Or like some natural produce of the air,

That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;
But 'twas the foliage of the rocks, the birch,
The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
With hanging islands of resplendent furze :
And on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell,
A single mountain cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,

"Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee."

-Soon did the spot become my other home,

My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.

And, of the shepherds who have seen me there,

To whom I sometimes in our idle talk

Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,

Years after we are gone and in our graves,

When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.

II.

TO JOANNA.

AMID the smoke of cities did you pass

Your time of early youth; and there you learned,
From years of quiet industry, to love

The living beings by your own fire-side,

With such a strong devotion, that your heart

Is slow towards the sympathies of them

Who look upon the hills with tenderness,

And make dear friendships with the streams and groves. Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind,

Dwelling retired in our simplicity

Among the woods and fields, we love you well.
Joanna! and I guess, since you have been
So distant from us now for two long years,

That you will gladly listen to discourse
However trivial, if you thence are taught
That they, with whom you once were happy, talk
Familiarly of you and of old times.

While I was seated, now some ten days past,
Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop
Their ancient neighbour, the old steeple tower,
The vicar from his gloomy house hard by

Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked,
"How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted maid!
And when will she return to us?" he paused;
And, after short exchange of village news,
He with grave looks demanded, for what cause,
Reviving obsolete idolatry,

I, like a Runic priest, in characters
Of formidable size had chisseled out
Some uncouth name upon the native rock,
Above the Rotha, by the forest side.
-Now, by those dear immunities of heart
Engendered betwixt malice and true love,
I was not loth to be so catechized,
And this was my reply:-" As it befel,
One Summer morning we had walked abroad
At break of day, Joanna and myself.

-"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.

-When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space,
Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld

That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.
The rock, like something starting from a sleep,
Took up the lady's voice, and laughed again:
That ancient woman seated on Helm-Crag
Was ready with her cavern: Hammar-Scar,
And the tall steep of Silver-How, sent forth
A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard.
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone:
Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky
Carried the lady's voice,-old Skiddaw blew
His speaking trumpet ;-back out of the clouds
Of Glaramara southward came the voice;
And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head.
-Now whether (said I to our cordial friend,
Who in the hey-day of astonishment
Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth
A work accomplished by the brotherhood
Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched
With dreams and visionary impulses,

Is not for me to tell; but sure I am

That there was a loud uproar in the hills:

And, while we both were listening, to my side

The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished

To shelter from some object of her fear.

-And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons
Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone
Beneath this rock, at sun-rise, on a calm
And silent morning, I sat down, and there,
In memory of affections old and true,

I chisseled out in those rude characters
Joanna's name upon the living stone.
And I, and all who dwell by my fire-side,
Have called the lovely rock, JOANNA'S ROCK."

III.

THERE is an eminence,-of these our hills
The last that parleys with the setting sun.
We can behold it from our orchard-seat;
And, when at evening we pursue our walk
Along the public way, this cliff, so high
Above us, and so distant in its height,
Is visible; and often seems to send
Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt:
The star of Jove, so beautiful and large
In the mid heavens, is never half so fair
As when he shines above it. "Tis in truth
The loneliest place we have among the clouds.
And she who dwells with me, whom I have loved
With such communion, that no place on earth
Can ever be a solitude to me,

Hath to this lonely summit given my Name.

IV.

A NARROW girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore
Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy.
And there, myself and two beloved Friends,
One calm September morning, ere the mist
Had altogether yielded to the sun,
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,
Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough,
Each on the other heaped, along the line
Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood,
Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft
Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard,

That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake,
Suddenly halting now-a lifeless stand!
And starting off again with freak as sudden;
In all its sportive wanderings, all the while,
Making report of an invisible breeze

That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse,
Its very playmate, and its moving soul.

And often, trifling with a privilege
Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now,
And now the other, to point out, perchance
To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair
Either to be divided from the place

On which it grew, or to be left alone

To its own beauty. Many such there are,
Fair ferns and flowers, and chiefly that tall fern
So stately, of the Queen Osmunda named;

Plant lovelier in its own retired abode

On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the side
Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old Romance.

-So fared we that sweet morning: from the fields,
Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth
Of reapers, men and women, boys and girls.
Delighted much to listen to those sounds,
And, in the fashion which I have described,
Feeding unthinking fancies, we advanced
Along the indented shore; when suddenly,
Through a thin veil of glittering haze, we saw,
Before us, on a point of jutting land,
The tall and upright figure of a man
Attired in peasant's garb, who stood alone,
Angling beside the margin of the lake.

That way we turned our steps; nor was it long

Ere, making ready comments on the sight

Which then we saw, with one and the same voice
Did all cry out, that he must be indeed
An idler, he who thus could lose a day
Of the mid harvest, when the labourer's hire
Is ample, and some little might be stored
Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time.
Thus talking of that peasant we approached
Close to the spot where with his rod and line
He stood alone; whereat he turned his head
To greet us and we saw a man worn down
By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken checks
And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean
That for my single self I looked at them,
Forgetful of the body they sustained.-
Too weak to labour in the harvest field,
The man was using his best skill to gain
A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake
That knew not of his wants. I will not say
What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how
The happy idleness of that sweet morn,
With all its lovely images, was changed
To serious musing and to self-reproach.
Nor did we fail to see within ourselves
What need there is to be reserved in speech,
And temper all our thoughts with charity.

-Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My friend, myself, and she who then received
The same admonishment, have called the place
By a memorial name, uncouth indeed

As e'er by mariner was given to bay

Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast;

And POINT RASH JUDGMENT is the name it bears.

OUR walk was far among the ancient trees;
There was no road, nor any woodman's path;
But the thick umbrage, checking the wild growth
Of weed and sapling, on the soft green turf
Beneath the branches, of itself had made

A track, which brought us to a slip of lawn,
And a small bed of water in the woods.

All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink

On its firm margin, even as from a well,

Or some stone basin which the herdsman's hand
Had shaped for their refreshment; nor did sun,
Or wind from any quarter, ever come,
But as a blessing, to this calm recess,
This glade of water and this one green field.
The spot was made by Nature for herself.
The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain
Unknown to them: but it is beautiful;
And if a man should plant his cottage near,
Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees,
And blend its waters with his daily meal,
He would so love it that in his death hour
Its image would survive among his thoughts:
And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still nook,
With all its beeches, we have named from you.

VI.

WHEN, to the attractions of the busy world,
Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen
A habitation in this peaceful vale,
Sharp season followed of continual storm

In deepest Winter; and, from week to week,
Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged
With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill
At a short distance from my cottage, stands
A stately fir-grove, whither I was wont
To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof
Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place