You see yon precipice ;-it almost looks
Like some vast building made of many crags;
And in the midst is one particular rock

That rises like a column from the vale.

They found him at the foot of that same rock

Dead, and with mangled limbs.

I buried him, poor youth, and

The third day after there he lies!

We all conjectured

That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
Upon the grass,—and, waiting for his comrades,
He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep

He to the margin of the precipice

Had walked, and from the summit had fallen headlong; And so no doubt he perished.

.

And Leonard, when they reached the Church-yard gate,
As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round,-
And, looking at the grave, he said, "My Brother."

WORDSWORTH.

1

THE VILLAGE INN.

NEAR yonder thorn that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired,
Where greybeard mirth and smiling toil retired,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.

Imagination fondly stoops to trace

The parlour splendours of that festive place;
The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,

The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;

The pictures placed for ornament and use,

The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay;
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Ranged o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.

GOLDSMITH.

UPON a hill
At a short distance from my cottage, stands
A stately Fir-grove, whither I was wont
To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof
Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place
Of refuge, with an unencumbered floor.

WORDSWORTH.