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Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms,
That screen the huntsman's solitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream,
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,
The sloping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying, on its varied side, the grace
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower,
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells
Just undulates upon the listening ear.
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote[1].
That screen the huntsman's solitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream,
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,
The sloping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying, on its varied side, the grace
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower,
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells
Just undulates upon the listening ear.
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote[1].
No scene could have been more thoroughly congenial to such a temperament as that of Cowper. He never wearied of the sights and sounds of that peaceful landscape. He watched its changes from hour to hour, from day to day, and from season to season. Every change awakened new joy in his breast, and gave fresh inspiration to his verse. And so year after year he lived in closest communion with nature. Well might he say that
Scenes must be beautiful which, daily viewed
Please daily, and whose novelty survives
Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years[2].
Please daily, and whose novelty survives
Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years[2].
Cowper's poetic vision was like his landscape, limited, though within its range it was searching and accurate. His timid nature shrank from what was rugged and wild. He found his consolation in
But no one before him had revealed to men the infinite variety and beauty and charm to be seen by the
- ↑ 'The Task,' bk. i. 154–176.
- ↑ Ibid. i. 177.
- ↑ Ibid. iii. 357.
