The same whom in my School-boy days I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen!
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed Bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for Thee!
With a continuous cloud of texture close, Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon, Which through that veil is indistinctly seen, A dull, contracted circle, yielding light So feebly spread that not a shadow falls, Checkering the ground-from rock, plant, tree, or
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam Startles the pensive traveller as he treads His lonesome path, with unobserving eye Bent earthwards ; he looks
Asunder, and above his head he sees
The clear moon, and the glory of the heavens. There, in a black blue vault she sails along, Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
- how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not! - the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent; - still they roll along Immeasurably distant; - and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind, Not undisturbed by the delight it feels, Which slowly settles into peaceful calm, Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.
THERE is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore, Not loth to furnish weapons for the Bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched
To Scotland's Heaths; or Those that crossed the Sea
And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.
of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary Tree! - a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed. But worthier still of note Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove;
Huge trunks! - and each particular trunk a growth
of intertwisted fibres serpentine
Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved,
Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks
That threaten the prophane; - a pillared shade, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged Perennially beneath whose sable roof
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked With unrejoicing berries, ghostly Shapes May meet at noontide. Fear and trembling Hope Silence and Foresight - Death the Skeleton And Time the Shadow, - - there to celebrate, As in a natural temple scattered o'er With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, United worship; or in mute repose
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.
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