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For the Spot where the HERMITAGE stood on St. Herbert's Island, Derwent-Water.
If thou in the dear love of some one friend
Hast been so happy, that thou know'st what thoughts Will, sometimes, in the happiness of love
Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence
This quiet spot. St. Herbert hither came
This island's sole inhabitant! had left
A Fellow-labourer, whom the good Man lov'd
As his own soul; and when within his cave
Alone he knelt before the crucifix
While o'er the lake the cataract of Lodore
Peal'd to his orisons, and when he pac'd
For the House (an Outhouse) on the Island at Grasmere.
Rude is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
With the ideal grace. Yet as it is
Do take it in good part; for he, the poor
From the great city; never on the leaves
The skeletons and pre-existing ghosts
Snug Cot, with Coach-house, Shed and Hermitage.
It is a homely pile, yet to these walls
The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here
The new-dropp'd lamb finds shelter from the wind.
His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled
Among the mountains, and beneath this roof
He makes his summer couch, and here at noon Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unborn, the sheep Panting beneath the burthen of their wool
Lie round him, even as if they were a part
Of his own household: nor, while from his bed He through that door-place looks toward the lake And to the stirring breezes, does he want Creations lovely as the work of sleep,
Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy.
To a SEXTON.
Let thy wheel-barrow alone.
In thy bone-house bone on bone?
"Tis already like a hill
In a field of battle made,
Where three thousand skulls are laid.
These died in peace each with the other,
Father, Sister, Friend, and Brother.
Mark the spot to which I point!
Take not even a finger-joint :
Andrew's whole fire-side is there.