University of Virginia Library

I. THE WALK.

Fieldward, in silent thought, I took my way.
Sweet was the air, magnificent the day,
The country all with invitation gay.
The meadows, whose expanse in season boasts
Of crocus-flowers innumerable hosts
That by the children's happy hands attain,
Through all the town, near every window-pane,
Extension of their purple proud domain,
I, quickly passing, hastened my descent
To where the chain is stretch'd across the Trent,
'Gainst which the upright iron pillar press'd,
Grates, turning in its sockets, to arrest
The vessel's downward glide, and with least loss
Of time and space control its course across.
The voyage over, I walk'd on awhile
By a sweet way which flowers help'd to smile
And trees shed shadow for:—first, by a plot
Of churchyard grass at Wilford, o'er the spot
Where Kirke White's willowonce was; then between
Twin rows of elms, like servitors, all green
With Spring's fresh favours:—afterwards across
The village green, over whose centre toss
Old arms of sycamore, and with a fence
Of garden'd cots for a circumference:—
Then on a bank whose wrinkled elm-boughs spr ead
An interference green betwixt the head
Of wayfarer and the unbashful sun:—
And thus on by fresh pasture, yearly won
And lost, by the alternate discontent
And shrinking weakness of old warrior Trent;—
Then gently to the right, to where are seen
Two pillars, with a gate and bridge between,
Made for patrician uses, and a plank
Or so, hand-rail'd, to serve the meaner rank
Of feet plebeian:—thereby going on
To the last stile the Grove's precincts upon:—
A walk thereafter, still more glorious made
With yellow lights and changeful verdurous shade,
Near umber tree-boles mossily reprieved
From utter brown; and branches freshest-leaved
Humouring the pettish little winds, by swinging
Ever themselves; and shaded coverts, ringing
With feather-throated voices sweet proclaiming
The morning's joy:—a walk, thence constant aiming
To kiss the river's side, and oft succeeding
In its perverse intent; me sometimes leading
Under or over a wind-ruin'd tree
Whose still green tresses dabbled mournfully
In the swift stream that flow'd o'er half its head,
And whose lorn fingers, witlessly outspread,
Comb'd alway the dark river's flowing hair,
And idly took a floating tollage there
Of straws and reeds:—a walk whereo'er did stray,
In other parts, rootlets across the way,
Emboss'd above the red, branch'd manifold,
Like wandering veins on arm of gypsy old:—
With now and then such roaming for the eye,
Such gush of landscape, such broad scenery,
Wide water-lapse with dark wind-crimpings grooved,
And green enrippled shades, and whites that moved
It twisting eddies in it, swirling o'er it
At every zephyr's instance; and, before it,
Round, and beyond it, such a green and grey,
Such blue-deep rapture in the far-away,
Such a quick pleasure-presence of the light
Exalting all things, dawn'd out to the right,
As would have ta'en possession of the eye
And it indentured to long truancy,
But that it still was summon'd back by old
Feet-tripping roots, whose snaky bodies bold
Bulged o'er the path, letting the moss to green
Their surface gaunt, and to be feathery in
Each age-drawn furrow. Such a walk, I say,
Had ta'en me, by a long and happy way,
Past where we've laugh'd o'er many a violet-prize,
And quoted of ‘the lids of Juno's eyes;’
Past Kirke White's Island, to its willowy head,
Above which, to the land tether'd and wed
A promontory was by isthmus-band,
On which the gold marsh-marigold did stand
With wealth of fragrant mint on either hand.