Unit 4: Part 2 Vocabulary II

The Lake District National Park is an area of outstandingly beautiful and varied landscape and the scenery is the reason most people give for visiting the Lake District (62%, 1994 All Parks Visitor Survey).

Both trade and early tourism flourished.

The guiding principle underpinning the policies of the LDNPA towards transport and traffic is that demand should be managed…

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work ’em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.

In his loneliness
and fixedness he
yearneth towards the
journeying Moon,
and the stars that
still sojourn, yet still
move onward…

The curse is
finally expiated.

And to teach, by his
own example, love
and reverence to all
things that God made
and loveth.

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war—

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form
Glasses itself in tempests: in all time,
Calm or convulsed—in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving—boundless, endless, and sublime

My heart is not much greener; and in short, I
Have squandered my whole summer while ’twas May,
And feel no more the spirit to retort

The credulous hope of mutual minds is o’er,
The copious use of claret is forbid too

The credulous hope of mutual minds is o’er,
The copious use of claret is forbid too

So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,
I think I must take up with avarice.

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith’s height,
The locks of the approaching storm.

Thou dirge

Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulcher

A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable!

Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

Bird thou never wert,
That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Thou lovest—but ne’er knew love’s sad satiety.

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken

Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific—and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain....

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain

O, for a draft of vintage! that hath been
Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth...

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.