Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged [hill With frequent showers of snow. Upon a At a short distance from my cottage stands A stately fir-grove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found beneath the roof Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow, And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, [loth The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I To sympathise with vulgar coppice birds That, for protection from the nipping blast, Hither repaired.-A single beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs; and, on the fork Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood Much wondering how I could have sought in vain To abide, For what was now so obvious. Begun and ended, in the shady grove, By pacing here, unwearied and alone, sea. When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green hills Lyouth. And rocks that were the play-ground of thy Year followed year, my brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's minds were 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 [become Was with thee; and even so didst thou A silent poet, from the solitude [heart Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful 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, [stems And one green island, gleam between the Of the dark firs, a visionary scene! Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee, Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while thou, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Among the mountains, through the midnight watch 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, 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. Inscriptions. IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine, Will not unwillingly their place resign; If but the cedar thrive that near them stands, Planted by Beaumont's and by Words worth's hands. One wooed the silent art with studious pains, These groves have heard the other's pensive strains; Devoted thus, their spirits did unite IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME. OFT is the medal faithful to its trust When temples, columns, towers are laid in dust; And 'tis a common ordinance of fate That things obscure and small outlive the great: Hence, when yon mansion and the flowery trim Of this fair garden, and its alleys dim, That it was scooped within the living stone, Not by the sluggish and ungrateful pains Of labourer plodding for his daily gains; But by an industry that wrought in love, With help from female hands, that proudly [and bowers To aid the work, what time these walks Were shaped to cheer dark winter's lonely hours. strove Darken the brow of this memorial stone, In civil conflict met on Bosworth field; Fletcher's associate, Jonson's friend beloved. GEORGE BEAUMONT. BART., AND IN YE lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed [return; Shoot forth with lively power at spring's urn, And when those rites had ceased, the spot gave birth To honourable men of various worth: There, on the margin of a streamlet wild, Did Francis Beaumont sport, an eager child; WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE IN THE WALL OF THE HOUSE (AN OUT-HOUSE) ON THE ISLAND AT GRASMERE. RUDE is this edifice, and thou hast seen To somewhat of a closer fellowship Thou see'st a homely pile, yet to these walls The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and [the wind. here The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from And hither does one poet sometimes row His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled With plenteous store of heath and withered fern, (A lading which he with his sickle cuts Among the mountains) and beneath this roof He makes his summer couch, and here at [the sheep, noon Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, Panting beneath the burthen of their wool, Lie round him, even as if they were a part Of his own household; nor, while from his bed [lake He through that door-place looks toward the And to the stirring breezes, does he want Creations lovely as the work of sleepFair sights and visions of romantic joy! There, under shadow of the neighbouring WRITTEN WITH A SLATE-PENCIL ON A rocks, [flocks; Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their Unconscious prelude to heroic themes, Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams Of slighted love, and scorn, and jealous rage, With which his genius shook the buskined stage. Communities are lost, and empires die, And things of holy use unhallowed lie; They perish ;-but the intellect can raise, From airy words alone, a pile that ne'er decays. STONE, ON THE SIDE OF THE MOUN- STAY, bold adventurer; rest a while thy 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; 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, Full many a glimpse (but sparingly bestowed Within that canvas dwelling, suddenly Had darkness fallen-unthreatened, unproclaimed As if the golden day itself had been Extinguished in a moment; total gloom, In which he sat alone, with unclosed eyes, Upon the blinded mountain's silent top! WRITTEN WITH A SLATE-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 [cairn Is not a ruin of the ancient time, Was once selected as the corner-stone So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush, 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 What is peace?-when pain is over, Let the last faint sigh discover INSCRIBED UPON A ROCK. Give voice to what my hand shall trace, I saw this rock, while vernal air Unsullied did it meet the day, My fancy kindled as I gazed; But frost had reared the gorgeous pile And, while I gazed, with sudden shock HAST thou seen, with flash incessant, Bubbles gliding under ice, Bodied forth and evanescent, No one knows by what device? What avails the kindly shelter Parching summer hath no warrant Thus, dishonouring not her station, NOT seldom, clad in radiant vest, The smoothest seas will sometimes prove, The umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread, But thou art true, incarnate Lord, I bent before thy gracious throne, FOR THE SPOT WHERE THE HERMITAGE STOOD ON ST. HERBERT'S ISLAND, DERWENT WATER. STRANGER! this shapeless heap of stones and earth Is the last relic of St. Herbert's cell. Such are thoughts-A wind-swept meadow Here stood his threshold; here was spread Mimicking a troubled sea, Such is life; and death a shadow From the rock eternity! NEAR THE SPRING OF THE HERMITAGE. TROUBLED long with warring notions, |