Then let the chill Scirocco blow,
And gird us round with hills of snow,
Or else go whistle to the shore,
And make the hollow mountains roar.

Whilst we together jovial sit

Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit;
Where, though bleak winds confine us home,
Our fancies round the world shall roam.

We'll think of all the Friends we know,
And drink to all worth drinking to;
When having drunk all thine and mine,
We rather shall want healths than wine.
But where Friends fail us, we'll supply
Our friendships with our charity;
Men that remote in sorrows live,
Shall by our lusty Brimmers thrive.
We'll drink the Wanting into wealth.
And those that Languish into health,
The Afflicted into joy; th' Opprest
Into security and rest.

The Worthy in disgrace shall find
Favour return again more kind,
And in restraint who stifled lie,
Shall taste the air of liberty.

The Brave shall triumph in success,
The Lovers shall have Mistresses,
Poor unregarded Virtue, praise,
And the neglected Poet, bays.

Thus shall our healths do others good,
Whilst we ourselves do all we would;
For, freed from envy and from care,

What would we be but what we are?"

When I sat down to write this preface it was my intention tc have made it more comprehensive; but as all that I deem neces sary is expressed, I will detain the reader no longer,

W. W.

POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH.

EXTRACT

FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM, COMPOSED UPON LEAVING SCHOOL.

DEAR native regions, I foretell

From what I feel at this farewell,

That, wheresoe'er my steps shall 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, when the sun, prepared for rest,
Hath gained the precincts of the west
Though his departing radiance fail
To illuminate the hollow vale,

A lingering light he fondly throws

On the dear mountain-tops where first he rose.

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

AN EVENING WALK.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

General Sketch of the Lakes-Author's regret of his youth which was passed amongst them-Short description of Noon-Cascade-Noon-tide Retreat-Preci pice and sloping Lights-Face of Nature as the Sun declines-Mountain-farm, and the Cock-Slate-quarry-Sunset-Superstition of the Country connected with that moment-Swans-Female Beggar-Twilight sounds-Western Lights

Spirits-Night-Moonlight-Hope-Night-sounds-Conclusion.

FAR from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to rove
Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove;
His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes,
Thro' crags and forest glooms and opening lakes,
Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar

That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore;
Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads,
To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads;
Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottaged grounds,
Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds;
Where, bosom'd deep, the shy Winander* peeps
'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:
Then did no ebb of cheerfulness demand
Sad tides of joy from melancholy's hand,
In youth's wild eye the livelong day was bright,
The sun at morning, and the stars at night,
Alike, when first the vales the bittern fills

Or the first woodcocks† roamed the moonlight hills.
In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain,

And hope itself was all I knew of pain;

For then, even then, the little heart would beat
At times, while young Content forsook her seat,

And wild Impatience, pointing upward, showed,

Where, tipp'd with gold, the mountain summits glowed.
Alas! the idle tale of man is found

Depicted in the dial's moral round;

With hope reflection blends her social rays
To gild the total tablet of his days;

Yet still, the sport of some malignant power,
He knows but from its shade the present hour.

But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain?
To show her yet some joys to me remain,
Say, will my Friend, with soft affection's ear,
The history of a poet's evening hear?

When, in the south, the wan noon, brooding still
Breathed a pale steam around the glaring hill,

These lines are only applicable to the middle part of that lake.

In the beginning of winter, these mountains are frequented by woodcocka hich in dark nights retire into the woods.

And shades of deep-embattled clouds were seen,
Spotting the northern cliffs with lights between;
Gazing the tempting shades to them denied,
When stood the shortened herds amid the tide,
Where from the barren wall's unsheltered end
Long rails into the shallow lake extend.

