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A never, never-ending song,
Into a chasm a mighty block To welcome in the May.
Hath fallen, and made a bridge of The magpie chatters with delight;
And in a basin black and small
The challenger pursued his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained Beneath a rock upon the grass,
The middle of the arch. Two boys are sitting in the sun;
When list! he hears a piteous moanBoys that have had no work to do,
Again!-his heart within him diesOr work that now is done.
His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost, On pipes of sycamore they play
He totters, pallid as a ghost,
Within that black and frightful rent.
The lamb had slipped into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound Along the river's stony marge
The cataract had borne him down The sand-lark chants a joyous song;
Into the gulf profound. The thrush is busy in the wood,
His dam had seen him when he fell, And carols loud and strong.
She saw him down the torrent borne: A thousand lambs are on the rocks,
And, while with all mother's love All newly born! both earth and sky
She from the lofty rocks above Keep jubilee; and more than all,
Sent forth a cry forlorn, Those boys with their green coronal;
The lamb, still swimming round and They never hear the cry,
round, That plaintive cry! which up the hill
Made answer to that plaintive sound. Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.
When he had learnt what thing it was, Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
That sent this rueful cry ; 1 ween, "Down to the stump of yon old yew
The boy recovered heart, and told We'll for our whistles run a race.'
The sight which he had seen. -Away the shepherds flew.
Both gladly now deferred their task ;
A poet, one who loves the brooks
And there the helples: lamb he found Sad Walter then, “ Your task is here, By those huge rocks encompassed round. "Twill baffle you for half a year.
He drew it gently from the pool, "Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross, And brought it forth into the light : Come on, and in my footsteps tread!" | The shepherds met him with his charge, The other took him at his word,
An unexpected sight! And followed as he led.
Into their arms the lamb they took, It was a spot which you may see
Said they, “He's neither maimed nor If ever you to Langdale go;
Then up the steep ascent they hied, Westmoreland, is a short, and, for the most part, And gently did the bard
And placed him at his mother's side ; a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally em- Those idle shepherd-boys upbraid, ployed in these dialects for waterfall.
And bade them better mind their trade.
The passions that build up our human soul; TO H. C. SIX YEARS OLD.
Not with the mean and vulgar works of O THOU! whose fancies from afar are
But with high objects, with enduring things, Who of thy words dost make a mock With life and nature ; purifying thus And fittest to unutterable thought
'The elements of feeling and of thought, The breeze-like motion and the self-born And sanctifying by such discipline carol ;
Both pain and sear,--until we recognise Thou faery voyager ! that dost float,
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. In such clear water, that thy boat
Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream ; When vapours rolling down the valleys
With stinted kindness. In November days, Suspended in a stream as clear as sky Where earth and heaven do make one a lonely scene more lonesome ; among
At noon; and 'mid the calm of summer O blessed vision ! happy child !
(lake, That art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with many fears
When, by the margin of the trembling For what may be thy lot in future years.
Beneath the gloomy hills, I homeward
In solitude, such intercourse was mine : I thought of times when pain might be 'Twas mine among the fields both day and thy guest,
night, Lord of ihy house and hospitality!
And by the waters, all the summer long ; And grief, uneasy lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee. Was set, and visible for many a mile,
And in the frosty season, when the sun Oh! too industrious folly !
The cottage windows through the twilight Oh! vain and causeless melancholy !
blazed, Nature will either end thee quite ;
I heeded not the summons :-happy time Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,
It was indeed for all of us ; for me Preserve for thee, by individual right, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown The village clock tolled six-1 wheeled
It was a time of rapture !--Clear and loud flocks.
about, What hast thou to do with sorrow, Or the injuries of to-morrow?
Proud and exulting like an untired horse [forth,
That cares not for his home.--All shod Thou art a dewdrop, which the morn brings
with steel Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks ;
We hissed along the polished ice, in games Or to be trailed along the soiling earth!
