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"Five minutes past-and, O the change 1

Asleep upon their beds they lie;
Their busy limbs in perfect rest,

And closed the sparkling eye."

End

The following poem was written at Rydal Mount in 1832. Wordsworth has said he believed it arose out of a casual expression of one of Mr. Swinburne's children :

LOVING AND LIKING: IRREGULAR VERSES, ADDRESSED
TO A CHILD.

"There's more in words than I can teach ;
Yet listen, Child!-I would not preach;
But only give some plain directions
To guide your speech and your affections.
Say not you love a roasted fowl,
But you may love a screaming owl,
And, if you can, the unwieldy toad
That crawls from his secure abode
Within the mossy garden wall
When evening dews begin to fall.
Oh mark the beauty of his eye:
What wonders in that circle lie!
So clear, so bright, our fathers said
He wears a jewel in his head!

"And when upon some showery day,
Into a path or public way

A frog leaps out from bordering grass,
Startling the timid as they pass,

Do you observe him, and endeavour
To take the intruder into favour;

Learning from him to find a reason
For a light heart in a dull season.
And you may love him in the pool,
That is for him a happy school,

In which he swims as taught by nature,
Fit pattern for a human creature,
Glancing amid the water bright,

And sending upward sparkling light.
"Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing
A love for things that have no feeling:
The spring's first rose by you espied
May fill your breast with joyful pride;
And you may love the strawberry-flower,
And love the strawberry in its bower;
But when the fruit, so often praised
For beauty, to your lip is raised,
Say not you love the delicate treat,
But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.

"Long may you love your pensioner mouse,

Though one of a tribe that torment the house :
Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat,
Deadly foe both of mouse and rat ;
Remember she follows the law of her kind,
And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind.
Then think of her beautiful gliding form,
Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm,
And her soothing song by the winter fire,
Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.

"I would not circumscribe your love :

It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove,

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May pierce the earth with the patient mole,

Or track the hedgehog to his hole.

Loving and liking are the solace of life,

Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of

strife.

"You love your father and your mother,

Your grown-up and your baby-brother;

You love your sister, and your friends,
And countless blessings which God sends :

And while these right affections play,

You live each moment of your day;

They lead you on to full content,.
And likings fresh and innocent,

That store the mind, the memory feed,
And prompt to many a gentle deed:
But likings come, and pass away;
'Tis love that remains till our latest day :
Our heavenward guide is holy love,

And will be our bliss with saints above."

The poem suggested by an island on Derwent-water, which is said to have been composed so late as the year 1842, shows that, if the date be correct, which is somewhat doubtful, Miss Wordsworth was at that time in full possession of her faculties. These lines, we are informed, she used to take pleasure in repeating during her last illness.

66 FLOATING ISLAND.

"Harmonious Powers with Nature work

On sky, earth, river, lake, and sea;
Sunshine and cloud, whirlwind and breeze,

All in one duteous task agree.

"Once did I see a slip of earth

(By throbbing waves long undermined) Loosed from its hold; how, no one knew,

But all might see it float, obedient to the wind;

"Might see it, from the mossy shore

Dissevered, float upon the Lake,

Float with its crest of trees adorned

On which the warbling birds their pastime take.

"Food, shelter, safety, there they find; There berries ripen, flowerets bloom; There insects live their lives, and die;

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A peopled world it is; in size a tiny room.

And thus through many seasons' space

This little Island may survive;

But Nature, though we mark her not,

Will take away, may cease to give.

"Perchance when you are wandering forth

Upon some vacant sunny day,

Without an object, hope, or fear,

Thither your eyes may turn-the Isle is passed away;

'Buried beneath the glittering Lake,

Its place no longer to be found; Yet the lost fragments shall remain 'To fertilize some other ground."

CHAPTER XIX.

JOURNAL OF A TOUR AT ULLSWATER

A.D. 1805.

N the 7th of November, on a damp and gloomy

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morning, we left Grasmere Vale, intending to pass a few days on the banks of Ullswater. A mild and dry autumn had been unusually favourable to the preservation and beauty of foliage; and, far advanced as the season was, the trees on the larger island of Rydal Mere retained a splendour which did not need the heightening of sunshine, We noticed as we passed that the line of the grey rocky shore of that island, shaggy with variegated bushes and shrubs, and spotted and striped with purplish brown heath, indistinguishably blending with its image reflected in the still water, produced a curious resemblance, both in form and colour, to a richly-coated caterpillar, as it might appear through a magnifying glass of extraordinary power. The mists gathered as we went along: but when we reached the top of Kirkstone, we were glad we had not been discouraged by the apprehension of bad weather. Though not able to see a hundred yards before us, we were more than contented. At such a time, and in such a place,

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