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I knew that thou couldst never have a wish He to that valley took his way, and there
To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound Wrought at the sheep-fold. Meantime
to me

Luke began
Only by links of love: when thou art goue, To slacken in his duty; and at length
What will be left to us !-But, I forget He in the dissolute city gave himself
My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, To evil courses : ignominy and shame
As I requested ; and hereafter, Luke, Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
When thou art gone away, should evil men To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
Be thy companions, think of me, my son,
And of this moment; hither turn thy There is a comfort in the strength of love;
thoughts,

| fear 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else And God will strengthen thee : amid all Would overset the brain, or break the And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou

heart :

(well Mayst bear in mind the life thy fathers I have conversed with more than one who lived,

Remember the old man, and what he was Who, being innocent, did for that cause

Years after he had heard this heavy news. Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare His bodily frame had been from youth to thee well

(wilt see When thou return'st, thou in this place of an unusual strength. Among the

age

(rocks A work which is not here: a covenant

He went, and still looked up upon the sun, Twill be between us--But, whatever fate And listened to the wind ; and as before Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last,

Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep. And bear thy memory with me to the grave." And for the land his small inheritance.

And to that hollow dell from time to The shepherd ended here ; and Luke

time stooped down,

Did he repair, to build the fold of which And, as his father had requested, laid His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet The first stone of the sheep-fold. At the The pity which was then in every heart sight

(his heart for the old man--and 'tis believed by all The old man's grief broke from him ; to That many and many a day he thither He pressed his son, he kissed him and

went,
wept ;

And never lifted up a single stone.
And to the house together they returned.
Hushed was that house in peace, or
seeming peace,

(the boy

There, by the sheep-fold, sometimes was Ere the nighi fell;—with morrow's dawn

he seen Began his journey, and when he had Sitting alone with that his faithful dog. reached

Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. The public way, he put on a bold face ;

The length of full seven years from time to And all the neighbours as he passed their

time

[wrought, doors

He at the building of this sheep-fold

(prayers, Came forth with wishes and with farewell And left the work unfinished when he died. That followed him till he was out of sight. Three years, or little more, did Isabel

Survive her husband : at her death the
A good report did from their kinsman

Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand.
come,
Of Luke and his well-doing : and the boy The cottage which was named the EVENING
Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news,

STAR

(the ground Which, as the housewife phrased it, were Is gone—the ploughshare has been through throughout

On which it stood; great changes have “The prettiest letters that were ever seen."

been wrought

[is left Both parents read them with rejoicing In all the neighbourhood :-yet the oak hearts.

(again

That grew beside their door ; and the reSo, many months passed on : and once

mains The shepherd went about his daily work

Of the unfinished sheep-fold may be seen With confident and cheerful thoughts; and Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head

(hour

Ghyll.
Sometimes when he could find a leisure

estate

now

1

Hush, there is some one on the stir ! THE WAGGONER.

'Tis benjamin the waggoner ;

Who long hath trod this toilsome way TO CHARLES LAMB, Esq. Companion of the night and day.

That far-off tinkling's drowsy cheer, MY DEAR FRIEND,–When I sent you, Mixed with a faint yet grating sound a few weeks ago, the Tale of Peter Bell, In a moment lost and found, you asked “why THE WAGGONER, was The wain announces -- by whose side, not added ?" To say the truth,-from the Along the banks of Rydal Mere, higher tone of imagination, and the deeper He paces on, a trusty guide,touches of passion aimed at in the former, Listen ! you can scarcely hear ! I apprehended, this little piece could not Hither hé his course is bending :accompany it without disadvantage. In Now he leaves the lower ground, the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, 'The And up the craggy hill ascending WAGGONER was read to you in manu- Many a stop and stay he makes, script : ard, as you have remembered it Many a breathing-fit he takes ;for so long a time, I am the more en- Steep the way and wearisome, couraged to hope, that, since the localities Yet all the while his whip is dumb ! on which it partly depends did not prevent its being interesting to you, it may prove The horses have worked with right good acceptable to others. Being therefore in will, some measure the cause of its present And now have gained the top of the hill ; appearance, you must allow me the grati. He was patient-they were strongfication of inscribing it to you ; in acknow. And now they smoothly glide along, ledgment of the pleasure I have derived Gathering breath, and pleased to win from your writings, and of the high esteem The praises of mild Benjamin. with which I am, very truly yours, Heaven shield him from mishap and snare! WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. But why so early with this prayer ?

