I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN

MEN

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I TRAVELLED among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;

And she I cherished turned her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed

The bowers where Lucy played;

And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

IN MEMORIAM

BY HELEN GRAY CONE

LET Pride with Grief go hand in hand : They joined the hallowed hosts who died In battle for their lovely land;

With light about their brows they ride.

Young hearts and hot, gray heads and wise,
Good knights of all the years foregone,

Faith in their England in their eyes,
Still ride they on, still ride they on!

By altars old their banners fade

Beneath dear spires; their names are set
In minster aisle, in yew-tree shade;
Their memories fight for England yet.

Let Pride with Grief go hand in hand,
Sad Love with Patience, side by side;
In battle for their lovely land

Not vainly England's sons have died!

And well may pride this hour befit ;
For not since England's days began
More fiery-clear the word was writ :
Who dies for England, dies for Man!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH: The Prelude

BRIGHT was the summer's noon when quickening

steps

Followed each other till a dreary moor

Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top
Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge,
I overlooked the bed of Windermere,
Like a vast river, stretching in the sun.
With exultation, at my feet I saw
Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays,
A universe of Nature's fairest forms
Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst,
Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay.

I bounded down the hill shouting amain
For the old Ferryman; to the shout the rocks
Replied, and when the Charon of the flood
Had staid his oars, and touched the jutting pier,
I did not step into the well-known boat

Without a cordial greeting. Thence with speed
Up the familiar hill I took my way

Towards that sweet Valley where I had been reared;
'Twas but a short hour's walk, ere veering round
I saw the snow-white church upon her hill
Sit like a throned Lady, sending out

A gracious look all over her domain.

Yon azure smoke betrays the lurking town;
With eager footsteps I advance and reach
The cottage threshold where my journey closed.
Glad welcome had I, with some tears, perhaps,
From my old Dame, so kind and motherly,
While she perused me with a parent's pride.