LINES WRITTEN AT THE LAKES IN CUMBERLAND. Derwentwater.

Sweet Derwent! on thy winding shore,
Beside thy mountain forests hoar,
There would I love a to wander still;
And drink from out the rippling rill,
Which from thy rocky head doth fall, b

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5

And mingles with the eagleʼs call;
While from Helvellyn thunders break, c
Re‐echoed from Old Derwentʼs lake. d
And where the lightningʼs flaming dart,
Plays oʼer the Poetʼs eye, and warms his heart:

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10

Though such thy glories Earth, thy proudest whole,
Can never satiate the grasping soul! e