III

WRITTEN UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF WORDSWORTH

p. 55MIST

p. 55

Mist, though I love thee not, who puttest down Trout in the Lochs, (they feed not, as a rule, At least on fly, in mere or river-pool When fogs have fallen, and the air is lown, And on each Ben, a pillow not a crown, The fat folds rest,) thou, Mist, hast power to cool The blatant declamations of the fool Who raves reciting through the heather brown.

Mist

Much do I bar the matron, man, or lass Who cries ‘How lovely!’ and who does not spare When light and shadow on the mountain pass,—  Shadow and light, and gleams exceeding fair, O’er rock, and glade, and glen,—to shout, the Ass, To me, to me the Poet, ‘Oh, look there!’

p. 56LINES

p. 56

Written under the influence of Wordsworth, with a slate-pencil on a window of the dining-room at the Lowood Hotel, Windermere, while waiting for tea, after being present at the Grasmere Sports on a very wet day, and in consequence of a recent perusal of Belinda, a Novel, by Miss Broughton, whose absence is regretted.

How solemn is the front of this Hotel, When now the hills are swathed in modest mist, And none can speak of scenery, nor tell Of ‘tints of amber,’ or of ‘amethyst.’ Here once thy daughters, young Romance, did dwell, Here Sara flirted with whoever list, Belinda loved not wisely but too well, And Mr. Ford played the Philologist! p. 57Haunted the house is, and the balcony Where that fond Matron knew her Lover near, And here we sit, and wait for tea, and sigh, While the sad rain sobs in the sullen mere, And all our hearts go forth into the cry, Would that the teller of the tale were here!

How

p. 57

p. 58LINES

p. 58

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