This Spot, at once unfolding sight so fair
Of sea and land, with yon grey towers that still
Rise up as if to lord it over air
Might soothe in human breasts the sense of ill,
Or charm it out of memory; yea, might fill
The heart with joy and gratitude to God
For all his bounties upon man bestowed:
Why bears it then the name of “Weeping Hill”?
Thousands, as toward yon old Lancastrian Towers,
A prison’s crown, along this way they past
For lingering durance or quick death with shame,
From this bare eminence thereon have cast
Their first look blinded as tears fell in showers
Shed on their chains; and hence that doleful name.
Read all of William Wordsworth's poems · About William Wordsworth