  Thou guardian Naiad of this little Lake, Whose banks in unprofaned Nature sleep, (And that in waters lone and beautiful Dwell spirits radiant as the homes they love, Have poets still believed) O surely blest Beyond all genii or of wood or wave, Or sylphs that in the shooting sunbeams dwell, Art thou! yea, happier even than summer-cloud Beloved by air and sky, and floating slow O'er the still bosom of upholding heaven. Beauteous as blest, O Naiad, thou must be! For, since thy birth, have all delightful things, Of form and hue, of silence and of sound, Shine round the placid Moon. Lov'st thou to sink Into thy cell of sleep? The water parts With dimpling smiles around thee, and below, The unsunn'd verdure, soft as cygnet's down, Meets thy descending feet without a sound. Lov'st thou to sport upon the watery gleam? Lucid as air around thy head it lies Bathing thy sable locks in pearly light, While, all around, the water lilies strive To shower their blossoms o'er the virgin queen. Or doth the shore allure thee?—well it may: How soft these fields of pastoral beauty melt In the clear water! neither sand nor stone Bars herb or wild-flower from the dewy sound, Like Spring's own voice now rippling round the Tarn. There oft thou liest 'mid the echoing bleat Of lambs, that race amid the sunny gleams; Or bee's wide murmur as it fills the broom That yellows round thy bed. O gentle glades, Amid the tremulous verdure of the woods, Lying, like azure streaks of placid sky Amid the moving clouds, the Naiad loves Your glimmering alleys, and your rustling bowers; For there, in peace reclined, her half-closed eye Through the long vista sees her darling Lake, Even like herself, diffused in fair repose. Not undelightful to the quiet breast Such solitary dreams as now have fill'd My busy fancy; dreams that rise in peace, And thither lead, partaking in their flight Of human interests and earthly joys. Imagination fondly leans on truth, And sober scenes of dim reality To her seem lovely as the western sky, To the rapt Persian worshipping the sun. Methinks this little lake, to whom my heart Assigned a guardian spirit, renders back To me, in tenderest gleams of gratitude, Profounder beauty to reward my hymn. Long hast thou been a darling haunt of mine, And still warm blessings gush'd into my heart, Meeting or parting with thy smiles of peace. But now, thy mild and gentle character, More deeply felt than ever, seems to blend Its essence pure with mine, like some sweet tune Oft heard before with pleasure, but at last, In one high moment of inspired bliss, Borne through the spirit like an angel's song. This is the solitude that reason loves! Even he who yearns for human sympathies, And hears a music in the breath of man, Dearer than voice of mountain or of flood, Might live a hermit here, and mark the sun Rising or setting 'mid the beauteous calm, Devoutly blending in his happy soul Thoughts both of earth and heaven!—Yon mountain-side, Rejoicing in its clustering cottages, Appears to me a paradise preserved Of smoke, that from these hamlets mounts to heaven, In its straight silence holy as a spire Rear'd o'er the house of God. Thy sanctity Time yet hath reverenced; and I deeply feel That innocence her shrine shall here preserve For ever.—The wild vale that lies beyond, Circled by mountains trod but by the feet Of venturous shepherd, from all visitants, Save the free tempests and the fowls of heaven, Guards thee;—and wooded knolls fantastical Seclude thy image from the gentler dale, That by the Brathay's often-varied voice Chear'd as it winds along, in beauty fades 'Mid the green banks of joyful Windermere! O gentlest Lake! from all unhallow'd things By grandeur guarded in thy loveliness, Ne'er may thy poet with unwelcome feet And shadow'd in thy stillness like the heavens. May innocence for ever lead me here, To form amid the silence high resolves For future life; resolves, that, born in peace, Shall live 'mid tumult, and though haply mild As infants in their play, when brought to bear On the world's business, shall assert their power And majesty—and lead me boldly on Like giants conquering in a noble cause. This is a holy faith, and full of chear To all who worship Nature, that the hours, Past tranquilly with her, fade not away For ever like the clouds, but in the soul Possess a secret silent dwelling-place, Where with a smiling visage memory sits, And startles oft the virtuous, with a shew Of unsuspected treasures. Yea, sweet Lake! Oft hast thou borne into my grateful heart Thy lovely presence, with a thousand dreams Though many a dreary mile of mist and snow Between us interposed. And even now, When you bright star hath risen to warn me home, I bid thee farewell in the certain hope, |
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