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Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
Remembrance of Grasmere.
! O VALE and lake, within your mountain-urn
Smiling so tranquilly, and set so deep!
2 " place of restling green for Poets made." I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still That the sweet buds which, with a modest pride, Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scanty-leaved and finely tapering stems, Had not yet lost their starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new-shorn, And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves; For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. There was wide wandering for the greediest eye To peer about upon variety; Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim; To picture out the quaint and curious hending Of a fresh woodland alley never-ending : Or by the bowery clefts and leafy shelves, Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves. Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight: With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And ta per fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. Linger awhile upon some bending planks That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And watch intently Nature's gentle doings : They will be found softer than ringdoves cooings. How silent comes the water round that bend ! Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows : blades of grass Slowly across the checker'd shadows pass. Why, you might read two sonnets ere they reach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams, To taste the luxury of sunny beams Temper'd with coolness. How they ever wrestle With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand !
The doe awoke, and to the lawn,
The Banks of the Tyne.
O YE dales Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands; where Oft, as the giant flood obliquely strides, And his banks open and his lawns extend, Stops short the pleased traveller to view, Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands : O ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook The rocky pavement and the mossy falls Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream! How gladly I recall your well-known seats Beloved of old, and that delightful time When all alone, for many a summer's day, I wander'd through your calm recesses, led In silence by some powerful hand unseen. Nor will I e'er forget you ; nor shall e'er The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim Those studies which possess'd me in the dawn Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind For every future year: whence even now From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn, And, while the world around lies overwhelm'd In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts Of honourable fame, of truth divine Or moral, and of minds to virtue won By the sweet magic of harmonious verse.
Written bhile Sailing in a Boat at Ebening.
Before us, tinged with evening hues,
The boat her silent course pursues !
A little moment past so smiling!
The pleasures of a Forest Life. MARIAN, thou seest, though courtly pleasures want; Yet country sport in Sherwood is not scant: For the soul-ravishing delicious sound Of instrumental music we have found The winged quiristers, with divers votes Sent from their quaint recording pretty throats, On every branch that compasseth our bower, Without command contenting us each hour. For arras hangings and rich tapestry We have sweet Nature's best embroidery. For thy steel glass, wherein thou wont'st to look, Thy crystal eyes gaze in a crystal brook. At court a flower or two did deck thy head, Now with whole garlands it is circled ; For what we want in wealth, we have in flowers; And what we lose in halls we find in bowers.
The Forest at Noonday.
THE noorday sun