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Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor.
Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow,
And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth,
The redbreast near 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;
A last year's nest, conspicuously built
At such small elevation from the ground
As gave sure sign that they, who in that house
Of nature and of love had made their home
Amid the fir-trees, all the Summer long
Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes,

A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock,
Would watch my motions with suspicious stare,
From the remotest outskirts of the grove,-
Some nook where they had made their final stand,
Huddling together from two fears-the fear
Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour
Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees
Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven
In such perplexed and intricate array,
That vainly did I seek, between their stems,
A length of open space,-where to and fro
My feet might move without concern or care:
And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed,
I ceased that 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 at my own simplicity
How I could e'er have made a fruitless search
For what was now so obvious. At the sight
Conviction also flashed upon my mind
That this same path (within the shady grove
Begun and ended) by my Brother's steps
Had been impressed.-To sojourn a short while
Beneath my roof, he from the barren seas
Had newly come-a cherished visitant!
And much did it delight me to perceive
That, to this opportune recess allured,
He had surveyed it with a finer eye,

A heart more wakeful; that, more loth to part
From place so lovely, he had worn the track
By pacing here, unwearied and alone.

-Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My friend, myself, and she who then received
The same admonishment, have called the place
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.

TO M. H.

OUR walk was far among the ancient trees;
There was no road, nor any woodman's path;
But the thick umbrage, checking the wild growth
Of weed and sapling, on the soft green turf
Beneath the branches, of itself had made
A track, which 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.

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 near 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;
A last year's nest, conspicuously built
At such small elevation from the ground
As gave sure sign that they, who in that house
Of nature and of love had made their home
Amid the fir-trees, all the Summer long

Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes,

A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock,
Would watch my motions with suspicious stare,
From the remotest outskirts of the grove,-
Some nook where they had made their final stand,
Huddling together from two fears-the fear
Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour
Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees
Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven
In such perplexed and intricate array,
That vainly did I seek, between their stems,
A length of open space,-where to and fro
My feet might move without concern or care:
And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed,
I ceased that 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 at my own simplicity
How I could e'er have made a fruitless search
For what was now so obvious. At the sight
Conviction also flashed upon my mind
That this same path (within the shady grove
Begun and ended) by my Brother's steps
Had been impressed. To sojourn a short while
Beneath my roof, he from the barren seas
Had newly come-a cherished visitant!
And much did it delight me to perceive
That, to this opportune recess allured,
He had surveyed it with a finer eye,

A heart more wakeful; that, more loth to part
From place so lovely, he had worn the track
By pacing here, unwearied and alone.

In that habitual restlessness of foot

With which the sailor measures o'er and o'er

His short domain upon the vessel's deck,

While she is travelling through the dreary sea.
When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore,
And taken thy first leave of those green hills
And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth,
Year followed year, my Brother! and we two,
Conversing not, knew little in what mould

Each other's minds were fashioned; and at length
When once again we met in Grassmere Vale,
Between us there was little other bond
Than common feelings of fraternal love.
But thou, a school-boy, to the sea hadst carried
Undying recollections; Nature there

Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still
Was with thee; and even so didst thou become
A silent poet; from the solitude

Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart
Still couchant, an inevitable ear,

And an eye practised like a blind man's touch.
-Back to the joyless ocean thou art gone;
And now I call the pathway by thy name,
And love the fir-grove with a perfect love.
Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns
Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong.
And there I sit at evening, when the steep
Of Silver-How, and Grasmere's placid lake,
And one green island, gleam between the stems
Of the dark firs, a visionary scene!

And, while I gaze upon the spectacle

Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight
Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee,

My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost.
Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while thou,
Muttering the verses which I muttered first
Among the mountains, through the midnight watch
Art pacing to and fro the vessel's deck

In some far region, here, while o'er my head,
At every impulse of the moving breeze,
The fir-grove murmurs 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.

INSCRIPTIONS.

IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT OF SIR GEORGE
BEAUMONT, BART., LEICESTERSHIRE.

THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine,
Will not unwillingly their place resign;

If but the cedar thrive that near them stands,
Planted by Beaumont's and by Wordsworth's hands.
One wooed the silent Art with studious pains,-
These groves have heard the other's pensive strains;
Devoted thus, their spirits did unite

By interchange of knowledge and delight.
May Nature's kindliest powers sustain the tree,
And love protect it from all injury!

And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown,
Darken the brow of this memorial stone,
And to a favourite resting-place invite,
For coolness grateful and a sober light;
Here may some painter sit in future days,
Some future Poet meditate his lays;

Not mindless of that distant age renowned
When inspiration hovered o'er this ground,

The haunt of him who sang how spear and shield

In civil conflict met on Bosworth Field;

And of that famous youth, full soon removed

From earth, perhaps by Shakspeare's self approved.
Fletcher's associate, Jonson's friend beloved.

IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME.

OFT is the medal faithful to its trust

When temples, columns, towers are laid in dust,
And 'tis a common ordinance of fate

That things obscure and small outlive the great:
Hence, when yon mansion and the flowery trim
Of this fair garden, and its alleys dim,

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