William Wordsworth (Уильям Вордсворт)

Nun’s Well, Brigham

THE CATTLE, crowding round this beverage clear
To slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trod
The encircling turf into a barren clod,
Through which the waters creep, then disappear,
Born to be lost in Derwent, flowing near;
Yet o’er the brink, and round the limestone cell
Of the pure spring, (they call it the “Nun’s Well,”
Name that first struck by chance my startled ear,)
A tender spirit broods,—the pensive shade
Of ritual honors to this fountain paid
By hooded votaresses with saintly cheer;
Albeit oft the Virgin-Mother mild
Looked down with pity upon eyes beguiled
Into the shedding of “too soft a tear.”

1. To a Highland Girl
2. The River Duddon (FROM this deep chasm, where quivering sunbeams play)
3. Yarrow Revisited
4. The River Eden, Cumberland
5. To ——, on Her First Ascent to the Summit of Helvellyn

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