55
  To sweep, along the plain of Windermere
  With rival oars; [B] and the selected bourne
  Was now an Island musical with birds
  That sang and ceased not; now a Sister Isle
  Beneath the oaks’ umbrageous covert, sown 60
  With lilies of the valley like a field; [C]
  And now a third small Island, where survived
  In solitude the ruins of a shrine
  Once to Our Lady dedicate, and served
  Daily with chaunted rites. [D] In such a race 65
  So ended, disappointment could be none,
  Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy: 
  We rested in the shade, all pleased alike,
  Conquered and conqueror.  Thus the pride of strength,
  And the vain-glory of superior skill, 70
  Were tempered; thus was gradually produced
  A quiet independence of the heart;
  And to my Friend who knows me I may add,
  Fearless of blame, that hence for future days
  Ensued a diffidence and modesty, 75
  And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much,
  The self-sufficing power of Solitude.

    Our daily meals were frugal, Sabine fare! 
  More than we wished we knew the blessing then
  Of vigorous hunger—­hence corporeal strength 80
  Unsapped by delicate viands; for, exclude
  A little weekly stipend, and we lived
  Through three divisions of the quartered year
  In penniless poverty.  But now to school
  From the half-yearly holidays returned, 85
  We came with weightier purses, that sufficed
  To furnish treats more costly than the Dame
  Of the old grey stone, from her scant board, supplied. 
  Hence rustic dinners on the cool green ground,
  Or in the woods, or by a river side 90
  Or shady fountains, while among the leaves
  Soft airs were stirring, and the mid-day sun
  Unfelt shone brightly round us in our joy. 
  Nor is my aim neglected if I tell
  How sometimes, in the length of those half-years, 95
  We from our funds drew largely;—­proud to curb,
  And eager to spur on, the galloping steed;
  And with the courteous inn-keeper, whose stud
  Supplied our want, we haply might employ
  Sly subterfuge, if the adventure’s bound 100
  Were distant:  some famed temple where of yore
  The Druids worshipped, [E] or the antique walls
  Of that large abbey, where within the Vale
  Of Nightshade, to St. Mary’s honour built, [F]
  Stands yet a mouldering pile with fractured arch, 105
  Belfry, [G] and images, and living trees,
  A holy scene!  Along the smooth green turf
  Our horses grazed.  To more than inland peace
  Left by the west wind sweeping overhead
  From a tumultuous ocean, trees and towers 110
  In that sequestered valley may be seen,
  Both silent and both motionless alike;
  Such the deep shelter that is there, and such
  The safeguard for repose and quietness.