ia, deep-embayed, Dimetian land,
By green hills fenced, by ocean's murmur lulled.

It will be observed that Wordsworth quotes this last line of Dyer
accurately in the edition of 1815, but changed it in 1827.

This sonnet was possibly written before 1811, as in a letter to Lady
Beaumont, dated November 20, 1811, he speaks of it as written "some time
ago." In that letter Wordsworth writes thus of Dyer:--"His poem is in
several places dry and heavy, but its beauties are innumerable, and of a
high order. In point of _imagination_ and purity of style, I am not sure
that he is not superior to any writer of verse since the time of
Milton." He then transcribes his sonnet, and adds--"In the above is one
whole line from _The Fleece_, and also other expressions. When you read
_The Fleece_, you will recognise them."--ED.

VARIANTS:

[1] 1827.

By green hills fenced, by ... 1815.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Compare Dyer's _Fleece_, book iii.--ED.

1812

The years 1812 and 1813 were poetically even less productive than 1811
had been. The first of them was saddened by domestic losses, which
deprived the poet, for a time, of the power of work, and almost of any
interest in the labour to which his life was devoted. Three short pieces
are all that belong to 1812 and 1813 respectively.--ED.

SONG FOR THE SPINNING WHEEL

FOUNDED UPON A BELIEF PREVALENT AMONG THE PASTORAL VALES OF WESTMORELAND

Composed 1812.--Published 1820

[The belief on which this is founded I have often heard expressed by an
old neighbour of Grasmere.--I. F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.

Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel!
Night has brought the welcome hour,
When the weary fingers feel
Help, as if from faery power;
Dewy night o'ershades the ground; 5
Turn the swift wheel round and round!

Now, beneath the starry sky,
Couch[1] the widely-scattered sheep;--
Ply the pleasant labour, ply!
For the spindle, while they sleep, 10
Runs with speed more smooth and fine,
Gathering[2] up a trustier line.

Short-lived likings may be bred
By a glance from fickle eyes;
But true love is like the thread 15
Which the kindly wool supplies,
When the flocks are all at rest
Sleeping on the mountain's breast.

It was for Sarah Hutchinson that this _Song_ was wri