GRASSMERE AND RYDAL WATER.
O vale of Grassmere! tranquil, and shut out
From all the strife that shakes a jarring world,
How quietly thy village roofs are bower'd
In the cool verdure, while thy graceful spire
Guardeth the ashes of the noble dead,
And, like a fix'd and solemn sentinel,
Holm-Crag looks down on all.
And thy pure lake,
Spreading its waveless breast of crystal out
'Tween thee and us, pencil, nor lip of man
May fitly show its loveliness. The soul
Doth hoard it as a gem, and, fancy-led,
Explore its curving shores, its lonely isle,
That like an emerald clasp'd in crystal, sleeps.
Ho, stern Helvellyn! with thy savage cliffs
And dark ravines, where the rash traveller's feet
Too oft have wander'd far and ne'er return'd,
Why dost thou press so close yon margin green,
Like border-chieftain seeking for his bride
Some cottage-maiden? Prince amid the hills,
That each upon his feudal seat maintains
Strict sovereignty, hast thou a tale of love
For gentle Grassmere, that thou thus dost droop
Thy plumed helmet o'er her, and peruse
With such a searching gaze her mirror'd brow?
