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TO .

Happy the feeling from the bosom thrown
In perfect shape (whose beauty Time shall spare
Though a breath made it) like a bubble blown
For summer pastime into wanton air;
Happy the thought best likened to a stone 5

Of the sea-beach, when, polished with nice care,
Veins it discovers exquisite and rare,
Which for the loss of that moist gleam atone
That tempted first to gather it. That here,
O chief of Friends! such feelings I present 10

To thy regard, with thoughts so fortunate,
Were a vain notion ; but the hope is dear
That thou, if not with partial joy elate,
Wilt smile upon this gift with more than mild con-

1827. (?) PAET I.

1. Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; And hermits are contented with their cells; And students with their pensive citadels; Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, 5 High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells, Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound 10 Withiu the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs

must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find brief solace there, as I have found.

1806. (?)



Intended more particularly for the perusal of those who may have happened to he enamoured of some lieautiful place or Ketreat, in the Country of the Lakes.

Well may'st thou halt—and gaze with bright-
ening eye!
The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook
Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear

Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!
But covet not the Abode;—forbear to sigh, 5
As many do, repining while they look;
Intruders—who would tear from Nature's book
This precious leaf, with harsh impiety.
Think what the Home must be if it were thine,
Even thine, though few thy wants!—Roof,
window, door, 10

The very flowers are sacred to the Poor,
The roses to the porch which they entwine:
Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day
On which it should be touched, would melt

1806. (?)

"Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con Those many records of my childish years,

Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down: to think of what is gone
Will be an awful thought, if life have one." 5
But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
Distressed me; from mine eyes escaped no

tears; Deep thought, or dread remembrance, had I

none. By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost I stood, of simple shame the blushing Thrall; 10 So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so

small! A Juggler's balls old Time about him tossed; I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

1806. (?)




Beaumont! it was thy wish that I should rear

A seemly Cottage in this sunny Dell,

On favoured ground, thy gift, where I might

dwell In neighbourhood with One to me most dear, That undivided we from year to year 5

Might work in our high Calling—a bright hope
To which our fancies, mingling, gave free scope
Till checked by some necessities severe.
And should these slacken, honoured Beaumont!

Even then we may perhaps in vain implore 10
Leave of our fate thy wishes to fulfi1.
Whether this boon be granted us or not,
Old Skiddaw will look down upon the Spot
With pride, the Muses love it evermore.

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