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Thus talking of that Peasant we approach’d
Close to the spot where with his rod and line
He stood alone; whereat he turn’d his head
To greet us–and we saw a man worn down
By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks
And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean
That for my single self I look’d at them,
Forgetful of the body they sustain’d.–
Too weak to labour in the harvest field,
The man was using his best skill to gain
A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake
That knew not of his wants. I will not say
What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how
The happy idleness of that sweet morn,
With all its lovely images, was chang’d
To serious musing and to self-reproach.

Nor did we fail to see within ourselves
What need there is to be reserv’d in speech,
And temper all our thoughts with charity.
–Therefore, unwilling to forget that day,
My Friend, Myself, and She who then receiv’d
The same admonishment, have call’d the plate
By a memorial name, uncouth indeed
As e’er by Mariner was giv’n to Bay
Or Foreland on a new-discover’d coast,
And, POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the Name it bears.

V.

To M. H.

Our walk was far among the ancient trees:
There was no road, nor any wood-man’s path,
But the thick umbrage, checking the wild growth
Of weed sapling, on the soft green turf
Beneath the branches of itself had made
A track which brought us to a slip of lawn,
And a small bed of water in the woods.

All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink
On its firm margin, even as from a well
Or some stone-bason which the Herdsman’s hand
Had shap’d for their refreshment, nor did sun
Or wind from any quarter ever come
But as a blessing to this calm recess,
This glade of water and this one green field.
The spot was made by Nature for herself:
The travellers know it not, and ’twill remain
Unknown to them; but it is beautiful,
And if a man should plant his cottage near.
Should sleep beneath the shelter of its tress,
And blend its waters with his daily meal,
He would so love it that in his death-hour
Its image would survive among his thoughts,
And, therefore, my sweet MARY, this still nook
With all its beeches we have named from You.