of form and aspect too magnificent

The destroyed. But worthier still of note
Are these fraternal Four of Borrowdale,

od is one solemn and capacious grove;

The tranks!-and each particular trunk a growth (stertwisted fibres serpentine

peling, and inveterately convolved,-
Aranaformed with Phantasy, and looks

The threaten the profane; - a pillared shade,
en whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,
Thedings from the pining umbrage tinged
Pally-beneath whose sable roof
oughs, as if for festal purpose, decked
Wh unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes

kir meet at noontide- Fear and trembling Hope,
Srce and Foresight - Death the Skeleton
la Time the Shadow, there to celebrate,

As a natural temple scattered o'er
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,
rated worship; or in mute repose
T: le, and listen to the mountain flood
Varmering from Glaramara's inmost caves.

T: British ground commands:- low dusky tracts, Where Trent is nursed, far southward! Cambrian Hils

7 the south-west, a multitudinous show;

And in a line of eye-sight linked with these,
The brary Peaks of Scotland that give birth

7 Trat's Stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Clyde ;-
**ing the quarter whence the sun comes forth
igaste Maintains rough with crags; beneath,
at at the imperial Station's western base,
Yan Ocean, breaking audibly, and stretched
For into silent regions blue and pale; -
Anally enginding Mona's Isle

we left the Plain, before our sight d like a lofty Mount, uplifting slowly Love the convex of the watery globe) la car new the cultured fields that streak her habtable shores; but now appears cradled object, and submits to lie

At the Spectator's feet. - Yon azure Ridge, 14 a perishable cloud! Or, there

we behold the line of Erin's Coast!

Bark Comb stands at the southern extremity of Cumberrado have covers a much greater extent of ground than any die* texuntain in these parts; and, from its situation, the sumand a more extensive view than any other point in

Land sometimes by the roving shepherd-swain
(Like the bright confines of another world)
Not doubtfully perceived. — Look homeward now!
In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene
The spectacle, how pure! - Of Nature's works,
In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sea,
A revelation infinite it seems;
Display august of man's inheritance,
Of Britain's calm felicity and power!

NUTTING.

Ir seems a day

(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days which cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our Cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps
Toward the distant woods, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame;

Motley accoutrement, of power to smile

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, — and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! Among the woods,
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my way
Until, at length, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation, but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung,
A virgin scene! -A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet, or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played,
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope. -
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever, and I saw the sparkling foam,
And with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep,
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage; and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past,
Even then, when from the bower I turned away
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees and the intruding sky.
Then, dearest Maiden! move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch for there is a spirit in the woods.

Hubert! though the blast be blown,
He is helpless and alone:

Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!

And there he may be lodged, and thou be Lord.

Speak! astounded Hubert cannot;

And, if power to speak he had,
All are daunted, all the household
Smitten to the heart, and sad.

'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be
Living Man, it must be he!
Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,

And by a Postern-gate he slunk away.

Long, and long was he unheard of:
To his Brother then he came,
Made confession, asked forgiveness,
Asked it by a brother's name,
And by all the saints in heaven;
And of Eustace was forgiven:
Then in a Convent went to hide

His melancholy head, and there he died.

But Sir Eustace, whom good angels
Had preserved from Murderers' hands,
And from Pagan chains had rescued,
Lived with honour on his lands.
Sons he had, saw Sons of theirs:
And through ages, Heirs of Heirs,

A long posterity renowned,

Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.

GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL.

A TRUE STORY.

OH! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle gray, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July,
"Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still!

Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover;
His voice was like the voice of three.

Old Goody Blake was old and poor; Ill fed she was, and thinly clad; And any man who passed her door Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling;
And then her three hours' work at night,
Alas! 't was hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.
Remote from sheltering village green,
On a hill's northern side she dwelt,
Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean
And hoary dews are slow to melt.

By the same fire to boil their pottage,
Two poor old Dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one small cottage;
But she, poor Woman! housed alone.
"T was well enough when summer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day,
Then at her door the canty Dame
Would sit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh! then how her old bones would shake,
You would have said, if you had met her,
"T was a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dead!
Sad case it was, as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed;
And then for cold not sleep a wink.

O joy for her! whene'er in winter
The winds at night had made a rout;
And scattered many a lusty splinter
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile beforehand, turf or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.

Now, when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And, now and then, it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake;
And vowed that she should be detected.
And he on her would vengeance take.
And oft from his warm fire he'd go,
And to the fields his road would take;
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watched to seize old Goody Blake.

And once, behind a rick of barley,
Thas looking out did Harry stand:
The moon was full and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble land.
-He hears a noise-he's all awake
Agn-on tip-toe down the hill
He softly creeps-'Tis Goody Blake,
Sue's at the hedge of Harry Gill!

Right glad was he when he beheld her:
Suck after stick did Goody pull:
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Tll she had filled her apron full.

When with her load she turned about,
The by-way back again to take;
He started forward with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fercely by the arm he took her,
Ast by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,

And cred, "I've caught you then at last!"
Then Goody who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;
And kneeling on the sticks, she prayed,
To God that is the judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
Wale Harry held her by the arm-
*God! who art never out of hearing,
O may he never more be warm!"

The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said:
And xy cold he turned away.

He went complaining all the morrow
That be was cold and very chill:

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
A's that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding-coat,
B not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.

Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
And Mankets were about him pinned;
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say, 't is plain,
Trat, live as long as live he may,
lle tever will be warm again.

No wed to any man he utters, A-bed or up to young or old; Bat ever to himself he mutters, "Poor Harry Gill is very cold."

A-bed or up, by night or day;
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,

Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill!

I WANDERED lonely as a Cloud

That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden Daffodils;
Reside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glse:-
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:

I gazed and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had bong

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.

There wins wire by

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.

ramong the mud

AT the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three

years:

Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

"Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide,
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripped with her pail; And a single small Cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only Dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her Heart is in heaven: but they fade
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade:
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,
And the colours have all passed away from her eyes.