If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughtsOf tender joy wilt thou remember me,And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance—If I should be where I no more can hearThy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleamsOf past existence—wilt thou then forgetThat on the banks of this delightful streamWe stood together; and that I, so longA worshipper of Nature, hither cameUnwearied in that service: rather sayWith warmer love—oh! with far deeper zealOf holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,That after many wanderings, many yearsOf absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,And this green pastoral landscape, were to meMore dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!