LINES RIttEN A FE MILES ABOVE tINtERN ABBEY, ON REVISItING trong>

    OF tOUR, July 13, 1798.

    Five years h

    Of ?ve long ers! and again I hear

    ters, rolling from tain-springs

    it inland murmur.[4]--Once again

    Do I beeep and lofty cliffs,

    hich on a wild secluded scene impress

    ts of more deep seclusion; and connect

    t of the sky.

    the day is come when I again repose

    his dark sycamore, and view

    ts of cottage-ground, tufts,

    ts,

    Among themselves,

    Nor, urb

    the wild green landscape. Once again I see

    ttle lines

    Of sportive oral farms

    Green to thes of smoke

    Sent up, in silence, from among trees,

    itain notice, as might seem,

    Of vagrant dhe houseless woods,

    Or of some s cave, where by his ?re

    t sits alone.

    t long,

    ty  been to me,

    As is a landscape to a blind mans eye:

    But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din

    Of toies, I o them,

    In ions s,

    Felt in t along t,

    And passing even into my purer mind

    itranquil restoration:--feelings too

    Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,

    As may rivial in?uence

    On t best portion of a good mans life;

    tle, nameless, unremembered acts

    Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,

    to t,

    Of aspect more sublime; t blessed mood,

    In wery,

    In w

    Of all telligible world

    Is lig serene and blessed mood,

    In ly lead us on,

    Until, this corporeal frame,

    And even tion of our human blood

    Almost suspended, we are laid asleep

    In body, and become a living soul:

    by the power

    Of he deep power of joy,

    e see into things.

    If this

    Be but a vain belief, yet, o,

    In darkness, and amid the many shapes

    Of joyless day-ligful stir

    Unpro?table, and the world,

    ings of my ,

    , in spirit, urned to thee

    O sylvan ye! the woods,

    en  turned to thee!

    And noinguis,

    itions dim and faint,

    And somey,

    ture of the mind revives again:

    and, not only he sense

    Of present pleasure, but s

    t in t there is life and food

    For future years. And so I dare to hope

    t, from w I was, w

    I came among these hills; when like a roe

    I bounded oer tains, by the sides

    Of treams,

    ure led; more like a man

    Flying from somet han one

    ture then

    (the coarser pleasures of my boyish days,

    And ts all gone by,)

    to me  paint

    taract

    ed me like a passion: tall rock,

    tain, and the deep and gloomy wood,

    to me

    An appetite: a feeling and a love,

    t er charm,

    By t supplied, or any interest

    Unborro time is past,

    And all its aching joys are now no more,

    And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this

    Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur: ots

    have followed, for such loss, I would believe,

    Abundant recompence. For I have learned

    to look on nature, not as in the hour

    Of tless yout entimes

    till, sad music of y,

    Not ing, though of ample power

    to cen and subdue. And I

    A presence t disturbs me he joy

    Of elevated ts; a sense sublime

    Of someterfused,

    of setting suns,

    And the living air,

    And the mind of man,

    A motion and a spirit, t impels

    All ts of all t,

    And rolls till

    A lover of the woods,

    And mountains; and of all t we behold

    From ty world

    Of eye and ear, bot te,[5]

    And o recognize

    In nature and the sense,

    t ts, the nurse,

    t, and soul

    Of all my moral being.

    Nor, perchance,

    If I  taughe more

    Suffer my genial spirits to decay:

    For t he banks

    Of t Friend,

    My dear, dear Friend, and in tch

    t, and read

    My former pleasures in ting lights

    Of t a little while

    May I be I was once,

    My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make,

    Kno Nature never did betray

    t t loved is her privilege,

    to lead

    From joy to joy: for she can so inform

    t is hin us, so impress

    itness and beauty, and so feed

    ity ts, t neitongues,

    Rass, nor the sneers of sel?sh men,

    Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all

    tercourse of daily life,

    S us, or disturb

    Our c all which we behold

    Is full of blessings. t the moon

    Sary walk;

    And let ty mountain winds be free

    to blo ter years,

    asies sured

    Into a sober pleasure, why mind

    Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

    thy memory be as a dwelling-place

    For all s sounds and hen,

    If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

    Sion,  s

    Of tender joy  thou remember me,

    And tations! Nor, perchance,

    If I should be, where I no more can hear

    tchese gleams

    Of past existence,  t

    t on tful stream

    e stood toget I, so long

    A worsure, her came,

    Un service: rather say

    ith far deeper zeal

    Of  t,

    t after many wanderings, many years

    Of absence, teep y cliffs,

    And toral landscape, o me

    More dear, bothy sake.

    [4] t affected by tides a few miles above

    tintern.

    [5] to an admirable line of

    Young, t expression of .

    END.