"Newton's keen observant eye,
Found a power pervade creation;
Ignorant of when or why,
He fondly called it gravitation.
But 'tis love that binds the spheres--
Love's the real central-forces--
Wheels them round their varying years,
Impels them on, and shapes their courses.
Nature all abounds in love,
What is there but feels its power?
Hear it warbling in the grove!
See it blooming in a flower!
What's attraction, pray, but love?
And affinity's the same."
But the tender passion does not seem to have engrossed all his poetical
powers, as we find several pieces both grave and gay on different
subjects. One of these we shall select as it seems to possess some
originality, and has been occasioned apparently by that influx of
strangers which generally enlivens the lake district during the summer
months; some of whom have probably noticed our mountain bard, if we may
judge from one of the stanzas.