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, When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space, Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. Carried the Lady's voice, old Skiddaw blew His speaking-trumpet ;-back out of the clouds 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. And while we both were listening, to my side To shelter from some object of her fear. -And hence, long afterwards, when eighteer moons Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone I chiselled out in those rude characters 1800. NOTE. - In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several in scriptions, 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 tluster. THERE is an Eminence, of these our hills Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name. 1800. IV. A NARROW girdle of rough stones and crags, Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy : 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, That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake, That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse, And often, trifling with a privilege On which it grew, or to be left alone To its own beauty. Many such there are So stately, of the Queen Osmunda named; Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode 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 lean, with sunken cheeks |