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