Classic Poem

What is it that tells my soul the Sun is setting?
For not a straggling ray tell[s] her he is in the
Eas[t] or west[;] 'tis the brown mist which
descends slowly into the valley to [shed?] [?]
that burden of [ghosts?]. See where a
son of other worlds is sailing [s]lowly on the
lake--no! 'tis the taper that twinkling in the
cottage casts a long wan shadow over the [lake?].
Lo[ud] howls the village Dog. Spirit of these
Mountains [I see thee?] throned on Helvellyn, but
thy feet and head are wrapped in mist.
Spirit of these mountains if thou can[st?]
bid the mist break from thy forehead, and nod
me thrice farewell. farewell[,] farewell.--
[For?] no more shall the ghosts leaning from
The [?] from the [howling of the wind?]
listen whilst thou instructed me in [thy?] law
of [Nature?]. Bid the mist break from thy brow,
an[d] thrice nod me a Farewell.