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POEMS

BY

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH.

Of the Poems in this class, "THE EVENING WALK" and "DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES" were first published in 1793. They are reprinted with some alterations that were chiefly made very soon after their publication.

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This notice, which was written some time ago, scarcely applies to the Poem, "Descriptive Sketches," as it now stands. The corrections, though numerous, are not, however, such as to prevent its retaining with propriety a place in the class of Juvenile Pieces.

1836.

I. EXTRACT

FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM, COM-
POSED IN ANTICIPATION OF
LEAVING SCHOOL.

DEAR native regions, I foretell,
From what I feel at this farewell,
That, wheresoe'er my steps may tend,
And whensoe'er my course shall end,
If in that hour a single tie
Survive of local sympathy,

My soul will cast the backward view,
The longing look alone on you.

Thus, while the Sun sinks down to rest
Far in the regions of the west,
Though to the vale no parting beam
Be given, not one memorial gleam,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.
1786.

11.

WRITTEN IN VERY EARLY YOUTH.

CALM is all nature as a resting wheel.
The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,

Is cropping audibly his later meal:

Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal

O'er vale, and mountain, and the starfess sky.

Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created, comes to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory
Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! re-
strain

Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop
again.

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male Beggar-Twilight-sounds-Western Lights-Spirits Night Moonlight Hope-Night-sounds-Conclusion.

FAR from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to

rove

Through bare gray dell, high wood, and pastoral cove;

Where Derwent rests, and listens to the

roar

That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lindore;

Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads,

To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads;

Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cot

taged grounds,

Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds;

Where, undisturbed by winds, Winander sleeps

'Mid clustering isles, and holly-sprinkled steeps;

Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore,

And memory of departed pleasures, more.

Fair scenes, erewhile, I taught, a happy child,

The echoes of your rocks my carols wild : The spirit sought not then, in cherished sadness,

A cloudy substitute for failing gladness. In youth's keen eye the livelong day was bright,

The sun at morning, and the stars at night, Alike, when first the bittern's hollow bill Was heard, or woodcocks roamed the moonlight hill.

In thoughtless gayety I coursed the plain, And hope itself was all I knew of pain; For then, the inexperienced heart would

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ear;

When horses in the sunburnt intake * stood,

Or tracked the passenger, in mute distress, And vainly eyed below the tempting flood, With forward neck the closing gate to press

Then, while I wandered where the huddling rill Brightens with water-breaks the hollow As by enchantment, an obscure retreat ghyll Opened at once, and stayed my devious feet. While thick above the rill the branches close,

In rocky basin its wild waves repose, Inverted shrubs, and moss of gloomy green, Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between ;

And its own twilight softens the whole

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