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BOOK FOURTH

SUMMER VACATION

  Bright was the summer’s noon when quickening steps
  Followed each other till a dreary moor
  Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top [A]
  Standing alone, as from a rampart’s edge,
  I overlooked the bed of Windermere, 5
  Like a vast river, stretching in the sun. 
  With exultation, at my feet I saw
  Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays,
  A universe of Nature’s fairest forms
  Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst, 10
  Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay. 
  I bounded down the hill shouting amain
  For the old Ferryman; to the shout the rocks
  Replied, and when the Charon of the flood
  Had staid his oars, and touched the jutting pier, [B] 15
  I did not step into the well-known boat
  Without a cordial greeting.  Thence with speed
  Up the familiar hill I took my way [C]
  Towards that sweet Valley [D] where I had been reared;
  ’Twas but a short hour’s walk, ere veering round 20
  I saw the snow-white church upon her hill [E]
  Sit like a throned Lady, sending out
  A gracious look all over her domain. [F]
  Yon azure smoke betrays the lurking town;
  With eager footsteps I advance and reach 25
  The cottage threshold where my journey closed. 
  Glad welcome had I, with some tears, perhaps,
  From my old Dame, so kind and motherly, [G]
  While she perused me with a parent’s pride. 
  The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew 30
  Upon thy grave, good creature!  While my heart
  Can beat never will I forget thy name. 
  Heaven’s blessing be upon thee where thou liest
  After thy innocent and busy stir
  In narrow cares, thy little daily growth 35
  Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years,
  And more than eighty, of untroubled life, [H]
  Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood
  Honoured with little less than filial love. 
  What joy was mine to see thee once again, 40
  Thee and thy dwelling, and a crowd of things
  About its narrow precincts all beloved, [I]
  And many of them seeming yet my own! 
  Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts
  Have felt, and every man alive can guess? 45
  The rooms, the court, the garden were not left
  Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat
  Round the stone table under the dark pine, [K]
  Friendly to studious or to festive hours;
  Nor that unruly child of mountain birth, 50
  The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed
  Within our garden, [L] found himself at once,
  As if by trick insidious and unkind,