This page needs to be proofread.
LAKE WINANDERMERE.
41
LAKE WINANDERMERE.
Оh, sweet Winandermere, how blest
Is he, who on thy marge may rest,
Rear his light bower 'neath summer's ray,
And from the loud world steal away;
And here, when twilight calm and pale
Spreads o'er thy mist a deeper veil,
List to the ripple on thy shore,
Or mark the lightly dripping oar,
Or sink to sleep, when eve shall cease,
Like thee, with all mankind at peace.
The angler here, with trolling line,
Doth muse from morn till day's decline,
And when brown autumn sets its seal,
How sharply rings the hunter's steel;
But I, with these no concert keep,
Nor aim to vex thy tranquil deep,
No barbed hook with pang and start
Would bury in the simple heart,
Nor work their woe, that wandering free
