Derwent! Winander! sweetest of all sounds The British tongue e'er utter'd! lakes that Heaven Reposes on, and finds his image there In all its purity, in all its peace! How are your ripples playing round my heart From such a distance? while I gaze upon The plain where William and where Caesar led From the same Gaulish strand each conquering host, And one the Briton, one the Saxon name, Struck out with iron heel. Well may they play, Those ripples, round my heart, buoyed up, entranced. Derwent! Winander! your twin poets come Star-crown'd along with you, nor stand apart. Wordsworth comes hither, hither Southey comes, His friend and mine, and every man's who lives, Or who shall live when days far off have risen. Here are they with me yet again, here dwell Among the sages of Antiquity, Under his hospitable roof whose life Surpasses theirs in strong activity, Whose Genius walks more humbly, stooping down From the same highth to cheer the weak of soul And guide the erring from the tortuous way. Hail ye departed! hail thou later friend, Julius! but never by my voice invoked With such an invocation . . hail, and live! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF SHERMAN'S ARMY by CHARLES GRAHAM HALPINE THE VOICE OF SPRING by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS FOREIGN CHILDREN by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: THE COURT OF PENANCE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT O, THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD! by FRANCES BROWNE DEAD OUT-OF-DOORS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |