Such dispositions then were mine unearned
  By aught, I fear, of genuine desert—­
  Mine, through heaven’s grace and inborn aptitudes. 170
  And not to leave the story of that time
  Imperfect, with these habits must be joined,
  Moods melancholy, fits of spleen, that loved
  A pensive sky, sad days, and piping winds,
  The twilight more than dawn, autumn than spring; [H] 175
  A treasured and luxurious gloom of choice
  And inclination mainly, and the mere
  Redundancy of youth’s contentedness. 
—­To time thus spent, add multitudes of hours
  Pilfered away, by what the Bard who sang 180
  Of the Enchanter Indolence hath called
  “Good-natured lounging,” [I] and behold a map
  Of my collegiate life—­far less intense
  Than duty called for, or, without regard
  To duty, might have sprung up of itself 185
  By change of accidents, or even, to speak
  Without unkindness, in another place. 
  Yet why take refuge in that plea?—­the fault,
  This I repeat, was mine; mine be the blame.

    In summer, making quest for works of art, 190
  Or scenes renowned for beauty, I explored
  That streamlet whose blue current works its way
  Between romantic Dovedale’s spiry rocks; [K]
  Pried into Yorkshire dales, [L] or hidden tracts
  Of my own native region, and was blest 195
  Between these sundry wanderings with a joy
  Above all joys, that seemed another morn
  Risen on mid noon; [M] blest with the presence, Friend! 
  Of that sole Sister, her who hath been long
  Dear to thee also, thy true friend and mine, [N] 200
  Now, after separation desolate,
  Restored to me—­such absence that she seemed
  A gift then first bestowed. [O] The varied banks
  Of Emont, hitherto unnamed in song, [P]
  And that monastic castle, ’mid tall trees, 205
  Low-standing by the margin of the stream, [Q]
  A mansion visited (as fame reports)
  By Sidney, [R] where, in sight of our Helvellyn,
  Or stormy Cross-fell, snatches he might pen
  Of his Arcadia, by fraternal love 210
  Inspired;—­that river and those mouldering towers
  Have seen us side by side, when, having clomb
  The darksome windings of a broken stair,
  And crept along a ridge of fractured wall,
  Not without trembling, we in safety looked 215
  Forth, through some Gothic window’s open space,
  And gathered with one mind a rich reward
  From the far-stretching landscape, by the light
  Of morning beautified, or purple eve;
  Or, not less pleased, lay on some turret’s head, 220
  Catching from tufts of grass and hare-bell flowers
  Their faintest whisper to the passing breeze,
  Given out while mid-day heat oppressed the plains.