human
How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid! And when will she return to us? he paused; And, after short exchange of village news, 25 He with grave looks demanded, for what cause, Reviving obsolete idolatry, I, like a Runic Priest, in characters Of formidable size had chiselled out Some uncouth name upon the native rock, 30 Above the Rotha, by the forest-side. --Now, by those dear immunities of heart Engendered between [4] malice and true love, I was not loth to be so catechised, And this was my reply:--
gpt
As it befel, 35 One summer morning we had walked abroad At break of day, Joanna and myself. --'Twas that delightful season when the broom, Full-flowered, and visible on every steep, Along the copses runs in veins of gold. 40 Our pathway led us on to Rotha's banks; And when we came in front of that tall rock That eastward looks, I there stopped short--and stood [5] Tracing [6] the lofty barrier with my eye From base to summit; such delight I found 45 To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower That intermixture of delicious hues, Along so vast a surface, all at once, In one impression, by connecting force Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart. 50 --When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space, Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud. The Rock, like something starting from a sleep, Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again; 55 That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-scar, And the tall Steep of Silver-how, sent forth A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard, And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone; 60 Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky Carried the Lady's voice,--old Skiddaw blew His speaking-trumpet;--back out of the clouds Of Glaramara southward came the voice; And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head. 65 --Now whether (said I to our cordial Friend, Who in the hey-day of astonishment Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth A work accomplished by the brotherhood Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched 70 With dreams and visionary impulses To me alone imparted, sure I am [7] That there was a loud uproar in the hills. And, while we both were listening, to my side The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished 75 To shelter from some object of her fear. --And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm And silent morning, I sat down, and there, 80 In memory of affections old and true, I chiselled out in those rude characters Joanna's name deep in the living stone:--[8] And I, and all who dwell by my fireside, Have called the lovely rock, JOANNA'S ROCK.