“THROUGH CUMBRIAN WILDS, IN MANY A MOUNTAIN COVE”
In 1819 Wordsworth wrote the sonnet beginning, “Grief, thou hast lost an ever ready friend.” In the note to that sonnet (vol. vi. p. 196) I have given a different version of its last six lines, from a MS. sonnet. But as these six lines also form the conclusion of another unpublished sonnet, it may be given in full by itself, in this Appendix.—Ed.
Through Cumbrian wilds, in many a mountain cove,
The pastoral Muse laments the Wheel—no more
Engaged, near blazing hearth on clean-swept floor,
In tasks which guardian Angels might approve,
Friendly the weight of leisure to remove, 5
And to beguile the lassitude of ease;
Gracious to all the dear dependencies
Of house and field,—to plenty, peace, and love.
There too did Fancy prize the murmuring wheel;
For sympathies, inexplicably fine, 10
Instilled a confidence—how sweet to feel!
That ever in the night-calm, when the Sheep
Upon their grassy beds lay couch’d in sleep,
The quickening spindle drew a trustier line.