The Desolation of Eyam :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fount of this lonely nook!
Hardly may heaven look
Through the green covert of thy leafy trees.
And in thy lucent wave
Green ferns and mosses lave,
Dimpling thy stream, as sways the passing breeze.

Beneath a classic sky
Thy hidden purity
To nymph or goddess had been consecrate;
King, warrior, bard divine
Had mingled at thy shrine,
Each bearing gifts thee to propitiate.

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Then, from thy twilight dim,
Pæan and votive hymn,
In the still midnight had come pealing out:
Then odours rich been shed,
From flower-gifts garlanded,
And here been sacred rite and festive shout.

And marvel 'tis thy spring,
So purely bubbling,
Never was sainted, ne'er had cross nor sign;
Strange that, beside thy well,
No holy hermit's cell,
Blessing thy waters, made this nook a shrine.

Fount of the forest!—no,
Thy crystal water's flow
Ne'er had a legend,—traveller never came,
Childhood nor crippled age,
On wearying pilgrimage,
From a far region, guided by thy name.

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As now, 'mong mosses green,
Dim in thy leafy screen,
Ages ago thy sylvan fount was flowing;
The squirrel on the tree;
The bird's blithe melody;
And drooping ferns around thy margin growing.

Even then, thy cool retreat
Lured the tired peasant's feet;
Here gentle creatures shunned the noontide beam;
And from the hunter's dart,
Here fled the wounded hart,
And bathed his antlered forehead in the stream.

Pure fount, there need not be
Proud rites' solemnity,
Priest, altar, hymn, nor legend to recall
The soul to holy thought;
'Tis by thy silence brought,
Thy dimness, and thy water's tinkling fall.

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There is a spell of grace
Around this quiet place
That lures the spirit to a better mood;
Whence? but that man's weak arm
Hath not dissolved the charm
Which Nature forms, in her calm solitude.