Poems, in Two Volumes (Wordsworth, 1807)/Volume 2/Glen-Almain, or the Narrow Glen

by William Wordsworth

For other versions of this work, see Glen Almain.

4.

 

GLEN-ALMAIN,
or the
Narrow Glen.

 

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In this still place, remote from men,Sleeps Ossian, in the Narrow Glen;In this still place, where murmurs onBut one meek Streamlet, only one:He sang of battles, and the breathOf stormy war, and violent death;And should, methinks, when all was past,Have rightfully been laid at lastWhere rocks were rudely heap'd, and rentAs by a spirit turbulent;Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild,And every thing unreconciled;In some complaining, dim retreat,For fear and melancholy meet; But this is calm; there cannot beA more entire tranquillity.

Does then the Bard sleep here indeed?Or is it but a groundless creed?What matters it? I blame them notWhose Fancy in this lonely SpotWas moved; and in this way express'dTheir notion of it's perfect rest.A Convent, even a hermit's CellWould break the silence of this Dell:It is not quiet, is not ease;But something deeper far than these:The separation that is hereIs of the grave; and of austereAnd happy feelings of the dead:And, therefore, was it rightly saidThat Ossian, last of all his race!Lies buried in this lonely place.