It brooded like a spirit, softening all

That lay beneath its blessed influence!

On Windermere—what poetry belongs

To such a name—deep, pure and beautiful,

As its trout-peopled wave!—on Windermere

Our skiff pursued its way amid the calm

Which fill'd the heart with holiest communings.

On Windermere—what scenes entranced the eye

That wander'd o'er them! either undefined

Or traced upon the outline of the sky.