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Oh! gather whencesoe'er ye safely mayThe help which slackening Pity requires;Nor deem that he perforce must go astrayWho treads upon the footmarks of his sires. When in the antique age of bow and spearAnd feudal rapine clothed with iron mail,Came ministers of peace, intent to rearThe Mother Church in yon sequestered vale; Then, to her Patron Saint a previous riteResounded … [Read more...] about On The Same Occasion – On Seeing The Foundation Preparing For The Erection Of Rydal Chapel, Westmoreland, By: William Wordsworth

(The Final Submission Of The Tyrolese) Ye Storms, resound the praises of your King!And ye mild Seasons, in a sunny clime,Midway on some high hill, while father TimeLooks on delighted, meet in festal ring,And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers,Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,And the dire flapping of … [Read more...] about On The Same Occasion, By: William Wordsworth

Is then no nook of English ground secureFrom rash assault? Schemes of retirement sownIn youth, and 'mid the busy world kept pureAs when their earliest flowers of hope were blown,Must perish; how can they this blight endure?And must he too the ruthless change bemoanWho scorns a false utilitarian lure'Mid his paternal fields at random thrown?Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from … [Read more...] about On The Projected Kendal And Windermere Railway, By: William Wordsworth

I Thy functions are ethereal,As if within thee dwelt a glancing mind,Organ of vision! And a Spirit aerialInforms the cell of Hearing, dark and blind;Intricate labyrinth, more dread for thoughtTo enter than oracular cave;Strict passage, through which sighs are brought,And whispers for the heart, their slave;And shrieks, that revel in abuseOf shivering flesh; and warbled … [Read more...] about On The Power Of Sound, By: William Wordsworth

Arran! a single-crested Teneriffe,A St. Helena next in shape and hue,Varying her crowded peaks and ridges blue;Who but must covet a cloud-seat, or skiffBuilt for the air, or winged Hippogriff?That he might fly, where no one could pursue,From this dull Monster and her sooty crew;And, as a God, light on thy topmost cliff.Impotent wish! which reason would despiseIf the mind knew … [Read more...] about On The Frith Of Clyde – In A Steamboat, By: William Wordsworth