William Wordsworth – Bolton Abbey (The Trip)

From Bolton’s old monastic tower The bells ring loud with gladsome power; The sun shines bright; the fields are gay With people in their best array Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf, Along the banks of crystal Wharf, Through the vale retired and lowly. Trooping to that summons holy. And, up among the moorlands, see What sprinklings of blithe company! Of lasses and of shepherd grooms, That down the steep hills force their way Like cattle through the budding brooms; Path, or no path, what care they? And thus in joyous mood they hie To Bolton’s mouldering Priory.