LINES RIttEN A FE MILES ABOVE tINtERN ABBEY, ON REVISItING trong>

        OF tOUR, July 13, 1798.

        Five years h

        Of ?ve long ers! and again I hear

        ters, rolling from tain-springs

        it inland murmur.[4]--Once again

        Do I beeep and lofty cliffs,

        hi a wild secluded se impress

        ts of more deep seclusion; and ect

        t of the sky.

        the day is e when I again repose

        his dark sycamore, and view

        ts of cottage-ground, tufts,

        ts,

        Among themselves,

        Nor, urb

        the wild green landscape. Once again I see

        ttle lines

        Of sportive oral farms

        Green to thes of smoke

        Sent up, in silence, from among trees,

        itain notice, as might seem,

        Of vagrant dhe houseless woods,

        Or of some s cave, where by his ?re

        t sits alone.

        t long,

        ty    been to me,

        As is a landscape to a blind mans eye:

        But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din

        Of toies, I o them,

        In ions s,

        Felt in t along t,

        And passing even into my purer mind

        itranquil restoration:--feelings too

        Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,

        As may rivial in?uence

        On t best portion of a good mans life;

        tle, nameless, unremembered acts

        Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

        to t,

        Of aspect more sublime; t blessed mood,

        In wery,

        In w

        Of all telligible world

        Is lig serene and blessed mood,

        In ly lead us on,

        Until, this corporeal frame,

        And even tion of our human blood

        Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

        In body, and bee a living soul:

        by the power

        Of he deep power of joy,

        e see into things.

        If this

        Be but a vain belief, yet, o,

        In darkness, and amid the many shapes

        Of joyless day-ligful stir

        Unpro?table, and the world,

        ings of my ,

        , in spirit, uro thee

        O sylvahe woods,

        en    turo thee!

        And noinguis,

        itions dim and faint,

        And somey,

        ture of the mind revives again:

        and, not only he sense

        Of present pleasure, but s

        t in t there is life and food

        For future years. And so I dare to hope

        t, from w I was, w

        I came among these hills; when like a roe

        I bounded oer tains, by the sides

        Of treams,

        ure led; more like a man

        Flying from somet han one

        ture then

        (the coarser pleasures of my boyish days,

        And ts all gone by,)

        to me    paint

        taract

        ed me like a passion: tall rock,

        tain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

        to me

        An appetite: a feeling and a love,

        t er charm,

        By t supplied, or any i

        Unborro time is past,

        And all its ag joys are now no more,

        And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

        Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur: ots

        have followed, for such loss, I would believe,

        Abundant repence. For I have learned

        to look on nature, not as in the hour

        Of tless yout entimes

        till, sad music of y,

        Not ing, though of ample power

        to    and subdue. And I

        A prese disturbs me he joy

        Of elevated ts; a sense sublime

        Of someterfused,

        of setting suns,

        And the living air,

        And the mind of man,

        A motion and a spirit, t impels

        All ts of all t,

        And rolls till

        A lover of the woods,

        And mountains; and of all t we behold

        From ty world

        Of eye and ear, bot te,[5]

        And nize

        In nature and the sense,

        t ts, the nurse,

        t, and soul

        Of all my moral being.

        Nor, perce,

        If I    taughe more

        Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

        For t he banks

        Of t Friend,

        My dear, dear Friend, and in tch

        t, and read

        My former pleasures in ting lights

        Of t a little while

        May I be I was once,

        My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make,

        Kno Nature never did betray

        t t loved is her privilege,

        to lead

        From joy to joy: for she    so inform

        t is hin us, so impress

        itness ay, and so feed

        ity ts, t ongues,

        Rass, nor the sneers of sel?sh men,

        Nreetings where no kindness is, nor all

        tercourse of daily life,

        S us, or disturb

        Our c all which we behold

        Is full of blessings. t the moon

        Sary walk;

        Ay mountain winds be free

        to blo ter years,

        asies sured

        Into a sober pleasure, why mind

        Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

        thy memory be as a dwelling-place

        For all s sounds and hen,

        If solitude, or fear, or pain, rief,

        Sion,    s

        Of tender joy    thou remember me,

        And tations! Nor, perce,

        If I should be, where I no more    hear

        tchese gleams

        Of past existe

        t on tful stream

        e stood toget I, so long

        A worsure, her came,

        Un service: rather say

        ith far deeper zeal

        Of    t,

        t after many wanderings, many years

        Of abseeep y cliffs,

        And toral landscape, o me

        More dear, bothy sake.

        [4] t affected by tides a few miles above

        tintern.

        [5] to an admirable line of

        Young, t expression of .

        END.
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