TO CORDELIA M ——

Not in the mines beyond the western main,

You say, Cordelia,was the metal sought,

Which a fine skill, of Indian growth, has wrought

Into this flexible yet faithful Chain;

Nor is it silver of romantic Spain

But from our loved Helvellyn'sdepths was brought,

Our own domestic mountain. Thing and thought

Mix strangely; trifles light, and partly vain,

Can prop, as you have learnt, our nobler being:

Yes, Lady, while about your neck is wound

( Your casual glance oft meeting ) this bright cord,

What witchery, for pure gifts of inward seeing,

Lurks in it, Memory's Helper, Fancy's Lord,

For precious tremblings in your bosom found!