Is it for threatenings in the sky?
RYDAL MOUNT, May 20, 1819.

Or for some other danger nigh?
No, none is near him yet, though he

Be one of much infirmity;
CANTO I.

For, at the bottom of the brow, 'Tis spent-this burning day of June ! Where once the Dove and OLIVE-BOUGH Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is steal. Offered a greeting of good ale The dor-hawk, solitary bird, Ling: To all who entered Grasmere Vale ; Round the dim crags on heavy pinions And called on him who must depart wheeling,

To leave it with a jovial hcart ;Buzzes incessantly, a tiresome tune; There, where the Dove and OLIVE-BOUGH That constant voice is all that can be heard Once hung, a poet harbours now,In silence deeper far than that of deepest A simple water-drinking bard ; noon!

Why need our hero, then, (though frail

His best resolves) be on his guard ? Confiding glow-worms ! 'tis a night He marches by, secure and bold, Propitious to your earth-born light; Yet, while he thinks on times of old, But, where the scattered stars are seen It seems that all looks wondrous cold ; In hazy straits the clouds between, He shrugs his shoulders--shakes his head.. Each, in his station twinkling not,

And, for the honest folk withir, Seems changed into a pallid spot.

It is a doubt with Benjamin
The air, as in a lion's den,

Whether they be alive or dead !
Is close and hot ;-and now and then
Comes a tired and sultry breeze

Here is no danger,-none at all !
With a haunting and a panting,

Beyond his wish is he secure ;
Like the stifling of disease ;

But pass a mile--and then for trial, -
The mountains rise to wondrous height, Then for the pride of self-denial ;
And in the heavens there hangs a weight; If he resist that tempting door,
But the dews allay the heat,

Which with such friendly voice will call, And the silence makes it sweet.

If he resist those casement panes,

And that bright gleam which thence will We climb—that, piteously abused,
Upon his leaders' bells and manes, (fall Ye plunged in anger and confused :
Inviting him with cheerful lure ;

As chance would have it, passing by
For still, though all be dark elsewhere, I saw you in your jeopardy :
Some shining notice will be there,

A word from me was like a charm-
Of open house and ready fare.

The ranks were taken with one mind ;

And your huge burthen, safe from harm, The place to Benjamin full well

Moved like a vessel in the wind ! Is known, and by as strong a spell Yes, without me, up hills so high As used to be that sign of love

"lis vain to strive for mastery. And hope--the OLIVE-BOUGH and Dove

Then grieve not, jolly team! though tough He knows it to his cost, good man ! The road we travel, steep and rough. Who does not know the famous SWAN? Though Rydal-heights and Dunmail-raise, Uncouth although the object be,

And all their fellow banks and braes, An image of perplexity ;

Full often make you stretch and strain, Yet not the less it is our boast,

And halt for breath and halt again,
For it was painted by the host;

Yet to their sturdiness 'tis owing
His own conceit the figure planned, That side by side we still are going!
'Twas coloured all by his own hand ;
And that frail child of thirsty clay,

While Benjamin in earnest mood
Of whom I sing this rustic lay,

His meditations thus pursued, Could tell with self-dissatisfaction

A storm, which had been smothered long, Quaint stories of the bird's attraction !* Was growing inwardly more strong i

And, in its struggles to get free,
Well ! that is past—and in despite Was busily employed as he.
Of open door and shining light.

The thunder had begun to growl-
And now the conqueror essays

He heard not, too intent of soul; The long ascent of Dunmail-raise; The air was now without a breathAnd with his team is gentle here

He marked not that 'twas still as death. As when he clomb from Rydal Mere ; But soon large drops upon his head His whip they do not dread-his voice Fell with the weight of drops of lead ;They only hear it to rejoice.

