Composed 1800 to 1805.--Published 1815
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The grove still exists; but the plantation has been walled in, and isnot so accessible as when my brother John wore the path in the mannerhere described. The grove was a favourite haunt with us all while welived at Town-end.--I. F.] This was No. VI. of the "Poems on the Naming of Places." For severalsuggested changes in MS. see Appendix I. p. 385.--Ed. When, to the attractions of the busy world,Preferring studious leisure, I had chosenA habitation in this peaceful Vale,Sharp season followed of continual stormIn deepest winter; and, from week to week, 5Pathway, and lane, and public road, were cloggedWith frequent showers of snow. Upon a hillAt a short distance from my cottage, standsA stately Fir-grove, whither I was wontTo hasten, for I found, beneath the roof 10Of that perennial shade, a cloistral placeOf refuge, with an unincumbered floor.Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow,And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth,The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth 15To sympathise with vulgar coppice birdsThat, for protection from the nipping blast,Hither repaired.--A single beech-tree grewWithin this grove of firs! and, on the forkOf that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest; 20A last year's nest, conspicuously builtAt such small elevation from the groundAs gave sure sign that they, who in that houseOf nature and of love had made their homeAmid the fir-trees, all the summer long 25Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes,A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock,Would watch my motions with suspicious stare,From the remotest outskirts of the grove,--Some nook where they had made their final stand, 30Huddling together from two fears--the fearOf me and of the storm. Full many an hourHere did I lose. But in this grove the treesHad been so thickly planted, and had thrivenIn such perplexed and intricate array; 35That vainly did I seek, beneath [1] their stemsA length of open space, where to and froMy feet might move without concern or care;And, baffled thus, though earth from day to dayWas fettered, and the air by storm disturbed, 40I ceased the shelter to frequent, [2]--and prized,Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess. The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returnedTo clothe the fields with verdure. Other hauntsMeanwhile were mine; till, one bright April day, 45By chance retiring from the glare of noonTo this forsaken covert, there I foundA hoary pathway traced between the trees,And winding on with such an easy lineAlong a natural opening, that I stood 50Much wondering how I could have sought in vain [3]For what was now so obvious. [4] To abide,For an allotted interval of ease,Under my cottage-roof, had gladly comeFrom the wild sea a cherished Visitant; [5] 55And with the sight of this same path--begun,Begun and ended, in the shady grove, [6]Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind [7]That, to this opportune recess allured,He had surveyed it with a finer eye, 60A heart more wakeful; and had worn the track [8]By pacing here, unwearied and alone, [A]In that habitual restlessness of footThat haunts the Sailor measuring [9] o'er and o'erHis short domain upon the vessel's deck, 65While she pursues her course [10] through the dreary sea. When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore,And taken thy first leave of those green hillsAnd rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth,Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, 70Conversing not, knew little in what mouldEach other's mind was fashioned; [11] and at lengthWhen once again we met in Grasmere Vale,Between us there was little other bondThan common feelings of fraternal love. 75But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carriedUndying recollections; Nature thereWas with thee; she, who loved us both, she stillWas with thee; and even so didst thou becomeA _silent_ Poet; from the solitude 80Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heartStill couchant, an inevitable ear,And an eye practised like a blind man's touch.--Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone;Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours 85Could I withhold thy honoured name,--and nowI love the fir-grove [12] with a perfect love.Thither do I withdraw when cloudless sunsShine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong;And there I sit at evening, when the steep 90Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful [13] lake,And one green island, gleam between the stemsOf the dark firs, a visionary scene!And, while I gaze upon the spectacleOf clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight 95Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee,My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost.Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou,Muttering the verses which I muttered firstAmong the mountains, through the midnight watch 100Art pacing thoughtfully [14] the vessel's deckIn some far region, here, while o'er my head,At every impulse of the moving breeze,The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, [B]Alone I tread this path;--for aught I know, 105Timing my steps to thine; and, with a storeOf undistinguishable sympathies,Mingling most earnest wishes for the dayWhen we, and others whom we love, shall meetA second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale. 110 * * * * *
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