“WANSFELL! THIS HOUSEHOLD HAS A FAVOURED LOT”
WANSFELL! this Household has a favoured lot, 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 gone From every object dear to mortal sight, 10 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. Dec. 24, 1842.