Written with a Slate-pencil, upon a Stone, the largest of a Heap lying near a deserted Quarry, upon one of the Islands at Rydale. STRANGER! this hillock of misshapen stones. Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the Cairn But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned And make himself a freeman of this spot Are monuments of his unfinished task. The block on which these lines are traced, perhaps, Was once selected as the corner-stone Of the intended Pile, which would have been Some quaint odd play-thing of elaborate skill, And other little Builders who dwell here, Had wondered at the work. But blame him not, Of thy trim mansion destin'd soon to blaze |