Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green; And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour; Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made, And on my trunk's surviving frame Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, First breathed upon this sacred ground; By all that Love has whisper'd here, Or Beauty heard with ravish'd ear; As Love's own altar honour me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! _T. Campbell_ CCXCVI _ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER_ Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye! --The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirr'd thee deeply; with its own dear brook, Its own small pasture, almost its own sky! But covet not the abode; forbear to sigh As many do, repining while they look; Intruders--who would tear from Nature's book This precious leaf with harsh impiety. --Think what the home must be if it were thine, Even thine, though few thy wants!--Roof, window, door, The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, The roses to the porch which they entwine: Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day On which it should be touch'd, would melt away! _W. Wordsworth_ CCXCVII _TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNEYDE_ Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head: And these gray rocks, that household lawn, Those trees--a veil just half withdrawn, This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake, This little bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode; In truth together ye do seem Like something fashion'd in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! But O fair Creature! in the light Of common day, so heavenly bright, I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart: God shield thee to thy latest years! Thee neither know I nor thy peers: And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears.