Wordsworth was in all things fortunate, but in nothing more
fortunate than in this, that so unique a companion should have been
ready to devote herself to him with an affection wholly free from
egotism or jealousy, an affection that yearned only to satisfy his
subtlest needs, and to transfuse all that was best in herself into
his larger being. And indeed that fortunate admixture or influence,
whencesoever derived, which raised the race of Wordsworth to poetic
fame, was almost more dominant and conspicuous in Dorothy Wordsworth
than in the poet himself. "The shooting lights of her wild eyes"
reflected to the full the strain of imaginative emotion which was
mingled in the poet's nature with that spirit of steadfast and
conservative virtue which has already given to the family a Master of
Trinity, two Bishops, and other divines and scholars of weight and
consideration. In the poet himself the conservative and
ecclesiastical tendencies of his character became more and more
apparent as advancing years stiffened the movements of the mind. In
his sister the ardent element was less restrained; it showed itself
in a most innocent direction, but it brought with it a heavy
punishment. Her passion for nature and her affection for her brother
led her into mountain rambles which were beyond her strength, and
her last years were spent in a condition of physical and mental decay.

But at the time of which we are now speaking there was, perhaps, no
one in the world who could have been to the poet such a companion as
his sister became. She had not, of course, his grasp of mind or his
poetic power; but her sensitiveness to nature was quite as keen as
his, and her disposition resembled his "with sunshine added to
daylight."

Birds in the bower, and lambs in the green field,