Classic Poem

1

Oh thou, whose fixed bewildered eye
In strange and dreary vacancy
Of tenderness severe,
With fear unnamed my bosom chilled
While thus thy farewell accents thrilled,
Or seemed to thrill mine ear;

2

Think not from me, my friend, to roam,
Thy arms shall be my only home
My only bed thy breast;
No separate path our lives shall know,
But where thou goest I will go,
And there my bones shall rest.

3

Oh! might we seek that humble shed
Which sheltered once my pilgrim head,
Where down the mountains thrown
A streamlet seeks, through forest glooms,
Through viny glades and orchard blooms,
Below, the solemn Rhone.

4

But if the wayward fates deny
Those purple slopes, that azure sky,
My willing voice shall hail
The lone grey cots and pastoral steeps
That shine inverted in the deeps
Of Grasmere's quiet vale.

5

To him who faint and heartless stands
On pale Arabia's thirsty sands,
How fair that fountain seems
Where last beneath the palmy shade
In bowers of rose and jasmine laid,
He quaffed the living streams.

6

As fair in Memory's eye appear,
Sweet scene of peace, thy waters clear
Thy turf and folding groves —
On gales perfumed by every flower
Of mountain-top or mead or bower
Thy honey people roves.

7

What finny myriads twinkle bright
Along thy streams — how pure and white
The flocks thy shepherds fold;
What brimming pails thy milkmaids bear!
— Nor wants the jolly Autumn there
His crown of waving gold.

8

Yes, Nature on those vivid meads,
Those [ ] slopes and mountain-heads,
Has showered her various wealth;
There Temperance and Truth abide
And Toil with Leisure at his side,
And Cheerfulness and Health.

9

No spot does parting Phoebus greet
With farewell smile more fond and sweet
Than those sequestered hills;
While as composing shades invest
With purple gloom the water's breast
The grove its music stills.

10

When shouts and sheepfold bells and sound
Of flocks and herds and streams rebound
Along the ringing dale,
How beauteous, round that gleaming tide,
The silvery morning vapours glide
And half the landscape veil.

11

Methinks that morning scene displays
A lovely emblem of our days,
Unobvious and serene;
So shall our still lives, half betrayed,
Show charms more touching from their shade,
Though veiled, yet not unseen.

12

Yes, Mary, to some lowly door
In that delicious spot obscure
Our happy feet shall tend;
And there for many a golden year
Fair Hope shall steal thy voice to cheer
Thy poet and thy friend.

13

Though loudly roar the wintry flood
And Tempest shake the midnight wood
And rock our little nest
Love with his tenderest kiss shall dry
Thy human tear and still the sigh
That heaves thy gentle breast.