THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, VOL 3, 1896 (Completed)

BOOK FOURTH - SUMMER VACATION

Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps

Followed each other till a dreary moor

Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top [A]

Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge,

I overlooked the bed of Windermere,

Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.

With exultation, at my feet I saw

Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays,

A universe of Nature's fairest forms

Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst,

Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay.

I bounded down the hill shouting amain

For the old Ferryman; to the shout the rocks

Replied, and when the Charon of the flood

Had staid his oars, and touched the jutting pier, [B]

I did not step into the well-known boat

Without a cordial greeting. Thence with speed

Up the familiar hill I took my way [C]

Towards that sweet Valley [D] where I had been reared;

'Twas but a short hour's walk, ere veering round

I saw the snow-white church upon her hill [E]

Sit like a thronèd Lady, sending out

A gracious look all over her domain. [F]

Yon azure smoke betrays the lurking town;

With eager footsteps I advance and reach

The cottage threshold where my journey closed.

Glad welcome had I, with some tears, perhaps,

From my old Dame, so kind and motherly, [G]

While she perused me with a parent's pride.

The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew

Upon thy grave, good creature!

While my heart Can beat never will

I forget thy name.

Heaven's blessing be upon thee where thou liest

After thy innocent and busy stir

In narrow cares, thy little daily growth

Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years,

And more than eighty, of untroubled life, [H]

Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood

Honoured with little less than filial love.

What joy was mine to see thee once again,

Thee and thy dwelling, and a crowd of things

About its narrow precincts all beloved, [I]

And many of them seeming yet my own!

Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts

Have felt, and every man alive can guess?

The rooms, the court, the garden were not left

Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat

Round the stone table under the dark pine, [K]

Friendly to studious or to festive hours;

Nor that unruly child of mountain birth,