Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/57

BOOK II. And be ye happy! Yet, my Friends! I know

That more than one of you will think with me

Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame

From whom the stone was named, who there had sate,

And watched her table with its huckster's wares

Assiduous, through the length of sixty years.

We ran a boisterous course; the year span round

With giddy motion. But the time approached

That brought with it a regular desire

For calmer pleasures, when the winning forms

Of Nature were collaterally attached

To every scheme of holiday delight

And every boyish sport, less grateful else

And languidly pursued.

When summer came,

Our pastime was, on bright half-holidays,

To sweep along the plain of Windermere

With rival oars; and the selected bourne

Was now an Island musical with birds

That sang and ceased not; now a Sister Isle

Beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert, sown

With lilies of the valley like a field;

And now a third small Island, where survived

In solitude the ruins of a shrine