Poem by William Wordsworth

Wordsworth's Epitaph on Southey

Ye vales and hills, whose beauty hither drew 
The poet's steps, and fixed him here, on you 
His eyes have closed; and ye, loved books, no more 
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore, 
To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown, 
Adding immortal labors of his own; 
Whether he traced historic truth with zeal 
For the state's guidance, or the church's weal; 
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious Art, 
Informed his pen, or Wisdom of the heart 
Or Judgments sanctioned in the patriot's mind 
By reverence for the rights of all mankind. 
Large were his aims, yet in no human breast 
Could private feelings find a holier nest. 
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud 
From Skiddaw's top, but he to heaven was vowed 
Through a life long and pure, and steadfast faith 
Calmed in his soul the fear of change and death.

1. To the Sons of Burns
2. Monument of Mrs. Howard
3. Suggested at Tyndrum in a Storm
4. Lowther
5. The Countess’ Pillar

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