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Far from our home by Grasmere's quiet Lake,From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake,Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shoreWe sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar;While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black CombFrowns deepening visibly his native gloom,Unless, perchance rejecting in despiteWhat on the Plain 'we' have of warmth and light,In his own storms … [Read more...] about Epistle – To Sir George Howland Beaumont, Bart. From The South-West Coast Or Cumberland – 1811, By: William Wordsworth

When I have borne in memory what has tamedGreat Nations, how ennobling thoughts departWhen men change swords for ledgers, and desertThe student's bower for gold, some fears unnamedI had, my Country!--am I to be blamed?Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,Verily, in the bottom of my heart,Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.For dearly must we prize thee; we who findIn … [Read more...] about England, 1802 (V), By: William Wordsworth

It is not to be thought of that the floodOf British freedom, which, to the open seaOf the world's praise, from dark antiquityHath flow'd, --with pomp of waters, unwithstood,--Roused though it be full often to a moodWhich spurns the check of salutary bands,That this most famous stream in bogs and sandsShould perish; and to evil and to goodBe lost for ever. In our halls is … [Read more...] about England, 1802 (IV), By: William Wordsworth

Great men have been among us; hands that penn'dAnd tongues that utter'd wisdom - better none:The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington,Young Vane, and others who call'd Milton friend.These moralists could act and comprehend:They knew how genuine glory was put on;Taught us how rightfully a nation shoneIn splendour: what strength was, that would not bendBut in magnanimous meekness. … [Read more...] about England, 1802 (III), By: William Wordsworth

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:England hath need of thee: she is a fenOf stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,Have forfeited their ancient English dowerOf inward happiness. We are selfish men;O raise us up, return to us again,And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power!Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart;Thou … [Read more...] about England, 1802 (II), By: William Wordsworth