387. To the Highland Girl of Inversneyde

William Wordsworth (1770—1850)

  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, this household lawn,

  These trees—a veil just half withdrawn,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 ye do seem

  Like something fashion’d 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!

  I neither know thee nor thy peers:

  And yet my eyes are fill’d 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 scatter’d, like a random seed,

  Remote from men, Thou dost not need

  The embarrass’d look of shy distress,

  And maidenly shamefacédness:

  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 brook’d, 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.

  Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace

  Hath led me to this lonely place:

  Joy have I had; and going hence

  I bear away my recompense.

  In spots like these it is we prize

  Our memory, feel that she hath eyes:

  Then why should I be loth to stir?

  I feel this place was made for her;

  To give new pleasure like the past,

  Continued long as life shall last.

  Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart,

  Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part;

  For I, methinks, till I grow old

  As fair before me shall behold

  As I do now, the cabin small,

  The lake, the bay, the waterfall;

  And Thee, the spirit of them all!