Confederate, imitative of the chase A gem that glitters while it lives,
And woodland pleasures,--the resounding And no forewarning gives ; But, at the touch of wrong, without a strise The pack loud-bellowing, and the hunted
[hare. Slips in a moment out of life.
So through the darkness and the cold we
And not a voice was idle: with the din
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron ; while the distant hills IN CALLING FCRTH AND STRENGTHEN- Into the tumult sent an alien sound
ING THE IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the AND EARLY YOUTH,
(west [This extract is reprnted from “ The Friend.") The orange sky of evening died away.
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the WISDOM and Spirit of the universe ! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought ! Not seldom from the uproar I retired And giv'st to forms and images a breath Into a silent bay,-or sportively (throng, And everlasting motion ! not in vain, Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous By day or star light, thus from my first dawn To cut across the reflex of a star, Or childhood did'st thou intertwine for me Iinage, that, flying still before me, gleamed
He who governs the creation, In his providence, assigred Such a gradual declination To the life of human kind.
Upon the glassy plain : and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness, spin
ning still The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, Stopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs Wheeled by me—even as if the earth had
rolled With visible motion her diurnal round ! Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a summer sea.
Yet we mark it not ;– fruits redden,
Be thou wiser, youthful maiden !
THE LONGEST DAY.
Now, even now, ere wrapped in slumber,
Follow thou the flowing river
Through the year's successive portals ; Through the bounds which many a star Marks, not mindless of frail mortals, When his light returns from far.
Thus when thou with Time hast travelled
Let us quit the leafy arbour,
Think, if thou on beauty leanest,
Think how pitiful that stay, Did not virtue give the meanest Charms superior to decay.
Duty, like a strict preceptor, Sometimes frowns, or seems to frown; Choose her thistle for thy sceptre, While thy brow youth's roses crown.
Grasp it,-if thou shrink and tremble,
And insures those palms of honour
Poems founded on the Jffections.
'Twas one well known to him in former THE BROTHERS.
A shepherd-lad;-who ere his sixteenth year “THESE tourists, Heaven preserve us ! Had left that calling, tempted to intrust needs must live
His expectations to the fickle winds A profitable life: some glance along, And perilous waters, --- with the mariners Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air, A fellow-mariner,-and so had fared And they were butterflies to wheel about Through twenty seasons; but he had been Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise, reared Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag, Among the mountains, and he is his heart Pencil in hand and book upon the knee, Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas. Will look and scribble, scribble on and look, Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard Until a man might travel twelve stout heard miles,
The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds Or reap an acre of neighbour's corn. Of caves and trees:--and when the regular But, for that moping son of idleness,
wind Why can he tarry yonder?—In our church Between the tropics filled the steady sail, yard
And blew with the same breath through Is neither epitaph nor monument,
days and weeks, Tombstone nor name-only the turf we Lengthening invisibly its weary line tread
Along the cloudless main, he, in those And a few natural graves."
hours To Jane, his wife, Of tiresome indolence, would often hang Thus spake the homely Priest of Enner- Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze; dale.
And, while the broad green wave and It was a July evening; and he sate
[wrought Upon the long stone-seat beneath the Flashed round him images and hues chat
[day, In union with the employment of his heart, Of his old cottage, -as it chanced, that He, thus by feverish passion overcome, Employed in winter's work. Upon the Even with the organs of his bodily eye,
(wool, Below him, in the bosom of the deep, His wife sate near him, teasing matted Saw mountains, --saw the forms of sheep While, from the twin cards toothed with that grazed
(trees, glittering wire,
On verdant hills—with dwellings among He fed the spindle of his youngest child, And shepherds clad in the same country Who turned her large round wheel in the gray open air
(the field Which he himself had worn.* With back and forward steps. Towards
And now, at last, In which the parish chapel stood alone, From perils manifold, with some small Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall, wealth While half an hour went by, the priest had Acquired by traffic 'mid the Indian Isles,
To his paternal home he is returned, Many a long look of wonder: and at last, With a determined purpose to resume Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white The life he had lived there; both for the ridge
sake Oscarded wool which the old man had piled Of many darling pleasures, and the love He laid his implements with gentle care, Which to an only brother he has borne Each in the other locked; and, down the In all his hardships, since that happy time path
[led, That from his cottage to the church-yard He took his way, impatient to accost
• This description of the Calenture is sketched
from an imperfect recollection of an admirable The stranger, whom he saw still lingering one in prose, by. Mr. Gilbert, author of "The there.
