If on windy days the Raven Gambol like a dancing skiff, Not the less she loves her haven [4] In [5] the bosom of the cliff. [A] 20 The fleet Ostrich, till day closes, Vagrant over desert sands, Brooding on her eggs reposes When chill night that care demands. [6] Day and night my toils redouble, 25 Never nearer to the goal; Night and day, I feel the trouble Of the Wanderer in my soul. [7] * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: This stanza was added in the edition of 1827.] [Variant 2: 1827. Though almost with eagle pinion O'er the rocks the Chamois roam, Yet he has some small dominion Which no doubt he calls his home. 1800. Though, as if with eagle pinion O'er the rocks the Chamois roam, Yet he has some small dominion Where he feels himself at home. 1815.] [Variant 3: 1836. Though the Sea-horse in the ocean Own no dear domestic cave; Yet he slumbers without motion On the calm and silent wave. 1800. Yet he slumbers--by the motion Rocked of many a gentle wave. 1827.] [Variant 4: 1827. ... he loves his haven 1800.] [Variant 5: 1815. On ... 1800.] [Variant 6: This stanza was added in 1827.] [Variant 7: 1800. Never--never does the trouble Of the Wanderer leave my soul. 1815. The text of 1827 returns to that of 1800.] * * * * * FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: In the editions of 1800 to 1832 stanzas 4 and 5 were transposed. Their present order was adjusted in the edition of 1836.--Ed.] * * * * * THE BROTHERS [A] Composed 1800. [B]--Published 1800 [This poem was composed in a grove at the north-eastern end of Grasmere lake, which grove was in a great measure destroyed by turning the high road along the side of the water. The few trees that are left were spared at my intercession. The poem arose out of the fact, mentioned to me at Ennerdale, that a shepherd had fallen asleep upon the top of the rock called the Pillar, and perished as here described, his staff being left midway on the rock.--I. F.] One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."--Ed. These Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live A profitable life: some glance along, Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air, And they were butterflies to wheel about Long as the [1] summer lasted: some, as wise, 5 Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag, Pencil in hand and book upon the knee, Will look and scribble, scribble on and look, [2] Until a man might travel twelve stout miles, Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn. 10 But, for that moping Son of Idleness, Why can he tarry _yonder_?--In our church-yard Is neither epitaph nor monument, Tombstone nor name--only the turf we tread And a few natural graves." 15