Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed Such an entire contentment in the air, That every naked ash, and tardy tree Or like some natural produce of the air, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; But 't was the foliage of the rocks, the birch, My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee." Soon did the spot become my other home, My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, II. 1800. TO JOANNA. AMID the smoke of cities did you pass The time of early youth; and there you learned, From years of quiet industry, to love The living Beings by your own fireside, With such a strong devotion, that your heart Is slow to meet the sympathies of them Who look upon the hills with tenderness, And make dear friendships with the streams and groves. Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind, Dwelling retired in our simplicity Among the woods and fields, we love you well, So distant from us now for two long years, That you will gladly listen to discourse, 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 when he had asked, "How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid? And when will she return to us?" he paused; And, 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 Now, by those dear immunities of heart And this was my reply : "As it befell, One summer morning we had walked abroad -'T was that delightful season when the broom, And when we came in front of that tall rock That eastward looks, I there stopped short, and stood Tracing the lofty barrier with my eye From base to summit; such delight I found Along so vast a surface, all at once, Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart. That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. Now whether" (said I to our cordial Friend, Who in the heyday of astonishment Smiled in my face) "this were in simple truth To me alone imparted, sure I am That there was a loud uproar in the hills. To shelter from some object of her fear. And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone 1800. NOTE. In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several inscriptions, upon the native rock, which, from the wasting of time, and the rudeness of the workmanship, have been mistaken 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 Helm-crag, 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 considerable distance, but they belong to the same cluster. |