And from hopes of bliss, in a life like this,
Will dreamers all awake—
And all that was said by that sweet little maid,
Was as moonshine on the lake.
So much for mental quiet; the next, as the show people say, will be for physical comfort, viz.:—
'Twas eve, and over Walna Scar the sun had sought the west,
And shades of night were settling thick o'er Thurston’s glassy breast,
But yet I lingered on the lake as loath to leave a scene
So lovely as, ere day’s decline, fair Conistone had been.
When over Hawkshead’s heights arose a mild and mellow light,