Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 20, No. 575, November 10, 1832 - Various - Страница 3

"Beautiful scene! how fitted to allure

The printless footsteps of some sea-born maid."

It was a holy calm—the sunbeams tinged

The lake with gold, and flush'd the gorgeous brow

Of many a cloud whose image shone beneath

The blue translucent wave; the mountain-peaks

Were robed in purple, and the balmy air

Derived its fragrance from the breath of flow'rs

That seem'd as if they wish'd to close their eyes,

And yield their empire to the starry throng.

The wind, as o'er the lake it gently died,

Bequeath'd its cadence to the shore, and waked

The echo slumbering in the distant vales,

Diversified with woods, and rural homes.

The calm was lovely! and o'er such a scene

It brooded like a spirit, softening all

That lay beneath its blessed influence!

On Windermere—what poetry belongs

To such a name—deep, pure and beautiful,

As its trout-peopled wave!—on Windermere

Our skiff pursued its way amid the calm

Which fill'd the heart with holiest communings.

On Windermere—what scenes entranced the eye

That wander'd o'er them! either undefined

Or traced upon the outline of the sky.

Afar the lovely panorama glow'd,

Until the mountains, on whose purple brows

The clouds were pillow' d, closed it from our view.

The fields were fraught with bloom, on them appear'd

The verdant robe that Nature loves to wear,

And rocky pathways fringed with bristling pine,

O'er which the wall of many a cottage-home

Graced with the climbing vine, or beautified

With roses bending to each passing breeze,

Attracts the eye, and glistens in the sun—

Were interspersed around; while in the vale

The streamlet gave a silver gleam, and flow'd

Beneath the hill, on whose majestic brow,

Dimm'd with the ivy of a thousand years,

The rural fane, encircled with its tombs,

Displayed its mouldering form. Amid the light

And harmony of this enchanting scene,

'Tis sweet to have a temple that recalls

The heart from earth's turmoil, and hallows it

With hopes that soar beyond the flight of time.

Beautiful Lake! most lovely Windermere!

Thou mirror to the mountains that enclose

Thy shores with zone magnificent;—in storm,

Or calm—when summer wantons with thy waves,

Or winter clouds thy crystal brow with gloom,

Oh! mayst thou still entrance the wanderer's eye,

And keep congenial quiet in his soul.

Thy fairy haunts, where solitude pervades

The feelings like a spirit, might allure

Some visionary youth to muse beneath

The rocks empurpled with the sunny beam,

And blend the music of his harp with thine

In gentlest murmurs,—consecrated Lake!