“FLY, SOME KIND HARBINGER, TO GRASMERE-DALE”

Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale!

Say that we come, and come by this day's light;

Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height,

But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;

There let a mystery of joy prevail,

The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite,

And Rover whine, as at a second sight

Of near-approaching good that shall not fail:

And from that Infant's face let joy appear;

Yea, let our Mary's one companion child —

That hath her six weeks’ solitude beguiled

With intimations manifold and dear,

While we have wandered over wood and wild —

Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.