I SAT all day upon the lonely shore,
Sad, very sad, from all my kind apart;
No sound came near me save the wild wave's roar,
But that was music to my weary heart:
Entranc'd, I heeded not the flight of time,
Hour after hour flew by unreck'd by me;
My own sad thoughts seem'd like a mystic rhyme
Set to the music of the sounding sea:
Scarcely I knew I lived, for to the past,
As to another life, my mind looked back ;
And to my soul, a ship with shatter'd mast,
No beacon hope shone out to show the track.
At length the sun sank down, and o'er the deep
A sweet and solemn silence 'gan to brood,
The moon rose up behind the craggy steep,
And touch'd with silver light cliff, strand, and flood: Then, though no hope was mine, yet by degrees Peace in the sea's voice o'er my spirit stole, And, with the wafting of the evening breeze, The Voice of Nature calm'd my troubled soul.
I PARTED from a friend on Scaw Fell Pikes,
He to descend past Glaramara's heights
And great Bow Fell to Grasmere's quiet lake;
I to return where Wastdale's tarn low lies.
Clouds hung around us as we bade God-speed
Unto each other, and in misty shrouds
Were other summits veil'd, yet here and there
Windows were cut by winds among the mists,
Through which I might behold the distant sea,
Mountains, and islands, dales, and hill-girt tarns,
And Mona floating in the lurid waves.
Parting in such a scene, to me it seem'd
As if we two were then about to step
Each to a different world; and, left alone,
I linger'd long upon that cloudy height:
There all was wondrous still, no sound of men
Broke the dread silence of that mountain crest,
Which scarce I dared to break, yet now and then
A wandering breeze brought up the broken sound
Of some hill-torrent leaping far below
Among the rocks torn from the mount above.
Oh, solemn thoughts came then upon my mind!
I saw the might of God in all His works
Which round about me were, and bless'd the Hand
That had such wonders made, and then I thought
Of home and distant friends; yes, one by one,
Old scenes,
old friends did pass before my mind
Sad and in slow procession, and mine eyes
Were fill'd with tears, for many that I saw
Had pass'd from this world to a world beyond;
Yet, when I gaz'd again upon the scene
Which circled me around, my heart was fain
To bound with rapture, and I stood erect,
Exulting in the mighty works of God.
WHEN I hear the sound of Church Bells Up the hill-side softly rise,
Thoughts of old times crowd upon me, Tears gush from my streaming eyes; Old friends seem to stand before me, Dear hands seem to clasp with mine, Once again to earth recalled
By your music, dreamy chime.
Oh, how often! Oh, how often!
In the weary nights of old,
Have I listen'd to your voices,
Wondering at the tales ye told;
Tales of mirth, and tales of sorrow,
Tales of weal, and tales of woe,
Tales of holiness and daring
Work'd by men dead long ago.
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