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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539984" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">. When first, descending from the moorlands, <br> I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide<br> Along a bare and open valley,<br> The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.<br> When last along its banks I wandered,<br> Through groves that had begun to shed<br> Their golden leaves upon the pathways,<br> My steps the Border-minstrel led.<br> The mighty Minstrel breathes no longer,<br> 'Mid mouldering ruins low he lies;<br> And death upon the braes of Yarrow,<br> Has closed the Shepherd-poet's eyes:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Nor has the rolling year twice measured,<br> From sign to sign, its stedfast course,<br> Since every mortal power of Coleridge<br> Was frozen at its marvellous source;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The rapt One, of the godlike forehead,<br> The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:<br> And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,<br> Has vanished from his lonely hearth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Like clouds that rake the mountain-summits,<br> Or waves that own no curbing hand,<br> How fast has brother followed brother,<br> From sunshine to the sunless land!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber<br> Were earlier raised, remain to hear<br> A timid voice, that asks in whispers,<br> &quot;Who next will drop and disappear?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Our haughty life is crowned with darkness,<br> Like London with its own black wreath,<br> On which with thee, O Crabbe! forth-looking,<br> I gazed from Hampstead's breezy heath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> As if but yesterday departed,<br> Thou too art gone before; but why,<br> O'er ripe fruit, seasonably gathered,<br> Should frail survivors heave a sigh?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Mourn rather for that holy Spirit,<br> Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep;<br> For Her who, ere her summer faded,<br> Has sunk into a breathless sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> No more of old romantic sorrows,<br> For slaughtered Youth or love-lorn Maid!<br> With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten,<br> And Ettrick mourns with her their Poet dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539984" data-title="Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg de William Wordsworth" data-description=". When first, descending from the moorlands, 
 I saw the Stream of Yarrow glide
 Along a bare and open valley,
 The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide.
 When last along its banks I wandered,
 Through groves that had begun to shed
 Their golden leaves u..."></div>
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