When, whether it blew foul or fair, they | And, after greetings interchanged, and
given Were brothershepherds on their native hills. By Leonard to the vicar as to one They were the last of all their race: and Unknown to him, this dialogue ensued:now,
[his heart Leonard. You live, sir, in these dales, a When Leonard had approached his home, quiet life : Failed in him; and, not venturing to in- Your years make up one peaceful family; quire
And who would grieve and fret, if, welcome Tidings of one whom he so dearly loved,
(other, Towards the church-yard he had turned and welcome gone, they are so like each aside;
They cannot be remembered? Scarce a That, as he knew in what particular spot funeral
[months; His family were laid, he thence might learn Comes to this churchyard once in eighteen If still his brother lived, or to the file And yet, some changes must take place Another grave was added.--He had found among you;
[rocks, Another grave,--near which a full half-hour And you, who dwell here, even among these He had remained; but, as he gazed, there can trace the finger of mortality, grew
And see, that with our threescore years Such a confusion in his memory,
and ten That he began to doubt; and he had hopes We are not all that perish.--I remeinber, That he had seen this heap of turf before- (For many years ago I passed this road) That it was not another grave; but one There was a foot-way all along the fields He had forgotten. He had lost his path, By the brook-side--'tis gone-and that As up the vale, that afternoon, he walked dark cleft! Through fields which once had been well To me it does not seem to wear the face known to him:
Which then it had ! And, oh, what joy the recollection now Priest. Nay, sir, for aught I know, Sent to his heart! He lifted up his eyes, That chasm is much the sameAnd, looking round, imagined that he saw Leonard. But, surely, yonderStrange alteration wrought on every side Priest. Ay, there, indeed, your memory Among the woods and fields, and that the is a friend
(tall pike rocks,
(changed. That does not play you false.-On that And everlasting hills themselves were (It is the loneliest place of all these hills) By this the priest, who down the fieid had There were two springs which bubbled side
by side, Unseen by Leonard, at thechurch-yard gate As if they had been made that they might be Stopped short,--and thence, at leisure, limb Companions for each other: the huge crag by limb
Was rent with lightning-one hath disa Perused him with a gay complacency.
appeared; Ay, thought the vicar, smiling to himself, The other, left behind, is flowing still. "Tis one of those who needs must leave the For accidents and changes such as these, path
We want not store of them:-a water-spout Of the world's business to go wild alone: Will bring down half a mountain; what a His arms have a perpetual holiday;
feast The happy man will creep about the Forfolks that wander up and down like you, fields,
To see an acre's breadth oi that wide clift Following his fancies by the hour, to bring One roaring cataract!—a sharp May-storm Tears down his cheek, or solitary smiles, Will come with loads of January snow, Into his face, until the setting sun
And in one night send twenty score of Write fool upon his forehead, Planted sheep thus
To feed the ravens; or a shepherd dies Beneath a shed that over-arched the gate By some untoward death among the rocks: Of this rude church-yard, till the stars The ice breaks up and 'sweeps away a appeared, [with himself, bridge
(homes! The good man might have communed A wood is felled:—and then for our own But that the stranger, who had left the A child is born or christened, a field grave,
(once, ploughed, Approached; he recognised the priest at A daughter sent to seryice, a web spun,"