on a desolate part of the shore, commanding a beautiful prospect.
By William Wordsworth
Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?
What if the bee love not these barren boughs?
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
Who he was
That piled these stones and with the mossy sod
First covered, and here taught this aged Tree
With its dark arms to form a circling bower,
I well remember.--He was one who owned
No common soul. In youth by science nursed,
And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth
A favoured Being, knowing no desire
Which genius did not hallow; ’gainst the taint
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate,
And scorn,--against all enemies prepared,
All but neglect. The world, for so it thought,
Owed him no service; wherefore he at once
With indignation turned himself away,
And with the food of pride sustained his soul
In solitude.--Stranger! these gloomy boughs
Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit,
His only visitants a straggling sheep,
The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper:
And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath,
And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o’er,
Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
And, lifting up his head, he then would gaze
On the more distant scene,--how lovely ’tis
Thou seest,--and he would gaze till it became
Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain
The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, that time,
When nature had subdued him to herself,
Would he forget those Beings to whose minds,
Warm from the labours of benevolence,
The world, and human life, appeared a scene
Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh,
Inly disturbed, to think that others felt
What he must never feel: and so, lost Man!
On visionary views would fancy feed,
Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
He died,--this seat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride,
Howe’er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he, who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him
Is in its infancy. The man whose eye
Is ever on himself doth look on one,
The least of Nature’s works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love;
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself
In lowliness of heart.
--------
I had a fairly quiet Friday. I had a bunch of work to do, the most time-constrained of which was to post a review of Deep Space Nine's terrific Kira episode "Second Skin". The weather was once again beautiful, the bunnies were once again outside while I was walking, so things were relatively calm as long as I avoided watching the news or reading Facebook.
Adam got home late after a cross country practice that ended at Robek's for fruit smoothies, then we went to my parents' for dinner. Evening entertainment has mostly involved uploading photos while watching the Nationals blow it and now watching the Orioles struggle against the As. Some more photos of animals at Huntley Meadows:
Belated Fannish5: 5 fictional classes you wish you could have been in or subjects you wish you could have taken.
1. Remus Lupin's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
2. Independent study with Sarah Jane Smith, The Sarah Jane Adventures
3. Spock's training class for cadets at Starfleet Academy, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
4. Indiana Jones' archaeology class, Raiders of the Lost Ark
5. Slayer training with Giles, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
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