[Footnote Gg:  See ‘Descriptive Sketches’, vol. i. pp. 42-46.—­Ed.]

[Footnote Hh:  They followed the lake of Como to its head, leaving Gravedona on the 20th August.—­Ed.]

[Footnote Ii:  August 21, 1790.—­Ed.]

[Footnote Kk:  They reached Cologne on the 28th September, having floated down the Rhine in a small boat; and from Cologne went to Calais, through Belgium.—­Ed.]

* * * * *

BOOK SEVENTH

RESIDENCE IN LONDON

  Six changeful years have vanished since I first
  Poured out (saluted by that quickening breeze
  Which met me issuing from the City’s [A] walls)
  A glad preamble to this Verse:  [B] I sang
  Aloud, with fervour irresistible 5
  Of short-lived transport, like a torrent bursting,
  From a black thunder-cloud, down Scafell’s side
  To rush and disappear.  But soon broke forth
  (So willed the Muse) a less impetuous stream,
  That flowed awhile with unabating strength, 10
  Then stopped for years; not audible again
  Before last primrose-time, [C] Beloved Friend! 
  The assurance which then cheered some heavy thoughts
  On thy departure to a foreign land [D]
  Has failed; too slowly moves the promised work. 15
  Through the whole summer have I been at rest, [E]
  Partly from voluntary holiday,
  And part through outward hindrance.  But I heard,
  After the hour of sunset yester-even,
  Sitting within doors between light and dark, 20
  A choir of redbreasts gathered somewhere near
  My threshold,—­minstrels from the distant woods
  Sent in on Winter’s service, to announce,
  With preparation artful and benign,
  That the rough lord had left the surly North 25
  On his accustomed journey.  The delight,
  Due to this timely notice, unawares
  Smote me, and, listening, I in whispers said,
  “Ye heartsome Choristers, ye and I will be
  Associates, and, unscared by blustering winds, 30
  Will chant together.”  Thereafter, as the shades
  Of twilight deepened, going forth, I spied
  A glow-worm underneath a dusky plume
  Or canopy of yet unwithered fern,
  Clear-shining, like a hermit’s taper seen 35
  Through a thick forest.  Silence touched me here
  No less than sound had done before; the child
  Of Summer, lingering, shining, by herself,
  The voiceless worm on the unfrequented hills,
  Seemed sent on the same errand with the choir 40
  Of Winter that had warbled at my door,
  And the whole year breathed tenderness and love.