Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/143

83 That hut which from the hills his eyes employs

So oft, the central point of all his joys,

Where safely guarded by the woods behind

He hears the chiding of the baffled wind;

Hears Winter, calling all his Terrors round,

Rush down the living rocks with whirlwind sound.

Through Nature's vale his homely pleasures glide

Unstained by envy, discontent, and pride;

The bound of all his vanity to deck

With one bright bell a favourite heifer's neck:

Content, upon some simple annual feast,

(Remembered half the year, and hoped the rest,)

If dairy produce, from his inner hoard,

Of thrice ten summers consecrate the board.

lark of hope thy silent song resume!

Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume!

Soft gales and dews of life's delicious morn,

And thou, lost fragrance of the heart return!

Soon flies the little joy to man allowed,

And grief before him travels like a cloud:

For come Diseases on, and Penury's rage,

Labour, and Care, and Pain, and dismal Age,