Wansfell! This Household has a favoured lot➀，
Living with liberty on thee to gaze，
To watch while Morn first crowns thee with her rays，
Or when along thy breast serenely float
Evening’s angelic clouds. Yet ne’er a note
Hath sounded（shame upon the Bard!）thy praise
For all that thou，as if from heaven，hast brought
Of glory lavished on our quiet days.
Bountiful Son of Earth! when we are gone➁
From every object dear to mortal sight➂，
As soon we shall be，may these words attest
How oft，to elevate our spirits，shone
Thy visionary majesties of light，
How in thy pensive glooms our hearts found rest.