168 IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 



with us, though our young poets sometimes use it as 

 they do this Yorkshire word wold ; one they get 

 from Wordsworth, the other from Tennyson. But 

 when you have seen one of those still, inky pools at 

 the head of a silent, lonely Westmoreland dale, you 

 will not be apt to misapply the word in future. Sud- 

 denly the serene shepherd mountain opens this black, 

 gleaming eye at your feet, and it is all the more 

 weird for having no eyebrow of rocks, or fringe of 

 rush or bush. The steep, encircling slopes drop 

 down and hem it about with the most green and uni- 

 form turf. If its rim had been modeled by human 

 hands, it could not have been more regular or gentle 

 in outline. Beneath its emerald coat the soil is black 

 and peaty, which accounts for the hue of the water 

 and the dark line that encircles it. 



"All round this pool both flocks and herds might drink 

 On its firm margin, even as from a well, 

 Or some stone basin, which the herdsman's hand 

 Had shaped for their refreshment." 



The path led across the outlet of the tarn and then 

 divided, one branch going down into the head of 

 Grisedale, and the other mounting up the steep flank 

 of Helvellyn. Far up the green acclivity I met a 

 man and two young women making their way slowly 

 down. They had come from Glenridding on Ulles- 

 water, and were going to Grasmere. The women 

 looked cold, and said I would find it wintry on the 

 summit. 



Helvellyn has a broad flank and a long back, and 



