96.  PART II.—­XXXVI.

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802.

Earth has not anything to show more fair: 
Dull would be he of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty: 
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will: 
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

97. To a Highland Girl, at Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond.

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower! 
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost bounty on thy head: 
And these gray rocks; that household lawn;
Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn;
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent lake;
This little bay; a quiet road
That holds in shelter thy Abode—­
In truth together do ye seem
Like something fashioned in a dream;
Such Forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep! 
But, O fair Creature! in the light
Of common day, so heavenly bright,
I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years! 
Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers;
And yet my eyes are filled with tears.

With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away: 
For never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence. 
Here scattered, like a random seed,
Remote from men, Thou dost not need
The embarrassed look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness: 
Thou wear’st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a Mountaineer: 
A face with gladness overspread! 
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! 
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech: 
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life! 
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind—­
Thus beating up against the wind.

What hand but would a garland cull
For thee who art so beautiful. 
O happy pleasure! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways, and dress,
A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess! 
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality: 
Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea; and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighbourhood. 
What joy to hear thee, and to see! 
Thy elder Brother I would be,
Thy Father—­anything to thee!