gs are made and managed there.
Change for the worse might please, incursion bold
Into the tracts of darkness and of cold; 10
O'er Limbo lake with aery flight to steer,
And on the verge of Chaos hang in fear.
Such animation often do I find,
Power in my breast, wings growing in my mind,
Then, when some rock or hill is overpast, 15
Perchance without one look behind me cast,
Some barrier with which Nature, from the birth
Of things, has fenced this fairest spot on earth.
O pleasant transit, Grasmere! to resign
Such happy fields, abodes so calm as thine; 20
Not like an outcast with himself at strife;
The slave of business, time, or care for life,
But moved by choice; or, if constrained in part,
Yet still with Nature's freedom at the heart;--
To cull contentment upon wildest shores, 25
And luxuries extract from bleakest moors;
With prompt embrace all beauty to enfold,
And having rights in all that we behold.
--Then why these lingering steps?--A bright adieu,
For a brief absence, proves that love is true; 30
Ne'er can the way be irksome or forlorn
That winds into itself for sweet return.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: This first poem referring to the Scottish Tour of 1803, was
not actually written till 1811. It originally formed the opening
paragraph of the 'Epistle to Sir George Beaumont'. Wordsworth himself
dated it 1804. It is every way desirable that it should introduce the
series of poems referring to the Tour of 1803.--Ed.]

The following is from Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made
in Scotland':

"William and I parted from Mary on Sunday afternoon, August 14th,
1803; and William, Coleridge, and I left Keswick on Monday morning,
the 15th."

Ed.

* * * * *

AT THE GRAVE OF BURNS, 1803. SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH

Composed 1803. [A]--Published 1842

[For illustration, see my Sister's Journal. It may be proper to add that
the second of these pieces, though _felt_ at the time, was not composed
till many years after.--I. F.]

I shiver, Spirit fierce and bold,
At thought of what I now behold:
As vapours breathed from dungeons cold
Strike pleasure dead,
So sadness comes from out [1] the mould 5
Where Burns