Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes,
Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising:
And many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for praise or blame, As is the humour of the game, While I am gazing.
A nun demure of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations;
A queen in crown of rubies drest;
A starveling in a scanty vest; Are all, as seems to suit thee best, Thy appellations.
A little Cyclops with one eye Staring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next-and instantly The freak is over,
The shape will vanish-and behold A silver shield with boss of gold, That spreads itself, some faery bold In fight to cover!
I see thee glittering from afar- And then thou art a pretty star; Not quite so fair as many are In heaven above thee!
Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;- May peace come never to his nest,
Who shall reprove thee!
Bright Flower! for by that name at last, When all my reveries are past,
I call thee, and to that cleave fast,
Sweet silent creature!
That breath'st with me in sun and air,
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature!
[Composed 1802.-Published 1807.]
Bright Flower! whose home is everywhere, Bold in maternal Nature's care, And all the long year through the heir Of joy and sorrow; Methinks that there abides in thee Some concord with humanity,
Given to no other flower I see The forest thorough!
Is it that Man is soon deprest? A thoughtless Thing! who, once unblest, Does little on his memory rest,
And Thou wouldst teach him how to find A shelter under every wind,
A hope for times that are unkind And every season?
Thou wander'st the wide world about, Unchecked by pride or scrupulous doubt, With friends to greet thee, or without, Yet pleased and willing;
Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, And all things suffering from all, Thy function apostolical
[Begun August 29, 30, 1800.-Finished 1802.-Published 1815.]
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 Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow, And sometimes on a speck of visible earth, The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth To sympathize with vulgar coppice birds That, for protection from the nipping blast, Hither repaired.-A single beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs! and, on the fork Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest; A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground As gave sure sign that they, who in that house Of nature and of love had made their home Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes
A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with suspicious stare, From the remotest outskirts of the grove,- Some nook where they had made their final stand, Huddling together from two fears-the fear Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees Had been so thickly planted and had thriven In such perplexed and intricate array, That vainly did I seek beneath their stems A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care; And, baffled thus, though earth from day to day Was fettered, and the air by storm disturbed, I ceased the shelter to frequent, and prized, Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess.
The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts Meanwhile were mine; till one bright April day, By chance retiring from the glare of noon To this forsaken covert, there I found A hoary pathway traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood
Much wondering how I could have sought in vain For what was now so obvious. To abide, For an allotted interval of ease,
Under my cottage-roof, had gladly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; And with the sight of this same path-begun, Begun and ended, in the shady grove, Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind That, to this opportune recess allured, He had surveyed it with a finer eye,
A heart more wakeful; and had worn the track By pacing here, unwearied and alone,
In that habitual restlessness of foot
That haunts the Sailor, measuring o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck,
While she pursues her course through the dreary sea.
When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth, Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was fashioned; and at length When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond Than common feelings of fraternal love.
But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections; Nature there
Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee; and even so didst thou become A silent Poet; from the solitude
Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear,
And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. -Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone; Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours Could I withhold thy honoured name, and now I love the fir-grove with a perfect love. Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong; And there I sit at evening, when the steep Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful lake And one green island, gleam between the stems Of the dark firs, a visionary scene!
And while I gaze upon the spectacle
Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee,
My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost. Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Among the mountains, through the midnight watch Art pacing thoughtfully the vessel's deck In some far region, here, while o'er my head At every impulse of the moving breeze, The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, Alone I tread this path;-for aught I know, Timing my steps to thine; and, with a store Of undistinguishable sympathies,
Mingling most earnest wishes for the day When we, and others whom we love, shall meet A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale.
NOTE. This wish was not granted; the lamented Person not long after perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the Honourable East India Company's Vessel, the Earl of Abergavenny.
[Finished May 29, 1802.-Published 1815.]
Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground, Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair Of that magnificent temple which doth bound One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
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