He starts-and, at the admonition, To stand or go is at their pleasure ; Takes a survey of his condition. Their efforts and their time they measure The road is black before his eyes, By generous pride within the breast

Glimmering faintly where it lies ; And, while they strain, and while they rest, Black is the sky-and every hill, He thus pursues his thoughts at leisure. Up to the sky, 'is blacker still ;

A huge and melancholy room, Now am I fairly safe to-night

Hung round and overhung with gloom! And never was my heart more light. Save that above a single height I trespassed lately worse than ever

Is to be seen a lurid light, But Heaven will bless a good endeavour ; Above Helm-cragt-a streak half dead, And, to my soul's delight, I find

A burning of portentous red ; The evil one is left behind.

And, near that lurid light, full well Yes, let my master fume and fret,

The Astrologer, sage Sidrophel, Here am 1-with my horses yet!

Where at his desk and book he sits, My jolly team, he finds that ye

Puzzling on high his curious wits ; Will work for nobody but me!

He whose domain is held in common Good proof of this the country gained, With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN, One day, when ye were vexed and strained - Cowering beside her rifted cell ; Intrusted to another's care,

As if intent on magic spell ; -And forced unworthy stripes to bear. Dread pair, that spite of wind and weather, Here was it-on this rugged spot

Still sit upon Helm-crag together! Which now, contented with our lot,

+ A mountain of Grasmere, the broken summit This rude piece of self-taught art (such is of which presents two figures, full as distinctly the progress of refinement) has been supplanted shaped as that of the famous Cobbler, neu by a professional production.

Arroquhar, in Scotland.

The ASTROLOGER was not unseen 'Tis not a time for nice suggestion, By solitary Benjamin :

And Benjamin, without further question, But total darkness came anon,

Taking her for some way-worn rover, And he and everything was gone.

Said, “ Mount, and get you under cover !" And suddenly a ruffling breeze, trees (That would have sounded through the

Another voice, in tone as hoarse Had aught of sylvan growth been there)

As a swoln brook with rugged course, Was felt throughout the region bare :

Cried out, “Good brother, why so fast? The rain rushed down-the road was bat- I've had a glimpse of you~avast! tered,

Or, since it suits you to be civil, As with the force of billows shattered ;

Take her at once—for good and evil!" The horses are dismayed, nor know

“It is my husband," softly said Whether they should stand or go ;

The woman, as if half afraid :
And Benjamin is groping near them,
Sees nothing, and can scarcely hear them. By this time she was snug within,

Through help of honest Benjamin ;
He is astounded, -wonder noi, -

She and her babe, which to her breast With such a charge in such a spot ; With thankfulness the mother pressed ; Astounded in the mountain gap

And now the same strong voice more near By peals of thunder, clap on clap !

Said cordially, “My friend, what cheer? And many a terror-striking flash

Rough doings these! as God's my judge, And somewbere, as it seems, a crash,

The sky owes somebody a grudge ! Among the rocks ; with weight of rain,

We've had in half an hour or less And sullen motions long and slow,

A twelvemonth's terror and distress !" That to a dreary distance goTill, breaking in upon the dying strain, Then Benjamin entreats the man A rending o'er his head begins the fray again. Would mount, too, quickly as he can:

The sailor, sailor now no more, Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, But such he had been heretofore, And oftentimes compelled to halt, To courteous Benjamin replied, The horses cautiously pursue

Go you your way, and mind not me; Their way, without mishap or fault ; For I must have, whate'er betide, And now have reached that pile of stones, My ass and fifty things beside,Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones; Gó, and I'll follow speedily !" He who had once supreme command, Last king of rocky Cumberland ;

The waggon moves—and with its load His bones, and those of all his power,

Descends along the sloping road; Slain here in a disastrous hour !

And to a little tent hard by

Turns the sailor instantly; When, passing through this narrow For when, at closing-in of day. Stony, and dark, and desolate, (strait, The family had come that way, Benjamin can faintly hcar

Green pasture and the soft warm air A voice that comes from some one near,

Had tempted them to settle there. A female voice :-"Whoe'er you be,

Green is the grass for beast to graze,
Stop," it exclaimed, “and pity me !"

