In one of these excursions, travelling then
Through Wales on foot, and with a youthful friend,
I left Bethgelert's huts at couching-time,
And westward took my way, to see the sun
Rise from the top of Snowdon. Having reached
The cottage at the mountain's foot, we there
Roused up the shepherd who by ancient right
Of office is the stranger's usual guide;
And after short refreshment sallied forth.

It was a summer's night, a close warm night,
Wan, dull and glaring, with a dripping mist
Low-hung and thick that covered all the sky,

From Nature doth emotion come, and moods
Of calmness equally are Nature's gift:
This is her glory; these two attributes
Are sister horns that constitute her strength;
This twofold influence is the sun and shower
Of all her bounties, both in origin
And end alike benignant. Hence it is,
That Genius, which exists by interchange
Of peace and excitation, finds in her
His best and purest friend; from her receives
That energy by which he seeks the truth,
Is roused, aspires, grasps, struggles, wishes, craves,
From her that happy stillness of the mind

The leaves were yellow when to Furness Fells,
The haunt of shepherds, and to cottage life
I bade adieu; and, one among the flock
Who by that season are convened, like birds
Trooping together at the fowler's lure,
Went back to Granta's cloisters, not so fond,
Or eager, though as gay and undepressed
In spirit, as when I thence had taken flight
A few short months before. I turned my face
Without repining from the mountain pomp
Of autumn, and its beauty entered in
With calmer lakes and louder streams; and you,
Frank-hearted maids of rocky Cumberland,

A pleasant sight it was when, having clomb
The Heights of Kendal, and that dreary moor
Was crossed, at length, as from a rampart's edge,
I overlooked the bed of Windermere.
I bounded down the hill, shouting amain
A lusty summons to the farther shore
For the old Ferryman; and when he came
I did not step into the well-known boat
Without a cordial welcome. Thence right forth
I took my way, now drawing towards home,
To that sweet Valley where I had been reared;
'Twas but a short hour's walk ere, veering round,
I saw the snow-white church upon its hill

O there is blessing in this gentle breeze
That blows from the green fields and from the clouds
And from the sky: it beats against my cheek,
And seems half-conscious of the joy it gives.
O welcome messenger! O welcome friend!
A captive greets thee, coming from a house
Of bondage, from yon city's walls set free,
A prison where he hath been long immured.
Now I am free, enfranchised and at large,
May fix my habitation where I will.
What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale
Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove

How oft have we beheld wilde Beasts appear
From broken gulfs of earth, upon some part
Of sand that did not sink? How often there
And thence did golden boughs ore saffron'd start?
Not only saw we monsters of the wood,
But I have seen Sea-Calves whom Bears withstood;
And such a kinde of Beast as might be named
A horse, but in most foul proportion framed.

What vast prerogatives, my Gallus, are
Accruing to the mighty man of war!
For, if into a lucky camp I light,
Tho' raw in arms, and yet afraid to fight,
Befriend me, my good stars, and all goes right:
One happy hour is to a soldier better,
Than Mother Juno's recommending letter,
Or Venus, when to Mars she would prefer
My suit, and own the kindness done to her.
See what our common privileges are:
As, first, no saucy citizen shall dare
To strike a soldier, nor, when struck, resent
The wrong, for fear of farther punishment:

Griev'd tho' I am an ancient friend to lose,
I like the solitary seat he chose,
In quiet Cumæ fixing his repose:
Where, far from noisy Rome, secure he lives,
And one more citizen to Sibyl gives;
The road to Bajæ, and that soft recess,
Which all the gods with all their bounty bless.
Tho' I in Prochyta with greater ease
Could live, than in a street of palaces.
What scene so desart, or so full of fright,
As tow'ring houses tumbling in the night,
And Rome on fire beheld by its own blazing light?
But worse than all, the clatt'ring tiles; and worse

What then should man pray for? what is't that he
Can beg of Heaven, without Impiety?
Take my advice: first to the Gods commit
All cares; for they things competent, and fit
For us foresee; besides man is more deare
To them, than to himselfe: we blindly here
Led by the world, and lust, in vaine assay
To get us portions, wives, and sonnes; but they
Already know all that we can intend,
And of our Childrens Children see the end.
Yet that thou may'st have something to commend
With thankes unto the Gods for what they send;

When the last Flavius, drunk with fury, tore
The prostrate world, that bled at every pore,
And Rome beheld, in body as in mind,
A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind;
It chanced, that where the fane of Venus stands,
Rear'd on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands,
A turbot, rushing from the Illyrian main,
Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine.
Monsters so bulky, from its frozen stream,
Mæotis renders to the solar beam,
And pours them, fat with a whole winter's ease,
Through the dull Euxine's mouth, to warmer seas.