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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 bright 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 feeding thus our fancies, we advanced
Along the indented shore; when suddenly,
Through a thin veil of glittering haze, was seen
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.
"Improvident and reckless,” we exclaimed,
“The Man must be, who thus can lose a day
Of the mid-harvest, when the laborer'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 cheeks 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 labor 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.

1800.

V.

TO M. H.

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

A track, that 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 't will 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!

1800.

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
Of refuge, with an unencumbered 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 en

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

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