And the whole surface of the out-spread map, Became invisible:* for all around
Had darkness fallen-unthreatened, unproclaimed-- As if the golden day itself had been Extinguished in a moment; total gloom,
In which he sate alone, with unclosed eyes, Upon the blinded mountain's silent top!
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART., LEICESTERSHIRE.
THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine, Will not unwillingly their place resign;
The many-colored map before his eyes Became invisible.-Edit. 1815.
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