THOUGHTS AT GRASSMERE.
��Ho ! dark Helvellyn, prince amid the hills That each upon his feudal seat maintains Unwarring sovereignty, hast thou a tale For gentle Grassmere, that thou thus dost droop Thy plumed helmet o'er her face, and look So earnestly into her mirror 'd eye ? A tale of love, perchance, for she, methinks, Doth listen coyly, while the fleeting cloud Leaves mingled shade and sunlight on her brow. She listeneth down, thro" all her crystal depths, And the lone emerald that adorns her breast Trembleth.
'Tis fitting, sure, that ye should hold Some speech of tenderness, in scenes like these, Where, from the very beauty of His works, God doth bespeak man's love for Him, and all Whom He hath made.
And who can musing tread 'Mid such exuberance of glorious charms,
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