William Wordsworth

Bothwell Castle

Immured in Bothwell's Towers, at times the Brave (So beautiful is the Clyde) forgot to mourn The liberty they lost at Bannockburn. Once on those steeps I roamed at large, and have In mind the landscape, as if still in sight; The river glides, the woods before me wave; But, by occasion tempted, now I crave Needless renewal of an old delight. Better to thank a dear and long-past day For joy its sunny hours were free to give Than blame the present, that our wish hath crost. Memory, like Sleep, hath powers which dreams obey, Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive; How little that she cherishes is lost!

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