ON READING DORA WORDSWORTH'S RECOLLECTIONS OF A.
JOURNEY IN SCOTLAND IN 1803, WITH HER BROTHER AND COLERIDGE.
I CLOSE the book, I shut my eyes, I see the Three before me rise,—
Loving sister, famous brother, Each one mirrored in the other.
Brooding William, artless Dora, Who was to her very core a Lover of dear Nature's face,
In its perfect loveliness,—
Lover of her glens and flowers, Of her sunlit clouds and showers, Of her hills and of her streams, Of her moonlight—when she dreams; Of her tears and of her smiles, Of her quaint delicious wiles ; Telling what best pleasures lie In the loving, unspoiled eye, In the reverential heart, That in great Nature sees God's art.
And him—the man "of large discourse," Of pregnant thought, of critic force, That grey-eyed sage, who was not wise In wisdom that in doing lies, But who had "thoughts that wander through Eternity "—the old and new.
Who, when he rises on our sight, Spite of his failings, shines all bright, With something of an angel-light.
We close the book with thankful heart, Father of Lights, to Thee, who art Of every good and perfect gift The giver,—unto Thee we lift Our souls in prayer, that all may see Thy hand, Thy heart, in all they see. ASEAN.