While I was seated, now some ten days past,

Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop
Their ancient neighbor, the old steeple-tower,
The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by
Came forth to greet me; and wher. he had
asked,

"How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid!
And when will she return to us?" he paused;
And, after short exchange of village news,
He with grave looks demanded, for what

cause,

Reviving obsolete idolatry,

I, like a Runic Priest, in characters
Of formidable size had chiselled out
Some uncouth name upon the native rock,
Above the Rotha, by the forest-side.

-Now, by those dear immunities of heart Engendered between malice and true love, I was not loth to be so catechised,

And this was my reply :-" As it befell, One summer morning we had walked abroad At break of day, Joanna and myself. 'Twas that delightful season when the broom,

Of Glaramara southward come the voice;
And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head.
-Now whether (said I to our cordial Friend,
Who in the hey-day of astonishment
Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth
A work accomplished by two brotherhood
Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched
With dreams and visionary impulses
To me alone imparted, sure i am
That there was a loud uproar in the hills.
And, while we both were listening, to my side
The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished
To shelter from some object of her fear.
-And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen

moons

Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone
Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm
And silent morning, I sat down, and there,
In memory of affections old and true,
I chiselled out in those rude characters
Joanna's name deep in the living stone:-
And I, and all who dwell by my fireside,
Have called the lovely rock, JOANNA'S
Rock."

1800.

and stood

Tracing the lofty barrier with my eye
From base to summit: such delight I found
To note in shrub and tree, in stone and
flower,

That intermixture of delicious hues,
Along so vast a surface, all at once,
In one impression, by connecting force
Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart.
-When I had gazed perhaps two minutes'
space,

Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld
That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.
The Rock, like something starting from a
sleep,
[again;
Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed
That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag,
Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-scar
And the tall Steep of Silver-how, sent forth
A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg
heard,

And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone;

Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky
Carried the Lady's voice,-old Skiddaw blew
His speaking trumpet: back out of the
clouds

Note. In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several Inscriptions upon the native rock, which from the wasting of time, and the rude for Runic. They are without doubt Roman.

The Rotha, mentioned in this poem, is the River which, flowing through the lakes of Grasmere and Rydale, falls into Wynandermere. On Helmcrag, that impressive single mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, is a rock which from most points of view bears a striking resemblance to an old woman cowering. Close by this rock is one of those fissures or caverns which in the language of the country are called dungeons. Most of the mountains here mentioned immediately surround the Vale of Grasmere; of the others, some are at a considearble distance, but they belong to the same cluster.

III.

The last that parleys with the setting sun;

THERE is an Eminence,-of these our hills

We can behold it from our orchard-seat;
And, when at evening we pursue our walk
Along the public way, this Peak, so high
Above us, and so distant in its height,
Is visible; and often seems to send
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.
The meteors make of it a favorite haunt:

The star of Jove, so beautiful and large
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair
As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth

The loneliest place we have among the clouds.

And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved

With such communion that no place on earth

Can ever be a solitude to me,

Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name. 1800.

IV.

A NARROW girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern
shore

Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy :
And there myself and two beloved Friends,
One calm September morning, ere the mist
Had altogether yielded to the sun,
Sauntered on this retired and difficult way.
-Ill suits the road with one in haste; but

we

Played with our time; and, as we strolled along,

It was our occupation to observe
Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore-
Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough,
Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood
Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft
Each on the other heaped, along the line
Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard,
That skimmed the surface of the dead calm
lake,

Suddenly halting now-a lifeless stand!
And starting off again with freak as sudden;
In all its sportive wanderings, all the while,
Making report of an invisible breeze
That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse,
Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul.

And often, trifling with a privilege
Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now,
And now the other, to point out, perchance
To pluck,some flower or water-weed,too fair
Either to be divided from the place
On which it grew, or to be left alone
Te its own beauty. Many such there are,
Fair ferns and flowers, and chiefly that tall
fern,

So stately, of the Queen Osmunda named;
Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode
On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the
side

Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
-So fared we that bright morning: from
the fields.

Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth

Of reapers, men and women, boys and girls. Delighted much to listen to those sounds, And feeding thus our fancies we advanced Along the indented shore; when suddenly, Through a thin veil of glittering haze was

seen

Before us, on a point of jutting land; The tall and upright figure of a Man Attired in peasant's garb, who stood alone, Angling beside the margin of the lake. 'Improvident and reckless," we exclaimed, "The Man must be, who thus can lose a day

Of the mid harvest, when the laborer's hire Is ample, and some little might be stored Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time." Thus talking of that Peasant, we approached Close to the spot where with his rod and

line

He stood alone; whereat he turned his head
To greet us-and we saw a Man worn down
By sickness, gaunt and lear, with sunken
cheeks

And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean
That for my single self I looked at them,
Forgetful of the body they sustained.-
Too weak to labor in the harvest field,
The Man was using his best skill to gain
A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake
That knew not of his wants. I will not say
What thoughts immediately were ours, nor
how

The happy idleness of that sweet morn,
With all its lovely images, was changed
To serious musing and to self-reproach.
Nor did we fail to see within ourselves
What need there is to be reserved in speech
And temper all our thoughts with charity.
-Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My Friend, Myself, and She who then re
ceived
[place

The same admonishment, have called the
By a memorial name, uncouth indeed
As e'er by mariner was given to bay
Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast;
And POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the name
it bears.
1800.

V. TO M. H.

OUR walk was far among the ancient trees: There was no road, nor any woodman's path;

But a thick umbrage checking the wild growth

Of weed and sapling, along soft green turf
Beneath the branches-of itself had made
A track, that brought us to a slip of lawn,
And a small bed of water in the woods.
All round this pool both flocks and herds
might drink

On its firm margin, even as from a well,
Or some stone basin which the herdsman's
hand

Had shaped for their refreshment; nor did

sun,

Or wind, from any quarter ever come,
But as a blessing to this calm recess,
This glade of water and this one green field.
The spot was made by Nature for herself;
The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them; but it is beautiful;
And if a man should plant his cottage near,
Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees,
And blend its waters with his daily meal,
He would so love it that in his death-hour
Its image would survive among his thoughts:
And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still
Nook,

With all its beeches, we have named from
You!
1800.

VI.

WHEN, to the attractions of the busy world,

Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen
A habitation in this peaceful Vale,
Sharp season followed of continual storm
In deepest winter; and, from week to week,
Pathway, and lane, and public road were
clogged

With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill

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,
The redbreast ncar me hopped; nor was I
loth

To sympathize 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

nest;

And, baffled thus, though earth from day to day

Was fettered, and the air by storm disturbed,

I ceased the shelter to frequent, and prized Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess

The snows dissolved and genial Spring returned

To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts

Meanwhile were mine; till, one bright April day,

By chance retiring from the glare of noon

To this forsaken covert, there I found
A hoary pathway traced between the trees,
And winding on with such an easy line
Along a natural opening, that I stood
Much wondering how I could have sought
in vain

For what was now so obvious. To abide,
For an allotted interval of ease,
Under my cottage-roof, had gladly come
From the wild sea a cherished Visitant;
And with the sight of this same path-be-
gun,

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

track

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 murmur 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. 1805.

Note. This wish was not granted; the lamented Person not long after perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the Honorable East India Company's Vessel, the Earl of Abergavenny.

Winds our deep Vale, two heath-clad Rocks ascend

In fellowship, the loftiest of the pair
Rising to no ambitious height; yet both,
O'er lake and stream, mountain and flowery
mead,

Unfolding prospects fair as human eyes
Ever beheld. Up-led with mutual help,
To one or other brow of those twin Peaks
Were two adventurous Sisters wont to climb,
And took no note of the hour while thence
they gazed,

The blooming heath their couch, gazed, side by side,

In speechiess admiration. I, a witness
And frequent sharer of their calm delight
With thankful heart, to either Eminence
Gave the baptismal name each Sister bore.
Now are they parted, far as Death's cold

hand

I.

A MORNING EXERCISE. FANCY, who leads the pastimes of the glad, Full oft is pleased a wayward dart to throw;

Sending sad shadows after things not sad, Peopling the harmless fields with signs of

woe:

Beneath her sway, a simple forest cry Becomes an echo of man's misery.

Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark; The happiest bird that sprang out of the Ark!

Hail, blest above all kinds !-Supremely skilled

Restless with fixed to balance, high with low,

Thou leav'st the halcyon free her hopes to

build

the owl

Faithful, though swift as lightning, the meek dove;

Yet more hath Nature reconciled in thee;
So constant with thy downward eye of love,
Yet, in aerial singleness, so free;
So humble, yet so ready to rejoice
In power of wing and never-wearied voice.

To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler!-that love-prompted strain,

(Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing

All independent of the leafy spring.

How would it please old Ocean to partake,

With sailors longing for a breeze in vain, The harmony thy notes most gladly make most his Where earth resembles

domain!

own

Urania's self might welcome with pleased

ear