While I was seated, now some ten days Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop 20 The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by Came forth to greet me; and, when he had asked, Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld The Rock, like something starting from a Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again; 55 That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag "How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted And Fairfield answered with a mountain + Maid! tone; And when will she return to us?" he Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky And, after short exchange of village news, cause, Reviving obsolete idolatry, 26 60 Carried the Lady's voice,-old Skiddaw blew His speaking-trumpet ;-back out of the clouds 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, 81 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." 85 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 Rydal, falls into Winandermere. 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. III. [Composed 1800.-Published 1800.] THERE is an Eminence,-of these our hills The last that parleys with the setting sun; 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, 6 Is visible; and often seems to send Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts. The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: The star of Jove, so beautiful and large In the mid heavens, is never half so fair 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 it horse, Its playmate, rather say, its moving sou -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, to fair Either to be divided from the place 30 On which it grew, or to be left alone The happy idleness of that sweet morn, With all its lovely images, was changed To serious musing and to self-reproach. 70 Nor did we fail to see within ourselves What need there is to be reserved in speech, So stately, of the Queen Osmunda named; And temper all our thoughts with charity. Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode 35-Therefore, unwilling to forget that day, On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the My Friend, Myself, and She who then side Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere, Bole-sitting by the shores of old romance. So fared we that bright morning: from the fields, 40 received 75 The same admonishment, have called the By a memorial name, uncouth indeed 80 Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast; seen 45 Before us, on a point of jutting land, Of the mid harvest, when the labourer's I ample, and some little might be stored Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time." Thus talking of that Peasant, we approached 55 Close to the spot where with his rod and V. TO M. H. [Composed after December 21, and before December 28, 1799.-Published 1800.] OUR walk was far among the ancient trees: There was no road, nor any woodman's path; But a thick umbrage-checking the wild Of weed and sapling, along soft green turf On its firm margin, even as from a well, hand ΙΟ Had shaped for their refreshment; nor 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 67 thoughts: 22 And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still Had been so thickly planted and ha Nook, thriven With all its beeches, we have named from In such perplexed and intricate array, Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill, That vainly did I seek beneath their stem care; And, baffled thus, though earth from da to day Was fettered, and the air by storm di turbed, I ceased the shelter to frequent,- -an prized, Less than I wished to prize, that cal recess. The snows dissolved, and genial Sprin returned haunts Meanwhile were mine; till one brigh At a short distance from my cottage, stands To clothe the fields with verdure. Othe To sympathize with vulgar coppice birds Of nature and of love had made their home Would watch my motions with suspicious By chance retiring from the glare of noo in vain For what was now so obvious. To abide 4 Begun and ended, in the shady grove, 6 By pacing here, unwearied and alone, His short domain upon the vessel's deck, 6 When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green My Brother, and on all which thou hast hills lost. And rocks that were the play-ground of Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, thy youth, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, 70 Ccaversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was fashioned; and at length, When once again we met in Grasmere Between us there was little other bond Undying recollections; Nature there Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Among the mountains, through the midnight watch 100 Art pacing thoughtfully the vessel's deck In some far region, here, while o'er my head, At every impulse of the moving breeze, Alone I tread this path;-foraught I know, Of undistinguishable sympathies, Was with thee; and even so didst thou When we, and others whom we love, shall |