Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang TO A HIGHLAND GIRL.+ (AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND.) SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head: And these grey rocks; that household lawn; * I listened till I had my fill.-Edit. 1815. + "When we were beginning to descend the hill towards Loch Lomond we overtook two girls, who told us we could not cross the ferry till evening, for the boat was gone with a number of people to church. One of the girls was exceedingly beautiful, and the figures of both of them in grey plaids falling to their feet, their faces only being uncovered, excited our attention before we spoke to them; but they answered us so sweetly that we were quite delighted, at the same time that they stared at us with an innocent look of wonder. I think I never heard the English language sound more sweetly than from the mouth of the elder of these girls, while she stood at the gate answering our inquiries, her face flushed with the rain her pronunciation was clear and distinct, without difficulty, yet slow as if like a foreign speech."-Miss Wordsworth's Journal, August 28, 1803. This fall of water that doth make With earnest feeling I shall pray Here scattered, like a random seed, Soft smiles,+ by human kindness bred! * This line and that which precedes it are not in the Edition of 1815. † Sweet looks.-Edit. 1815. Thy courtesies, about thee plays; Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach What hand but would a garland cull Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild sea; and I would have Thy Father-anything to thee! Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place. Joy have I had; and going hence Then, why should I be loth to stir ? Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, WRITTEN IN MARCH,† WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S THE Cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one! * In his 73rd year, Wordsworth said "The sort of prophecy with which the poem of the 'Highland Girl' concludes, has, through God's goodness, been realised, and I have now a most vivid remembrance of her, and the beautiful objects with which she was surrounded." Miss Wordsworth gives a circumstantial account of the writing of these verses under date 16th April, 1802. They were written on that day, in the open air. See Life, i. 184. Like an army defeated On the top of the bare hill; The Ploughboy is whooping-anon—anon : There's life in the fountains; The rain is over and gone! GIPSIES. YET are they here the same unbroken knot Their bed of straw and blanket-walls. —Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours are gone, while I Much witnessing of change and cheer, The weary Sun betook himself to rest ;- The glorious path in which he trod. |