Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/338

278 The Stream that flows out of the Lake,

As through the glen it rambles,

Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,

For those seven lovely Campbells.

Seven little Islands, green and bare,

Have risen from out the deep:

The Fishers say, those Sisters fair

By Faeries are all buried there,

And there together sleep.

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,

The Solitude of Binnorie.