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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
124
Friday,
16th
April
(Good
Friday).--When
I
undrew
curtains
in
the
morning,
I
was
much
affected
by
the
beauty
of
the
prospect,
and
the
change.
The
sun
shone,
the
wind
had
passed
away,
the
hills
looked
cheerful,
the
river
was
very
bright
as
it
flowed
into
the
lake.
The
church
rises
up
behind
a
little
knot
of
rocks,
the
steeple
not
so
high
as
an
ordinary
three-story
house.
Trees
in
a
row
in
the
garden
under
the
wall.
The
valley
is
at
first
broken
by
little
woody
knolls
that
make
retiring
places,
fairy
valleys
in
the
vale,
the
river
winds
along
under
these
hills,
travelling,
not
in
a
bustle
but
not
slowly,
to
the
lake.
We
saw
a
fisherman
in
the
flat
meadow
on
the
other
side
of
the
water.
He
came
towards
us,
and
threw
his
line
over
the
two-arched
bridge.
It
is
a
bridge
of
a
heavy
construction,
almost
bending
inwards
in
the
middle,
but
it
is
grey,
and
there
is
a
look
of
ancientry
in
the
architecture
of
it
that
pleased
me.
As
we
go
on
the
vale
opens
out
more
into
one
vale,
with
somewhat
of
a
cradle
bed.
Cottages,
with
groups
of
trees,
on
the
side
of
the
hills.
We
passed
a
pair
of
twin
children,
two
years
old.
Sate
on
the
next
bridge
which
we
crossed--a
single
arch.
We
rested
again
upon
the
turf,
and
looked
at
the
same
bridge.
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