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Untouched through all severity of cold;Inviolate, whate'er the cottage hearthMight need for comfort, or for festal mirth;That Pile of Turf is half a century old:Yes, Traveler! fifty winters have been toldSince suddenly the dart of death went forth'Gainst him who raised it, his last work on earth:Thence has it, with the Son, so strong a holdUpon his Father's memory, that his … [Read more...] about Filial Piety – On The Wayside Between Preston And Liverpool, By: William Wordsworth

A barking sound the Shepherd hears,A cry as of a dog or fox;He halts and searches with his eyesAmong the scattered rocks:And now at distance can discernA stirring in a brake of fern;And instantly a dog is seen,Glancing through that covert green. The Dog is not of mountain breed;Its motions, too, are wild and shy;With something, as the Shepherd thinks,Unusual in its cry:Nor … [Read more...] about Fidelity, By: William Wordsworth

The Land we from our fathers had in trust,And to our children will transmit, or die:This is our maxim, this our piety;And God and Nature say that it is just.That which we 'would' perform in arms we must!We read the dictate in the infant's eye;In the wife's smile; and in the placid sky;And, at our feet, amid the silent dustOf them that were before us. Sing aloudOld songs, the … [Read more...] about Feelings Of The Tyrolese, By: William Wordsworth

Yet, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our FoesWith firmer soul, yet labour to regainOur ancient freedom; else 'twere worse than vainTo gather round the bier these festal shows.A garland fashioned of the pure white roseBecomes not one whose father is a slave:Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave!These venerable mountains now encloseA people sunk in apathy and fear.If this endure, … [Read more...] about Feelings Of A Noble Biscayan At One Of Those Funerals, By: William Wordsworth

Dear Reliques! from a pit of vilest mouldUprisen to lodge among ancestral kings;And to inflict shame's salutary stingsOn the remorseless hearts of men grown oldIn a blind worship; men perversely boldEven to this hour, yet, some shall now forsakeTheir monstrous Idol if the dead e'er spake,To warn the living; if truth were ever toldBy aught redeemed out of the hollow grave:O … [Read more...] about Feelings Of A French Royalist, On The Disinterment Of The Remains Of The Duke D’Enghien, By: Willaim Wordsworth