Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, Lam'd by the scathe of fire, lonely and faint, This lime-tree bower my prison! They, meantime My Friends,[168] whom I may never meet again, On springy[169] heath, along the hill-top edge Wander delighted, and look down, perchance, On that same rifted Dell, where many an ash Twists its wild limbs beside the ferny[170] rock Whose plumy ferns forever nod and drip, Spray'd by the waterfall. But chiefly thou My gentle-hearted _Charles_! thou who had pin'd And hunger'd after Nature many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet bowed soul, through evil and pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun! Shine in the slant heaven of the sinking orb, Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds Live in the yellow Light, ye distant groves! Struck with joy's deepest calm, and gazing round On[171] the wide view, may gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily; a living thing That acts upon the mind, and with such hues As clothe the Almighty Spirit, when He makes Spirits perceive His presence! A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there! nor in the bower Want I sweet sounds or pleasing shapes. I watch'd The sunshine of each broad transparent leaf Broke by the shadows of the leaf or stem. Which hung above it: and that walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now with blackest mass Makes their dark foliage gleam a lighter hue Through the late twilight: and though the rapid bat Wheels silent by, and not a swallow titters, Yet still the solitary humble bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure; No scene so narrow, but may well employ Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes 'Tis well to be bereav'd of promised good, That we may lift the soul and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share. My Sister and my Friends! when the last rook Beat its straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I bless'd it! deeming its black wing Cross'd like a speck the blaze of setting day While ye stood gazing; or when all was still, Flew creaking o'er your heads, and had a charm For you, my Sister and my Friends, to whom No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.