Nov. 1820

Where be the noisy followers of the game Which faction breeds; the turmoil where? that passed Through Europe, echoing from the newsman's blast, And filled our hearts with grief for England's shame. Peace greets us;--rambling on without an aim We mark majestic herds of cattle, free To ruminate, couched on the grassy lea; And hear far-off the mellow horn proclaim The Season's harmless pastime. Ruder sound Stirs not; enrapt I gaze with strange delight, While consciousnesses, not to be disowned, Here only serve a feeling to invite That lifts the spirit to a calmer height, And makes this rural stillness more profound.

We mark majestic herds of cattle free To ruminate.

This is a most grateful sight for an Englishman returning to his native land. Every where one misses, in the cultivated scenery abroad, the animating and soothing accompaniment of animals ranging and selecting their own food at will.--W. W. 1822.

"Dover, Wed., 8th Nov.--At 11 o'clock we took coach and thoroughly enjoyed our journey between the green pastures of Kent, besprinkled with groups of trees, and bounded by hedgerows. The scattered cattle quietly selecting their own food was a cheering, and a home-feeling sight." (Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)

"It was, I think, 10 o'clock when we left Dover. The day was pleasant, and every English sight delightful, the fields sprinkled with cattle, the hedgerows, the snug small cottages, the pretty country-houses. Many a time we said to each other, 'What a pleasant country this must appear to the eyes of a Frenchman!'" (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)--ED.

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