Often thy scenery, fair Underbarrow,
Has cheered his spirit and dispelled his sorrow!
Thy hazel copses, and thy rugged _Scaur_,
With yellow-blooming whins have banished far
All thoughts of his poor, weak and sickly frame,
And raised his love of Nature to a flame!
Yes, often now, though living o'er the sea,
And many years have fled since he saw thee,
Dear Memory brings thy early charms to view,
And all their pleasures to his mind seem new!
Again, fresh scenes would his attention crave,
Ev'n noble Windermere with rippling wave;
And frequently he crossed o'er its short ferry,
In huge flat-boats, or pleasant sailing wherry,
And viewed, well pleased, its many lovely isles,
Clothed with rich verdure and sweet Summer's smiles;
Or watched the fishes, darting to and fro,
As o'er its crystal waves the boat would go;
And still remembers those rich wooded hills,
While deep emotion all his spirit thrills.
Sometimes tired Nature would assert her sway,
Then gloomy thoughts rose up in dark array;
He thus would wander, weary and alone,
Listening the breezes in their fitful moan,
As in their anger they swept through the woods,
While thunder-clouds sent down their copious floods,
And ask himself, in bitterness of soul,
Why he his destiny could not control?
Why some were wealthy, and could take their ease,
And ride about wherever they should please?