When school-boys stretched their length upon the green;
And round the humming elm, a glimmering scene,

In the brown park, in flocks the troubled deer
Shook the still-twinkling tail and glancing ear;
When horses in the wall-girt intake* stood,
Unshaded, eying far below the flood,
Crowded behind the swain, in mute distress,
With forward neck the closing gate to press-
Then, as I wandered where the huddling rill
Brightens with water-breaks the hollow ghyllt
To where, while thick above the branches close,
In dark brown bason its wild waves repose,
Inverted shrubs, and moss of darkest green,
Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between;
Save that aloft the subtile sunbeams shine

On withered briars that o'er the crags recline;

Sole light admitted here, a small cascade,

Illumines with sparkling foam the twilight shade;
Beyond, along the vista of the brook,

Where antique roots its bustling path o'erlook,
The eye reposes on a secret bridget

Half gray, half shagged with ivy to its ridge.

Sweet rill, farewell! To-morrow's noon again
Shall hide me, wooing long thy wildwood strain;
But now the sun has gained his western road,
And eve's mild hour invites my steps abroad.

While, near the midway cliff, the silvered kite
In many a whistling circle wheels her flight;
Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, apace
Travel along the precipice's base;

Cheering its naked waste of scattered stone,
By lichens gray, and scanty moss, o'ergrown;
Where scarce the foxglove peeps, or thistle's beard;
And restless stone-chat, all day long, is heard.

How pleasant, as the yellowing sun declines,

And with long rays and shades the landscape shines;
To mark the birches' stems all golden light,

That lit the dark slant woods with silvery white;
The willow's weeping trees, that twinkling hoar,
Glanced oft upturned along the breezy shore

Low bending o'er the coloured water, fold

Their moveless boughs and leaves like threads of gold;

The word intake is local, and signifies a mountain inclosure.

Ghyll is also, I believe, a term confined to this country: ghyll and dingle Eave the same meaning.

The reader who has made the tour of this country, will recognise, in this de scription, the features which characterize the lower waterfall in the grounds of Rydad.

The skiffs with naked masts at anchor laid,
Before the boat-house peeping through the shade;
The unwearied glance of woodman's echoed stroke;
And curling from the trees the cottage smoke.

Their panniered train a group of potters goad,
Winding from side to side up the steep road;
The peasant, from yon cliff of fearful edge

Shot, down the headlong path darts with his sledge;
Bright beams the lonely mountain-horse illume

Feeding 'mid purple heath, "green rings,"* and broom,
While the sharp slope the slackened team confounds,
Downward the ponderous timber-wain resounds;
In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song,
Dashed down the rough rock, lightly leaps along;
From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet,
Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat;
Sounds from the water-side the hammered boat;
And blasted quarry thunders, heard remote !

Even here, amid the sweep of endless woods,
Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs, and falling floods,
Not undelightful are the simplest charms,
Found by the grassy door of mountain-farms.

Sweetly ferocious,† round his native walks,
Pride of his sister-wives, the monarch stalks;
Spur-clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread;
A crest of purple, tops his warrior head.
Bright sparks his black and rolling eye-ball hurls
Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls;

On tiptoe reared, he strains his clarion throat,
Threatened by faintly-answering farms remote.

Bright'ning the cliffs between where sombrous pine
And yew-trees o'er the silver rocks recline;
I love to mark the quarry's moving trains,

Dwarf panniered steeds, and men, and numerous wains
How busy the enormous hive within,

While Echo dallies with the various din!

Some (hardly heard their chisels' clinking sound)
Toil, small as pigmies in the gulf profound;
Some, dim between th' aerial clifts descried,
O'erwalk the slender plank from side to side;
These, by the pale-blue rocks that ceaseless ring,
Glad from their airy baskets hang, and sing.

Hung o'er a cloud above the steep that rears
Its edge all flame, the broadening sun appears;
A long blue bar its ægis orb divides,
And breaks the spreading of its golden tides;
And now it touches on the purple steep

That flings his shadow on the pictured deep.

Vivid rings of green."-Greenwood's Poem on Shooting.

"Dolcemente feroce.- Tasso.-In this description of the cock, I ruigembered 4 spirited one of the same animal in "L'Agriculture, ou Les Georgiques éтauguines, M. Rossuet.