University of Virginia Library

V. THE WALK RESUMED.

Then from my lowly seat recess'd rose I,
And slowly went, still westward, and still by
A path uxorious of its river-bride;—
Sometimes must I an ill-bred branch aside
Shoulder, which had no manners, and so tried
Rudely to stop me; or else be off-striking,
From body clad but little to my liking,
A nettle's head; or halting to inspect
Some wondrous wingëd thing, whose presence deck'd
A leafy tablet; or else, inward sinking
The sense, indulge a pleasant vein of thinking
Concerning absent friends, with many a yearning
For some such presence here; or else concerning
Some problem to be solved, be sure, by no deep learning.
Thence soon recall'd by whirr and frighten'd flap
Of wings close by; or by the clambering clap
Of sheep's hooves loosening down the crumbling clay;
Or by the even-timed and vig'rous play
Of coney's hinder feet, as, terrified,
One scamper'd up, its tufty tail to hide
In its red hole; or by the plunging dash
Of eager vole retreating with a splash
Of sharp excitement;—and once, by the scene
Of kingfisher at sport. With eye full keen,
He sat upon an overhanging bough,
And spied right under him, by gristly prow
A gudgeon slit the water, which again
Upon her wake closed in. The shining bird
Dropp'd down on her, before his flight was heard,
Digging into the stream with all his weight,
Then rose up in a moment with a freight
Of struggling fins and flashing scales, and took
The booty to his deep and secret nook.
The cliff, still kept undress'd by wind and weather,
Now stares abrupt above us; put together
By clayey flood and flood; compact of red
By turns, and greenish white, bed upon bed,
'Mong which some sparsest gleam of gypsum shines.
Beneath this sauntering, come we where inclines
A lane up the art-mitigated side
Of that same cliff; a lane to southward leading
'Twixt red-sloped banks, and upward so proceeding
Past tree and shrub, past half-curl'd fern and flower;—
Under the hall;—beneath the old church tower;—
By the dark-shrouded lodge;—then eastward going
'Mong cots, with almost little gardens growing
On their old thatch, so rich in weedy store;—
Whose gardens, too, beside them, or before,
Make poverty look fair inside each open door.
These partly passing, soon is there discern'd
A stone-stepp'd stile, over the which I turn'd;
And then of two fields for a little while
Fretted the path; till, at the final stile,
Once more was I in Clifton Grove; but now
To deal no longer with its foot, but brow.