Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/264

204 There is a straggling heap of unhewn stones!

And to that place a story appertains,

Which, though it be ungarnished with events,

Is not unfit, I deem, for the fireside,

Or for the summer shade. It was the first,

The earliest of those tales that spake to me

Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men

Whom I already loved;—not verily

For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills

Where was their occupation and abode.

And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy

Careless of books, yet having felt the power

Of Nature, by the gentle agency

Of natural objects led me on to feel

For passions that were not my own, and think

(At random and imperfectly indeed)

On man, the heart of man, and human life.

Therefore, although it be a history

Homely and rude, I will relate the same

For the delight of a few natural hearts;

And with yet fonder feeling, for the sake

Of youthful Poets, who among these Hills

Will be my second self when I am gone.