for a cottage, commanding two distinct views of the vale and of the lake, is among those rocks. . . . The quietness and still seclusion of the valley affected me even to producing the deepest melancholy. I forced myself from it. The wind rose before I went to bed. . . .
Tuesday Morning.—A fine mild rain. . . . Everything green and overflowing with life, and the streams making a perpetual song, with the thrushes, and all little birds, not forgetting the stone-chats. The post was not come in. I walked as far as Windermere, and met him there.
******
Saturday, May 24th.—Walked in the morning to Ambleside. I found a letter from Wm. and one from Mary Hutchinson. Wrote to William after dinner, worked in the garden, sate in the evening under the trees.
Sunday.— . . . Read Macbeth in the morning; sate under the trees after dinner. . . . I wrote to my brother Christopher. . . . On my return found a letter from Coleridge and from Charles Lloyd, and three papers.
Monday, May 26th.— . . . Wrote letters to J. H., Coleridge, Col. Ll., and W. I walked towards Rydale, and turned aside at my favourite field. The air and the lake were still. One cottage light in the vale, and so much of day left that I could distinguish objects, the woods, trees, and houses. Two or three different kinds of birds sang at intervals on the opposite shore. I sate till I could hardly drag myself away, I grew so sad. "When pleasant thoughts," etc.[1]. . .
Tuesday, 27th.—I walked to Ambleside with letters . . . only a letter from Coleridge. I expected a letter from Wm. It was a sweet morning, the ashes in the valley nearly in full leaf, but still to be distinguished, quite bare on the higher ground. . . .
- ↑ Compare Lines written in Early Spring, "Poetical Works," vol. i. p. 269—.
