  The hush of bliss was on the sunny hills, The clouds were sleeping on the silent sky, We travelled in the midst of melody Warbled around us from the mountain-rills. The voice was like the glad voice of a friend Murmuring a welcome to his happy home; We felt its kindness with our spirits blend, And said, "This day no farther will we roam!" The coldest heart that ever looked on heaven, Had surely felt the beauty of that day, And, as he paused, a gentle blessing given To the sweet scene that tempted him to stay. But we, who travelled through that region bright, Were joyful pilgrims under Nature's care, From youth had loved the dreams of pure delight, When Heaven is clothed with smiles, and Earth as Heaven is fair! Seven lovely days had like a happy dream Died in our spirits silently away, Since Grassmere, waking to the morning ray, Met our last lingering look with farewell gleam. I may not tell what joy our beings filled, Wand'ring like shadows over plain and steep, What beauteous visions lonely souls can build When 'mid the mountain solitude they sleep. I may not tell how the deep power of sound Can back to life long-faded dreams recall, When lying mid the noise that lives around Through the hush'd spirit flows a waterfall. To thee, my Wordsworth! Comes forth in pomp from Nature's inner shrine, To thee by birth-right such high themes belong, One lowlier simple strain of human love be mine. How leapt our hearts, when from an airy height, On which we paused for a sweet fountain's sake, With green fields fading in a peaceful lake, A deep-sunk vale burst sudden on our sight! We felt as if at home; a magic sound, As from a spirit whom we must obey, Bade us descend into the vale profound, And in its silence pass the Sabbath-day. The placid lake that rested far below, Softly embosoming another sky, Still as we gazed assumed a lovelier glow, And seem'd to send us looks of amity. Our hearts were open to the gracious love Of Nature, smiling like a happy bride; So following the still impulse from above, Down the green slope we wind with airy glide, And pitch our snowy tent on that fair water's side. Ah me! even now I see before me stand, Among the verdant holly-boughs half hid, The little radiant airy pyramid, Like some wild dwelling built in Fairy land. As silently as gathering cloud it rose, And seems a cloud descended on the earth, Disturbing not the Sabbath-day's repose, Yet gently stirring at the quiet birth Of every short-lived breeze: the sun-beams greet The beauteous stranger in the lonely bay; Close to its shading tree two streamlets meet, With gentle glide, as weary of their play. And in the liquid lustre of the lake Its image sleeps, reflected far below; Such image as the clouds of summer make, Clear seen amid the waveless water's glow, As slumbering infant still, and pure as April snow. Wild though the dwelling seem, thus rising fair, A sudden stranger 'mid the sylvan scene, Human it is—and human souls are there! Look through that opening in the canvass wall, Through which by fits the scarce-felt breezes play, —Upon three happy souls thine eyes will fall, The summer lambs are not more blest than they! On the green turf all motionless they lie, In dreams romantic as the dreams of sleep, The filmy air slow-glimmering on their eye, And in their ear the murmur of the deep. Or haply now by some wild winding brook, Deep, silent pool, or waters rushing loud, In thought they visit many a fairy nook That rising mists in rainbow colours shroud, And ply the Angler's sport involved in mountain-cloud! Yes! dear to us that solitary trade, 'Mid vernal peace in peacefulness pursued, Through rocky glen, wild moor, and hanging wood, White-flowering meadow, and romantic glade! Come to our spirits with a murmuring tone Of running waters,—and one stream appears, Remember'd all, tree, willow, bank, and stone! How glad were we, when after sunny showers Its voice came to us issuing from the school! How fled the vacant, solitary hours, By dancing rivulet, or silent pool! And still our souls retain in manhood's prime The love of joys our childish years that blest; So now encircled by these hills sublime, We Anglers, wandering with a tranquil breast, Build in this happy vale a fairy bower of rest! Within that bower are strewn in careless guise, Idle one day, the angler's simple gear; Lines that, as fine as floating gossamer, Dropt softly on the stream the silken flies; The limber rod that shook its trembling length, Almost as airy as the line it threw, When the tired salmon rose at last to view, Now lightly leans across the rushy bed, On which at night we dream of sports by day; And, empty now, beside it close is laid The goodly p nd open looks declare That fancy's day-dreams have not been untrue. It