Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/159

151 Nor is there any one in sight

All round, in Hollow or on Height;

Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;

What is the Creature doing here?

It was a Cove, a huge Recess,

That keeps till June December's snow

A lofty Precipice in front,

A silent Tarn below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

Remote from public Road or Dwelling,

Pathway, or cultivated land;

From trace of human foot or hand.

There, sometimes does a leaping Fish

Send through the Tarn a lonely cheer;

The Crags repeat the Raven's croak,

In symphony austere;

Thither the Rainbow comes—the Cloud—

And Mists that spread the flying shroud;

And Sun-beams; and the sounding blast,

That, if it could, would hurry past,

But that enormous Barrier binds it fast.