age. Until one visits the spot one can have no conception of
the wholesale destruction that the hurricane has wrought; until he
looks on the huge rosy-hearted branches he cannot guess the
tremendous force with which the tornado had fallen upon that "sable
roof of boughs."

'For tornado or whirlwind it must needs have been. The Yews grew
under the eastern flank of the hill called Base Brown. The gale
raged from the westward. One could hardly believe it possible that
the trees could have been touched by it; for the barrier hill on
which they grew,--and under whose shelter they have seen centuries
of storm,--goes straight upwards, betwixt them and the west. It was
only realizable when, standing amid the wreckage, and looking across
the valley, it was seen that a larch plantation had been entirely
levelled, and evidently by a wind that was coming from the east, and
directly toward the Yew-trees. On enquiring at Seathwaite Farm, one
found that all the slates blown from the roof of that building on
the west side, had been whirled up clean over the roof: and we can
only surmise that the winds rushing from the west and north-west,
and meeting the bastions of Glaramara and the Sty-head slopes, were
whirled round in the 'cul-de-sac' of the valley, and moved with
churning motion back from east to west over the Seathwaite Farm, and
so in straight line across the beck, and up the slope to the
Yew-tree cluster. With what a wrenching, and with what violence,
these trees were in a moment shattered, only those can guess who now
witness the ruins of the pillared shade, upon the "grassless floor
of red-brown hue."'"

Ed.

* * * * *

"WHO FANCIED WHAT A PRETTY SIGHT"

Composed 1803.--Published 1807

In the edition of 1807 this poem was No. VIII. of the series entitled
"Moods of my own Mind." It was afterwards included among the "Poems of
the Fancy," and in a MS. copy it was named "The Coronet of
Snowdrops."--Ed.

Who fancied what a pretty sight
This Rock would be if edged around
With living snow-drops? circlet bright!
How glorious to this orchard-ground!
Who loved the little Rock, and set 5
Upon its head this coronet?

Was it the humour of a child?
Or rather of some gentle [1] maid,
Whose brows, the day that she was styled
The shephe