Page:Poems and extracts - Wordsworth.djvu/83



Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove Of branching oaks a rural palace old Inbosoms. There dwells Albert, generous lord Of all the harvest round. And onward thence A low plain chapel fronts the morning light Fast by a rivulet. Humbly walk, O Stranger, o'er the consecrated ground, And on that verdant hillock, which thou see'st Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew Sweet-smelling flowers. For there doth Edmund rest The learned Shepherd; for each rural art Famed, and for songs harmonious, and the woes Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride Rh