While I was seated, now some ten days past,
  Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop
  Their ancient neighbour, the old steeple-tower, 20
  The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by [A]
  Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked,
  “How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid! 
  And when will she return to us?” he paused;
  And, after short exchange of village news, 25
  He with grave looks demanded, for what cause,
  Reviving obsolete idolatry,
  I, like a Runic Priest, in characters
  Of formidable size had chiselled out
  Some uncouth name upon the native rock, 30
  Above the Rotha, by the forest-side. 
—­Now, by those dear immunities of heart
  Engendered between [4] malice and true love,
  I was not loth to be so catechised,
  And this was my reply:—­“As it befel, 35
  One summer morning we had walked abroad
  At break of day, Joanna and myself. 
—­’Twas that delightful season when the broom,
  Full-flowered, and visible on every steep,
  Along the copses runs in veins of gold. 40
  Our pathway led us on to Rotha’s banks;
  And when we came in front of that tall rock
  That eastward looks, I there stopped short—­and stood [5]
  Tracing [6] the lofty barrier with my eye
  From base to summit; such delight I found 45
  To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower
  That intermixture of delicious hues,
  Along so vast a surface, all at once,
  In one impression, by connecting force
  Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart. 50
—­When I had gazed perhaps two minutes’ space,
  Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld
  That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. 
  The Rock, like something starting from a sleep,
  Took up the Lady’s voice, and laughed again; 55
  That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag
  Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-scar,
  And the tall Steep of Silver-how, sent forth
  A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard,
  And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone; 60
  Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky
  Carried the Lady’s voice,—­old Skiddaw blew
  His speaking-trumpet;—­back out of the clouds
  Of Glaramara southward came the voice;
  And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head. 65
—­Now whether (said I to our cordial Friend,
  Who in the hey-day of astonishment
  Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth
  A work accomplished by the brotherhood
  Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched 70
  With dreams and visionary impulses
  To me alone imparted, sure I am [7]
  That there was a loud uproar in the hills. 
  And, while we both were listening, to my side
  The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished