The world, and man himself, appeared a scene
Of kindred lovelinefs: then he would figh
With mournful joy, to think that others felt
What he must never feel: and fo, loft Man!
On vifionary views would fancy feed,
eye ftreamed with tears. In this deep vale He died, this feat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, Howe'er disguised in his own majefty,
Is littleness; that he who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he hath never used; that thought with him
Is in its infancy. The man whofe eye
Is ever on himself, doth look on one,
The leaft of Nature's works, one who might nove
The wife man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, thou!
Inftructed that true knowledge leads to love,
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the filent hour of inward thought,
Can ftill fufpect, and ftill revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.
When, to the attractions of the bufy world,
Preferring ftudious leifure, I had chofen.
A habitation in this peaceful vale,
Sharp feafon followed of continual storm
In deepest Winter; and from week to week,
Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged
With frequent showers of fnow. Upon a hill,
At a short distance from my cottage, ftands
A ftately fir-grove, whither I was wont
To haften, for I found, beneath the roof
Of that perennial fhade, a cloistral place
Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor.
Here, in fafe covert, on the fhallow fnow,
And sometimes on a speck of vifible earth,
The red-breast near me hopped; nor was I loth
To fympathize with vulgar coppice birds
That, for protection from the nipping blast,
Hither repaired.-A fingle 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 neft, confpicuously built
At fuch small elevation from the ground
gave fure fign 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 fpot. And often-times A few sheep, ftragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with fufpicious ftare, From the remoteft outfkirts of the grove,
Some nook where they had made their final stand,
Huddling together from two fears-the fear
Of me and of the ftorm. Full many an hour
But in this grove the trees
Had been fo thickly planted, and had thriven
In fuch perplexed and intricate array,
That vainly did I seek, between their stems,
A length of open space,-where to and fro
My feet might move without concern or care :
And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed,
I ceased that shelter to frequent,—and prized,
Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess.
The fnows diffolved, 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 forfaken 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 ftood,
Much wondering at my own fimplicity,
How I could e'er have made a fruitless search
For what was now so obvious. At the fight
Conviction alfo flashed upon my mind
That this fame path (within the fhady grove
Begun and ended) by my Brother's steps
Had been impreffed.-To fojourn a short while
Beneath my roof, he from the barren feas
Had newly come-a cherished vifitant!
And much did it delight me to perceive
That to this opportune recefs allured,
He had furveyed it with a finer eye,
A heart more wakeful; that, more loth to part
From place fo lovely, he had worn the track
By pacing here, unwearied and alone,
In that habitual reftleffness of foot
With which the failor measures o'er and o'er
His short domain upon the vessel's deck,
While she is travelling through the dreary sea.
When thou hadft quitted Efthwaite's pleasant shore,
And taken thy firft leave of those green hills
And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth,
Year followed year, my Brother! and we two,
Converfing not, knew little in what mould
Each other's minds were 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 fea hadft carried
Undying recollections; Nature there
Was with thee; fhe, who loved us both, fhe still
Was with thee; and even fo didst thou become
A filent poet; from the folitude
Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart
Still couchant, an inevitable ear,
And an eye practifed like a blind man's touch.
Back to the joy lefs ocean thou art gone ;
And now I call the pathway by thy name,
And love the fir-grove with a perfect love.
Thither do I withdraw when cloudlefs funs
Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and ftrong:
And there I fit at evening, when the steep
Of Silver-How, and Grafmere's placid 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 fight
Of folemn loveliness, I think on thee,
My Brother, and on all which thou haft loft.
Nor feldom, if I rightly guess, while thou,
Muttering the verfes which I muttered first
Among the mountains, through the midnight watch
Art pacing to and fro the veffel's deck
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