W andering, through many a year, ’mongst Cumbria’s hills,
O ’er her wild fells, sweet vales, and sunny lakes,
R ich stores of thought thy musing mind distils,
D ay-dreams of poesy thy soul awakes:—
S uch was thy life—a poet’s life, I ween;
W orshipper thou of Nature! every scene
O f beauty stirred thy fancy’s deeper mood,
R eflection calmed the current of thy blood:
T hus in the wide “Excursion” of thy mind,
H igh thoughts in words of worth we still may find.