Left upon a seat in a YEW-TREE, which stands near the
Lake of ESTHWAITE, on a desolate part of the shore,
yet commanding a beautiful prospect.
--Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb;
What if these barren boughs the bee not loves;
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
