On which it grew, or to be left alone To its own beauty. Many such there are, So stately, of the Queen Osmunda nam'd, On Grasmere's beach, than Naid by the side -So fared we that sweet morning: from the fields Attir'd in peasant's garb, who stood alone Angling beside the margin of the lake. That way we turn'd our steps; nor was it long, Which then we saw, with one and the same voice To greet us and we saw a man worn down By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks Too weak to labour in the harvest field, A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake To serious musing and to self-reproach. As e'er by Mariner was giv'n to Bay Or Foreland on a new-discover'd coast, And, POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the Name it bears. V. To M. H. Our walk was far among the ancient trees : There was no road, nor any wood-man's path, A track which brought us to a slip of lawn, And a small bed of water in the woods. All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink On its firm margin, even as from a well Or some stone-bason which the Herdsman's hand Had shap'd for their refreshment, nor did sun Or wind from any quarter ever come And if a man should plant his cottage near, |