LINES

I stood on Brocken's sovran height, and saw Woods crowding upon woods, hills over hills, A surging scene, and only limited By the blue distance. Heavily my way

Downward I dragged through fir groves evermore, Where bright green moss heaves in sepulchral forms Speckled with sunshine; and, but seldom heard, The sweet bird's song became a hollow sound;

And the breeze, murmuring indivisibly, Preserved its solemn murmur most distinct From many a note of many a waterfall, And the brook's chatter;‘ mid whose islet-stones

The dingy kidling with its tinkling bell Leaped frolicsome, or old romantic goat Sat, his white beard slow waving. I moved on In low and languid mood: for I had found

That outward forms, the loftiest, still receive Their finer influence from the Life within;— Fair cyphers else: fair, but of import vague Or unconcerning, where the heart not finds

History or prophecy of friend, or child, Or gentle maid, our first and early love, Or father, or the venerable name Of our adoréd country! O thou Queen,

Thou delegated Deity of Earth, O dear, dear England! how my longing eye Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds Thy sands and high white cliffs!

My native Land! Filled with the thought of thee this heart was proud, Yea, mine eye swam with tears: that all the view From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills,

Floated away, like a departing dream, Feeble and dim! Stranger, these impulses Blame thou not lightly; nor will I profane, With hasty judgment or injurious doubt,

That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel That God is everywhere! the God who framed Mankind to be one mighty family, Himself our Father, and the World our Home.