was indeed a beauteous thing, to see The virgin, while her bashful visage smiled, As if she were a mother, on her knee Take up, with many a kiss, the asking child. And well, I ween, she play'd the mother's part; For as she bended o'er the infant fair, A mystic joy seem'd stirring at her heart, A yearning fondness, and a silent prayer. Nor did such gentle maiden long refuse To cheer our spirits with some favourite strain, Some simple ballad, framed by rustic muse, Of one who died for love, or, led by gain, Sail'd in a mighty ship to lands beyond the main. And must we close this scene of merriment? —Lo! in the lake soft burns the star of eve, And the night-hawk hath warn'd our guests to leave, Ere darker shades descend, our happy tent. She comes to light them on their homeward way; And every heart, I ween, now lies as still As on yon fleecy cloud her new-born ray. Kindly by young and old our hands are press'd, And kindly we the gentle touch return; Each face declares that deep in every breast Peace, virtue, friendship, and affection burn. At last beneath the silent air we part, And promise make that shall not be in vain, A promise asked and given warm from the heart, That we will visit all, on hill and plain, If e'er it be our lot to see this land again! Backward they gazed, as slowly they withdrew, With step reluctant, from the water-side; And oft, with waving hand, at distance tried Through the dun light to send a last adieu! One lovely groupe still linger'd on the green, The first to come, the last to go away; Moor'd to a rock their little pinnace lay. These laughing damsels climb its humble side, Like fairy elves that love the starry sea; Nor e'er did billows with more graceful glide 'Mid the wild main enjoy their liberty. Their faces brightening in triumphant hue, Close to each maid their joyful lovers stand; One gives the signal,—all the jovial crew Let go, with tender press, the yielding hand; —Down drop the oars at once,—away they push from land. The boat hath left the silent bank, the tone Of the retiring oar escapes the mind; Like mariners some ship hath left behind, We feel, thus standing speechless and alone. One moment lives that melancholy trance— The mountains ring: Oh! what a joy is there! As hurries o'er their heights, in circling dance, Cave-loving Echo, Daughter of the Air. As o'er the cliffs, with headlong speed, she ranges? Is it, on plain and steep, some fairy rout Answering each other in tumultuous changes? There seems amid the hills a playful war; Trumpet and clarion join the mystic noise; Now growing on the ear, now dying far! Great Gabel from his summit sends a voice, And the remotest depths of Ennerdale rejoice! Oh! well I know what means this din of mirth! No spirits are they, who, trooping through the sky, In chorus swell that mountain-melody; —It comes from mortal children of the earth! These are the voices that so late did chear Our tent with laughter; from the hills they come With friendly sound unto our listening ear, A jocund farewell to our glimmering home. Loth are our guests, though they have linger'd long, That our sweet tent at last should leave their sight; So with one voice they sing a parting song, Nor are we mute; an answering shout we wake, At each short pause of the long, lengthening sound, Till all is silent as the silent Lake, And every noise above, below, around, Seems in the brooding night-sky's depth of slumber drown'd! Soon from that calm our spirits start again With blyther vigour; nought around we see, Save lively images of mirth and glee, And playful fancies hurry through our brain. Shine not, sweet Moon! with such a haughty light; Ye stars! behind your veil of clouds retire; For we shall kindle on the earth, this night, To drown your feeble rays, a joyous fire. Bring the leaves withering in the holly-shade, The oaken branches sapless now and hoar, The fern no longer green, and whins that fade 'Mid the thin sand that strews the rocky shore. Soon shall a pyramid of flame arise; Now the first rustling of the vapour, hark! The kindling spirit from its prison flies, And in an instant mounts in glory to the skies! Far gleams the Lake, as in the light of day, Or when, from mountain-top, the setting sun, Ere yet his earth-delighting course is run, Sheds on the slumbering wave a purple ray. A bright'ning verdure runs o'er every field, As if by potent necromancer shed, And a dark wood is suddenly reveal'd, A glory resting on its ancient head. And oh! what radiant beauty doth invest Our tent that seems to feel a conscious pride, Whiter by far than any cygnet's breast, Or cygnet's shadow floating with the tide. A warmer flush unto the moonlight cold, Winning its lovely way, is softly given, A silvery radiance tinged with vivid gold; |
|
