Classic Poem

O' ER Esthwaite's lake, screne and still,
At sunset's silent peaceful hour,
Scarce mov'd the zephyr's softest breath,
Or sigh'd along its reedy shore.

The lovely landscape on its sides,
With ev'ning's soft'ning hues imprest,
Shar'd in the gen'ral calm, and gave
Sweet visions of repose and rest.

Inverted on the waveless flood,
A spotless mirror smooth and clear,
Each fair surrounding object shone
In softer beauty imag'd there.

Brown hills, and woods of various shades,
Orchards and sloping meadows green,
Sweet rural seats, and shelter'd farms,
Were in the bright reflector seen.

Ev'n lofty Tilberthwaite from far
His giant shadow boldly threw,
His rugged, dark, high-tow'ring head
On Esthwaite's tranquil breast to view.

Struck with the beauty of the scene,
I cry'd, Oh! may my yielding breast
Retain but images of peace,
Like those, sweet lake, on thine imprest.

Ne'er may it feel a ruder gale
Than that which o'er thy surface spreads,
When sportive zephyrs briskly play,
And whisper through thy bord'ring reeds;

When dancing in the solar beam,
Thy silv'ry waves the margin seek,
With gently undulating flow,
And there in softest murmurs break.

Vain wish! o'er Esthwaite's tranquil lake,
A stronger gale full frequent blows,
The soothing prospect disappears,
The lovely visions of repose.