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.
For an allotted interval of ease.
Beneath my cottage roof, had newly come
From the wild sea a cherished visitant;
And with the sight of this same path-
begun,

Begun and ended, in the shady grove,
Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind
That, to this opportune recess allured,
He had surveyed it with a finer eye,
A heart more wakeful; and had worn the
track

By pacing here, unwearied and alone,
In that habitual restlessness of foot o'er
With which the sailor measures o'er and
His short domain upon the vessel's deck,
While she is travelling through the dreary

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!
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

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.

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; 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
By interchange of knowledge and delight.
May nature's kindliest powers sustain the
And love protect it from all injury! [tree,
And when its potent branches, wide out-
thrown,

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,
And all its stately trees are passed away,
This little niche, unconscious of decay,
Perchance may still survive.-And be it
known

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

In civil conflict met on Bosworth field;
And of that famous youth, full soon removed
From earth, perhaps by Shakspeare's self
approved,

Fletcher's associate, Jonson's friend beloved.

GEORGE BEAUMONT. BART., AND IN
HIS NAME, FOR AN URN, PLACED BY
HIM AT THE TERMINATION OF A
NEWLY-PLANTED AVENUE, IN THE
SAME GROUNDS.

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
Buildings, albeit rude, that have maintained
Proportions more harmonious, and ap-
proached

To somewhat of a closer fellowship
Yet, as it is,
With the ideal grace.
Do take it in good part :-alas! the poor
Vitruvius of our village had no help
From the great city; never, on the leaves
Of red morocco folio saw displayed
The skeletons and pre-existing ghosts
Of beauties yet unborn, the rustic box,
Snug cot, with coach-house, shed, and
hermitage.

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!

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-
TAIN OF BLACK COMB.

STAY, bold adventurer; rest a while thy
limbs
[mains
On this commodious seat! for much re-
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; 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 canvas dwelling, suddenly
The many-coloured map before his eyes
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 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,
Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the
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
[might wade,
That from the shore a full-grown man
And make himself a freeman of this spot
At any hour he chose, the knight forthwith
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 the 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,
Had wondered at the work. But blame
him not,

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,
And love ceases to rebel,

Let the last faint sigh discover
That precedes the passing knell !

INSCRIBED UPON A ROCK.
PAUSE, traveller! whosoe'er thou be
Whom chance may lead to this retreat
Where silence yields reluctantly
Even to the fleecy straggler's bleat;

Give voice to what my hand shall trace,
And fear not lest an idle sound
Of words unsuited to the place
Disturb its solitude profound.

I saw this rock, while vernal air
Blew softly o'er the russet heath,
Uphold a monument as fair
As church or abbey furnisheth.

Unsullied did it meet the day,
Like marble white, like ether pure;
As if beneath some hero lay,
Honoured with costliest sepulture.

My fancy kindled as I gazed;
And, ever as the sun shone forth,
The flattered structure glistened, blazed,
And seemed the proudest thing on earth.

But frost had reared the gorgeous pile
Unsound as those which fortune builds;
To undermine with secret guile,
Sapped by the very beam that gilds.

And, while I gazed, with sudden shock
Fell the whole fabric to the ground;
And naked left this dripping rock,
With shapeless ruin spread around!

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
Yielded by this craggy rent,
If my spirit toss and welter
On the waves of discontent?

Parching summer hath no warrant
To consume this crystal well;
Rains that make each rill a torrent,
Neither sully it nor swell.

Thus, dishonouring not her station,
Would my life present to thee,
Gracious God, the pure oblation,
Of divine tranquillity!

NOT seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the morn;
Not seldom evening in the west
Sinks smilingly forsworn.

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove,
To the confiding bark, untrue;
And, if she trust the stars above,
They can be treacherous too.

The umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It promised to defend.

But thou art true, incarnate Lord,
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;
Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word
No change can falsify!

I bent before thy gracious throne,
And asked for peace on supplian' knee;
And peace was given,-nor peace alone,
But faith sublimed to ecstasy!

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.

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,
Long impatient of thy rod,
I resign my soul's emotions
Unto thee, mysterious God!