Near the loud waterfall; or her who sate
In misery near the miserable Thorn-

When thou dost to that summer turn thy thoughts,
And hast before thee all which then we were,

To thee, in memory of that happiness,

It will be known, by thee at least, my Friend!
Felt, that the history of a Poet's mind
Is labour not unworthy of regard:
To thee the work shall justify itself.

The last and later portions of this gift
Have been prepared, not with the buoyant spirits
That were our daily portion when we first
Together wantoned in wild Poesy,

But, under pressure of a private grief,

Keen and enduring, which the mind and heart,
That in this meditative history

Have been laid open, needs must make me feel
More deeply, yet enable me to bear

More firmly; and a comfort now hath risen
From hope that thou art near, and wilt be soon
Restored to us in renovated health;
When, after the first mingling of our tears,
'Mong other consolations, we may draw
Some pleasure from this offering of my love.

Oh! yet a few short years of useful life, And all will be complete, thy race be run, Thy monument of glory will be raised;

Then, though (too weak to tread the ways of truth) This age fall back to old idolatry,

Though men return to servitude as fast

As the tide ebbs, to ignominy and shame,

By nations, sink together, we shall still

Find solace-knowing what we have learnt to know,
Rich in true happiness if allowed to be
Faithful alike in forwarding a day

Of firmer trust, joint labourers in the work
(Should Providence such grace to us vouchsafe)
Of their deliverance, surely yet to come.
Prophets of Nature, we to them will speak
A lasting inspiration, sanctified

By reason, blest by faith: what we have loved,
Others will love, and we will teach them how;
Instruct them how the mind of man becomes
A thousand times more beautiful than the earth
On which he dwells, above this frame of things
(Which, 'mid all revolution in the hopes
And fears of men, doth still remain unchanged)
In beauty exalted, as it is itself

Of quality and fabric more divine.

NOTES.

Page 53.

"The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale.'

With this picture, which was taken from real life, compare the imaginative one of "The Reverie of Poor Susan," vol. ii. p. 111; and see (to make up the deficiencies of this class) "The Excursion,' passim.

Page 83.

'Moss Campion (Silene acaulis).'

This most beautiful plant is scarce in England, though it is found in great abundance upon the mountains of Scotland. The first specimen I ever saw of it, in its native bed, was singularly fine, the tuft or cushion being at least eight inches in diameter, and the root proportionably thick. I have only met with it in two places among our mountains, in both of which I have since sought for it in vain.

Botanists will not, I hope, take it ill, if I caution them against carrying off, inconsiderately, rare and beatiful plants. This has often been done, particularly from Ingleborough and other mountains in Yorkshire, till the species have totally disappeared, to the great regret of lovers of nature living near the places where they grew.

Page 94.

'From the most gentle creature nursed in fields.'

This way of indicating the name of my lamented friend has been found fault with; perhaps rightly so; but I may say in justification of the double sense of the word, that similar allusions are not

uncommon in epitaphs. One of the best in our language in verse, I ever read, was upon a person who bore the name of Palmer; and the course of the thought, throughout, turned upon the Life of the Departed, considered as a pilgrimage. Nor can I think that the objection in the present case will have much force with any one who remembers Charles Lamb's beautiful sonnet addressed to his cwn name, and ending—

'No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name!'