Their ancient neighbour, the old Steeple tower, I, like a Runic Priest, in characters Of formidable size had chisseled out Some uncouth name upon the native rock, And this was my reply:-" As it befel, 'Twas that delightful season, when the broom, Full-flowered, and visible on every steep, Along the copses runs in veins of gold. Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks; And when we came in front of that tall rock Which looks towards the East, I there stopped short, And traced the lofty barrier with my eye From base to summit; such delight I found To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower, That intermixture of delicious hues, Along so vast a surface, all at once, In one impression, by connecting force Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart. That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth Is not for me to tell; but sure I an That there was a loud uproar in the hills: And, while we both were listening, to my side To shelter from some object of her fear. And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons I chisseled out in those rude characters And I, and all who dwell by my fire-side, Have called the lovely rock, JOANNA'S ROCK." Note.-In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several Inscriptions, upon the native rock, which, from the wasting of Time, and the rudeness of the Workmanship, have been mistaken for Runic. They are without doubt Roman. The Rotha, mentioned in this poem, is the River which, flowing through the Lakes of Grasmere and Rydale, falls into Wyndermere. On HelmCrag, that impressive single Mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, is a Rock which from most points of view bears a striking resemblance to an Old Woman cowering. Close by this rock is one of those Fissures or Caverns, which in the language of the Country are called Dungeons. Most of the Mountains here mentioned immediately surround the Vale of Grasmere; of the others, some are at a considerable distance, but they belong to the same cluster. III. THERE is an Eminence,-of these our hills As when he shines above it. "Tis in truth The loneliest place we have among the clouds. With such communion, that no place on earth Hath to this lonely summit given my Name. IV. A NARROW girdle of rough stones and crags, Sauntered on this retired and difficult way. -Ill suits the road with one in haste, but we Played with our time; and, as we strolled along, It was our occupation to observe Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore, Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood, |