At length the long vacation, which the good Alma Mater allows for the refreshment of the minds and bodies of her dear children, came to set Wordsworth at liberty; and, in the summer of 1788, he revisited his native scenes at Esthwaite. The old cramp of University life, with its dissipations, and frivolous pleasures, fell from him like an evil enchantment, the first moment when he beheld the bed of Windermere, “Like a vast river stretching in the sun. With exultation at my feet I saw Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays, A universe of Nature’s finest forms, Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst, Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay. I bounded down the hill, shouting amain For the old ferryman; to the shout the rocks Replied; and when the Charon of the flood Had stay’d his oars, and touched the jutting pier, I did not step into the well-known boat Without a cordial greeting.” There is something very delightful and refreshing in this burst of enthusiasm, and it shews clearly enough, which was the University Wordsworth loved best. At Cambridge he was a prisoner, with his dark heart yearning for the sunshine of his native hills; but here he was free, his heart no longer dark nor sad, but flooding with light and joy, and exulting in the delicious beauty of Nature. And what strikes me as very touching and beautiful in the poet’s relation of this visit to his birthplace, is the fact that he did not forget his old dame,--although certain critics have of late declared that he had no heart,--but that on the contrary he went straight to her cottage, and so closed his journey from Cambridge. Hear how he speaks of her and her reception of him: “Glad welcome had I, with some tears, perhaps, From my old dame, so kind and motherly, While she perused me with a parent’s pride. The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew Upon thy grave, good creature! While my heart Can beat, never will I forget thy name. Heaven’s blessings be upon thee where thou liest After thy innocent and busy stir In narrow cares, thy little daily growth Of calm enjoyment, after eighty years, And more than eighty of untroubled life, Childless; yet, by the strangers to thy blood Honoured with little less than filial love.”