Editors

Now we are tired of boisterous joy,Have romped enough, my little Boy!Jane hangs her head upon my breast,And you shall bring your stool and rest;This corner is your own. There! take your seat, and let me seeThat you can listen quietly:And, as I promised, I will tellThat strange adventure which befellA poor blind Highland Boy. A 'Highland' Boy! why call him so?Because, my … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XV. The Blind Highland Boy – A Tale Told By The Fire-Side, After Returning To The Vale Of Grasmere, By: William Wordsworth

Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale!Say that we come, and come by this day's light;Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height,But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;There let a mystery of joy prevail,The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite,And Rover whine, as at a second sightOf near-approaching good that shall not fail:And from that Infant's face let joy … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XIV. Fly, Some Kind Haringer, To Grasmere-Dale, By: William Wordsworth

Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,And call a train of laughing Hours;And bid them dance, and bid them sing;And thou, too, mingle in the ring!Take to thy heart a new delight;If not, make merry in despiteThat there is One who scorns thy power:But dance! for under Jedborough Tower,A Matron dwells who, though she bearsThe weight of more than seventy years,Lives in the … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XIII. The Matron Of Jedborough And Her Husband, By: William Wordsworth

From Stirling castle we had seenThe mazy Forth unravelled;Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,And with the Tweed had travelled;And when we came to Clovenford,Then said my "winsome Marrow,""Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,And see the Braes of Yarrow." "Let Yarrow folk, 'frae' Selkirk town,Who have been buying, selling,Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own;Each maiden to her … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. Yarrow Unvisited, By: William Wordsworth

Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord!Whom mere despite of heart could so far please,And love of havoc, (for with such diseaseFame taxes him,) that he could send forth wordTo level with the dust a noble horde,A brotherhood of venerable Trees,Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these,Beggared and outraged! Many hearts deploredThe fate of those old Trees; and oft with … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XI. Sonnet Composed At —- Castle, By: William Wordsworth