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DEDICATION.
Than I, a stranger, first beheld Thine eye's harmonious welcome givenWith gentle word which, as it swell'd, Came to my heart benign as heaven.
Soft be thy sleep as mists that rest On Skiddaw's top at summer morn;Smooth be thy days as Derwent's breast, When summer light is almost gone!
And yet, for thee why breathe a prayer? I deem thy fate is given in trustTo seraphs, who by daily care, Would prove that heaven is not unjust.
And treasured shall thine image be. In memory's purest, holiest shrine,While truth and honour glow in thee, Or life's warm quivering pulse is mine.
Keswick, April 18, 1831.