Around the stones of Dunmail-raise !
And less in pity than in wonder,
Amid the darkness and the thunder,

The sailor gathers up his bed,

Takes down the canvas overhead ; The waggoner, with prompt command,

And, after farewell to the place, Summons his horses to a stand.

A parting word--though not of grace,

Pursues, with ass and all his store,
The voice, to move commiseration,

The way the waggon went before.
Prolonged its earnest supplication-
"This storm that beats so furiously-
This dreadful place ! oh, pity me !"

CANTO II.
While this was said, with sobs between, IF Wytheburn's modest house of prayer,
And many tears, but all unseen,

As lowly as the lowliest dwelling, There came a flash-a startling glare, Had, with its belfry's humble stock, And all Seat-Sandal was laid bare ! A little pair that hang in air,

Been mistress also of a clock,

This was the outside proclamation, (And one, too, not in crazy plight) This was the inside salutation ; Twelve strokes that clock would have been What bustling-jostling-high and low! telling

A universal overflow, Under the brow of old Helvellyn

What tankards foaming from the tap ! Its bead-roll of midnight,

What store of cakes in every lap ! Then, when the hero of my tale

What thumping-stumping-over-head! Was passing by, and down the vale The thunder had not been more busy: (The vale now silent, hushed I ween, With such a stir, you would have said, As if a storm had never been)

This little place may well be dizzy! Proceeding with an easy mind;

'Tis who can dance with greatest vigour -While he, who had been left behind, 'Tis what can be most prompt and Intent to use his utmost haste,

eager;
Gained ground upon the waggon fast, As if it heard the fiddle's call,
And gives another lusty cheer;

The pewter clatters on the wali;
For spite of rumbling of the wheels, The very bacon shows its feeling,
A welcome greeting he can hear ;- Swinging from the smoky ceiling !
It is a fiddle in its glee
Dinning from the CHERRY TREE!

A steanıing bowl-a blazing fire-
Thence the sound-the light is there-

What greater good can heart desire? As Benjamin is now aware,

'Twere worth a wise man's while to try Who, to his inward thoughts confined,

The utmost anger of the sky; Had almost reached the festive door,

To seek for thoughts of painful cast, When, startled by the sailor's roar,

If such be the amends at last. He hears a sound and sees the light,

Now, should you think I judge amiss, And in a moment calls to mind

The CHERRY Tree shows proof of this; That 'tis the village MERRY-NIGHT !*

For soon, of all the happy there,

Our travellers are the happiest pair.
Although before in no dejection, All care with Benjamin is gone-
At this insidious recollection

A Cæsar past the Rubicon !
His heart with sudden joy is filled, - He thinks not of his long, long strife ;-
His ears are by the music thrilled,

The sailor man, by nature gay, His eyes take pleasure in the road

Hath no resolves to throw away ; ulittering before him bright and broad ; And he hath now forgot his wise, And Benjamin is wet and cold,

Hath quite forgotten her-or may be
And there are reasons manifold (yearning Deems that she is happier, laid
That make the good, towards which he's Within that warm and peaceful bed;
Look fairly like a lawful earning.

Under cover, terror over,

Sleeping by her sleeping baby.
Nor has thought time to come and go,
To vibrate between yes and no ;

With bowl in hand, (it may not stand.) “ For," cries the sailor, "glorious chance Gladdest of the gladsome band, That blew us hither ! Let him dance

Amid their own delight and fun, Who can or will;—my honest soul

They hear-when every dance is doneOur treat shall be a friendly bowl!"

They hear-when every fit is o'erHe draws him to the door—"Come in,

The fiddle's squeakt-that call to bliss, Come, come," cries he to Benjamin; Ever followed by a kiss ; And Benjaminh, woe is me!

They envy not the happy lot, Gave the word,—the horses heard

But enjoy their own the more ! And halted, though reluctantly. “ Blithe souls and lightsome hearts have

While thus our jocund travellers fare, Feasting at the CHERRY TREE!" (we Up springs the sailor from his chair

• A term well known in the north of England, + At the close of each strathspey, or jig, a and applied to rural festivals where young per- particular note from the fiddle summons the russons meet in the evening for the purpose of tic to the agreeable duty of saluting his partdancing.

ner.

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