We did not look along the white line of the road to Solway Moss without some melancholy emotion, though we had the fair prospect of the Cumberland mountains full in view, with the certainty, barring accidents, of reaching our own dear home the next day. Breakfasted at the Graham’s Arms. The weather had been very fine from the time of our arrival at Jedburgh, and this was a very pleasant day. The sun ‘shone fair on Carlisle walls’ when we first saw them from the top of the opposite hill. Stopped to look at the place on the sand near the bridge where Hatfield had been executed. Put up at the same inn as before, and were recognised by the woman who had waited on us. Everybody spoke of Hatfield as an injured man. After dinner went to a village six miles further, where we slept. * * * * * _Sunday_, _September_ 25_th_, 1803.—A beautiful autumnal day. Breakfasted at a public-house by the road-side; dined at Threlkeld; arrived at home between eight and nine o’clock, where we found Mary in perfect health, Joanna Hutchinson with her, and little John asleep in the clothes-basket by the fire. * * * * * SONNET COMPOSED BETWEEN DALSTON AND GRASMERE, SEPTEMBER 25TH, 1803. Fly, some kind spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale! Say that we come, and come by this day’s light Glad tidings!—spread them over field and height, But, chiefly, let one Cottage hear the tale! There let a mystery of joy prevail, The kitten frolic with unruly might, And Rover whine as at a second sight Of near-approaching good, that will not fail: And from that Infant’s face let joy appear; Yea, let our Mary’s one companion child, That hath her six weeks’ solitude beguiled With intimations manifold and dear, While we have wander’d over wood and wild— Smile on its Mother now with bolder cheer! APPENDIX A. ‘_And think and fear_.’—PAGE 11. The entire Poem as given in the works of the Poet stands thus:— TO THE SONS OF BURNS, after visiting the grave of their father. ‘The Poet’s grave is in a corner of the churchyard. We looked at it with melancholy and painful reflections, repeating to each other his own verses— “Is there a man whose judgment clear,” etc.’ _Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-Traveller_. ’Mid crowded obelisks and urns I sought the untimely grave of Burns; Sons of the Bard, my heart still mourns With sorrow true; And more would grieve, but that it turns Trembling to you! Through twilight shades of good and ill Ye now are panting up life’s hill, And more than common strength and skill Must ye display; If ye would give the better will Its lawful sway.