The travellers know it not, and 'twill remain Unknown to them: but it is beautiful; And if a man should plant his cottage near, Should sleep beneath the shelter of its trees, And blend its waters with his daily meal, He would so love it, that in his death hour Its image would survive among his thoughts: And therefore, my sweet MARY, this still Nook, With all its beeches, we have named from You.
WHEN, to the attractions of the busy World, Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen A habitation in this peaceful Vale,
Sharp season followed of continual storm In deepest winter; and, from week to week, Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill At a short distance from my Cottage, stands A stately Fir-grove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow, And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth To sympathise with vulgar coppice Birds
That, for protection from the nipping blast,
A single beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs; and, on the fork
Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest; A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground As gave sure sign that they, who in that house
Of nature and of love had made their home Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long
Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes,
A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with suspicious stare,
From the remotest outskirts of the
Some nook where they had made their final stand, Huddling together from two fears — the fear
Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven In such perplexed and intricate array,
That vainly did I seek, between their stems, A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed,
I ceased the shelter to frequent, and prized,
Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess.
The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts Meanwhile were mine; till, one bright April day, By chance retiring from the glare of noon To this forsaken covert, there I found
A hoary path-way traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line
Along a natural opening, that I stood
Much wondering how I could have sought in vain For what was now so obvious. To abide, For an allotted interval of ease,
Beneath my cottage roof, had newly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant;
And with the sight of this same path — begun,
Begun and ended, in the shady grove, Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind That, to this opportune recess allured,
He had surveyed it with a finer eye,
A heart more wakeful; and had worn the track By pacing here, unwearied and alone,
In that habitual restlessness of foot
With which the Sailor measures o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck, While she is travelling through the dreary sea.
When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the play-ground of thy Youth, Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould
Each other's minds were fashioned; and at length, When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond
Than common feelings of fraternal love.
But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections; Nature there
Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee; and even so didst thou become A silent Poet; from the solitude
Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear,
And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. - Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone; Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours Could I withhold thy honoured name,
I love the fir-grove with a perfect love.
Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns
Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong:
And there I sit at evening, when the steep
« ПретходнаНастави » |