Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending ;-
I listened, motionless and still ;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

TO A HIGHLAND GIRL.+

(AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND.)

SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!

Twice seven consenting years have shed

Their utmost bounty on thy head:

And these grey rocks; that household lawn;
Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn ;

* 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
A murmur near the silent lake;
This little bay; a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy Abode—
In truth together do ye seem
Like something fashioned in a dream ;
Such Forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep!
But, O fair Creature! in the light
Of common day, so heavenly bright,*
I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years!
Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers;
And yet my eyes are filled with tears.

With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away :
For never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.

Here scattered, like a random seed,
Remote from men, Thou dost not need
The embarrassed look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness:
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a Mountaineer:
A face with gladness overspread!

Soft smiles,+ by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways

* This line and that which precedes it are not in the Edition of 1815.

† Sweet looks.-Edit. 1815.

Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings

Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech:
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life !
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind—
Thus beating up against the wind.

What hand but would a garland cull
For thee who art so beautiful?
O happy pleasure! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways, and dress,
A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess!
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality :

Thou art to me but as a wave

Of the wild sea; and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighbourhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder Brother I would be,

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
I bear away my recompence.
In spots like these it is we prize
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes:

Then, why should I be loth to stir ?
I feel this place was made for her ;
To give new pleasure like the past,
Continued long as life shall last.

Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart,
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part :
For I, methinks, till I grow old,
As fair before me shall behold,
As I do now, the cabin small,
The lake, the bay, the waterfall ;
And Thee, the Spirit of them all!*

WRITTEN IN MARCH,†

WHILE RESTING ON THE BRIDGE AT THE FOOT OF BROTHER'S
WATER.

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
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;

The Ploughboy is whooping-anon—anon :
There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;

The rain is over and gone!

GIPSIES.

YET are they here the same unbroken knot
Of human Beings, in the self-same spot!
Men, women, children, yea the frame
Of the whole spectacle the same!
Only their fire seems bolder, yielding light,
Now deep and red, the colouring of night;
That on their Gipsy-faces falls,

Their bed of straw and blanket-walls.

—Twelve hours, twelve bounteous hours are gone, while I
Have been a traveller under open sky,

Much witnessing of change and cheer,
Yet as I left I find them here!

The weary Sun betook himself to rest ;-
Then issued Vesper from the fulgent west,
Outshining like a visible God

The glorious path in which he trod.
And now, ascending, after one dark hour
And one night's diminution of her power,