WORDSWORTH AND SOUTHEY.
O vale of Grassmere! tranquil, and shut out
From all the strife that shakes a jarring world,
How quietly thy village roofs are bowered
In the cool verdure, while thy graceful spire
Guardeth the ashes of the noble dead,
And, like a fixed and solemn sentinel,
Holm-Crag looks down on all.
And thy pure lake,
Spreading its waveless breast of azure 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 clasped in crystal, sleeps.
Ho, stern Helvellyn! with thy savage cliffs
And dark ravines, where the rash traveller's foot
Too oft hath wandered far and ne'er returned,
Why dost thou press so close yon margin green?
Like border-chieftain, seeking for his bride
