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And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Crowding the quarter whence the sun Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.

comes forth Of vast circumference and gloom profound Gigantic mountains rough with crags , This solitary tree !-a living thing

beneath,

(base, Produced too slowly ever to decay : Right at the imperial station's western Of form and aspect too magnificent Main Ocean, breaking audibly and To be destroyed. But worthier still of stretched note

Far into silent regions blue and pale ;Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale, And visibly engirding Mona's Isle, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; That, as we left the plain, before our sight Huge trunks !-and each particular trunk Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly, a growth

(Above the convex of the watery globe) Of intertwisted fibres serpentine

İnto clear view the cultured fields that Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved, - streak Nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks Her habitable shores ; but now appears That threaten the profane ;-a pillared A dwindled object, and submits to lie shade.

[hue, At the spectator's feet.-Yon azure ridge, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown Is it a perishable cloud ? Or there By sheddings from the pining umbrage Do we behold the frame of Erin's coast? tinged

Land soinetimes by the roving shepherd Perennially-beneath whose sable roof

swain Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked (Like the bright confines of another world) With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes Not doubtfully perceived.—Look homeMay meet at noontide-Fear and trembling ward now ! Hope,

In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene Silence and Foresight-Death the Skeleton. The spectacle, how pure! Of nature's And Time the Shadow,—there to celebrate, works, As in a natural temple scattered o'er In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sex, With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, A revelation infinite it seems ; United worship ; or in mute repose Display august of man's inheritance, To lie, and listen to the mountain flood Oi Britain's calm felicity and power. Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.

die ;

NUTTING.
VIEW FROM THE TOP OF BLACK
COMB.*

It seems a day

(I speak of one from many singled out) This height a ministering angel might One of those heavenly days which cannot select

(name For from the summit of Black Comb (dread When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, Derived from clouds and storms !) the I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth amplest range

With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung, Of unobstructed prospect may be seen

A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my That British ground commands :-low

steps dusky tracts,

(Cambrian hills Towards the distant woods, a figure quaint, Where Trent is nursed, far southward ! Tricked out in proud disguise of cast off To the south-west, a multitudinous show; weeds And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, which for that service had been husbanded, The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth By exhortation of my frugal dame. To Teviot's stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Motley accoutrement, of power to smile Clyde ;

At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, -and in truth,

(woods. * Black Comb stands at the southern extre- More ragged than need was ! Among the mity of Cumberland ; its base covers a much And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my greater extent of ground than any other mountain in these parts; and, from its situation, the

way, summit commands a more extensive view than Until, at length, I came to one dear nook any other point in Britain.

Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, un- , But all things else about her drawn gracious sign

From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; Of devastation, but the hazels rose (hung, A dancing shape, an image gay, Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters To haunt, to startle, and waylay. A virgin scene!-A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the I saw her upon nearer view, heart

A spirit, yet a woman too! As joy delights in ; and with wise restraint Her household motions light and free, Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed And steps of virgin liberty : The banquet, -or beneath the trees I sate A countenance in which did meet Among the flowers, and with the flowers 1 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; played ;

A creature not too bright or good A temper known to those, who, after long for human nature's daily food : And weary expectation, have been blest

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, With sudden happiness beyond all hope.

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and Perhaps it was a bower' beneath whose

smiles. leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear

And now I see with eye serene And fade, unseen by any human eye ;

The very pulse of the machine ; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

A being breathing thoughtful breath,

A traveller betwixt life and death; For ever,-and I saw the sparkling foam, And with my cheek on one of those green Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill,

The reason firm, the temperate will, stones

[trees, That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady To warn, to comfort, and command ;

A perfect woman, nobly planned, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of

And yet a spirit still, and bright sheep,

(sound, With something of an angel light. I heard the murmur and the murmuring In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to

pay Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure,

O NIGHTINGALE ! thou surely art

spierce ; The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, A creature of a fiery heart :Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones. These notes of thine-they pierce and And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

Tumultuous harmony and fierce! And dragged to earth both branch and Thou sing'st as if the god of wine bough, with crash

Had helped thee to a valentine ; And merciless ravage ; and the shady nook A song in mockery and despite of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, of shades, and dews, and silent night ; Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

And steady bliss, and all the loves Their quiet being : and, unless I now

Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. Confound my present feelings with the past,

I heard a stock-dove sing or say

saway
Even then, when from the bower I turned His homely tale this very day;
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, Yet to be come at by the breeze ;

His voice was buried among trees,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees and the intruding sky.-

He did not cease; but cooed-and cooed. Then, dearest maiden! move along these and somewhat pensively he wooed : shades

He sang of love with quiet blending, In gentleness of heart : with gentle hand

Slow to begin, and never ending i
Touch-for there is a spirit in the woods.

Of serious faith and inward glee ;
That was the song, the song for me!

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament :
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ;
Like twilight's too, her dusky hair ;

THREE years she grew in sun and shower.
Then nature said, " A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown ;
This child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

"Myself will to my darling be

THE HORN OF EGREMONT Both law and impulse : and with me

CASTLE. The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, WHEN the brothers reached the gateway, Shall feel an overseeing power

Eustace pointed with his lance To kindle or restrain.

To the horn which there was hanging ;

Horn of the inheritance. “She shall be sportive as the fawn

Horn it was which none could sound, That wild with glee across the lawn

No one upon living ground, Or up the mountain springs;

Save he who came as rightful heir And hers shall be the breathing balm,

To Egremont's domains and castle fair.
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

Heirs from ages without record
Had the house of Lucie born,

Who of right had claimed the lordship " The floating clouds their state shall lend By the proof upon the horn : To her; for her the willow bend :

Each at the appointed hour Nor shall she fail to see

Tried the horn,-it owned his power; Even in the motions of the storm

He was acknowledged : and the blast, Grace that shall mould the maiden's form Which good Sir Eustace sounded was the By silent sympathy.

last. "The stars of midnight shall be dear

With his lance Sir Eustace pointed

And to Hubert thus said he-
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place

· What I speak this horn shall witness Where rivulets dance their

wayward round, Hear, then, and neglect me not !

For thy better memory. And beauty born of murmuring sound

At this time, and on this spot, