And He wiped off the soiling of despair
From her sweet soul, because she loved so much.
I am a sinner, full of doubts and fears,
Make me a humble thing of love and tears."
[CHAPTER XVIII.]
POEMS.
Miss Wordsworth did not write much poetry. The few pieces she has left behind, though not of the highest order, are sufficient to show that had she devoted herself to it, she might have attained distinction. She was so devoted to her brother that she did not attempt for herself an independent position. She preferred to find subjects for the more skilful pen of her brother, and to act as his amanuensis. The poems that she did write, and which have been published with those of her brother, are worthy of a place here. The first of these, written in 1805, is—
"THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT.
(Suggested to Miss Wordsworth when watching one of the Poet's Children.)
"The days are cold, the nights are long,