Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/280

272 Too weak to labour in the harvest field,

The Man was using his best skill to gain

A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake

That knew not of his wants. I will not say

What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how

The happy idleness of that sweet morn,

With all its lovely images, was changed

To serious musing and to self-reproach.

Nor did we fail to see within ourselves

What need there is to be reserved in speech,

And temper all our thoughts with charity.

—Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,

My Friend, Myself, and She who then received

The same admonishment, have called the place

By a memorial name, uncouth indeed

As e'er by Mariner was given to Bay

Or Foreland on a new-discovered coast;

And is the Name it bears.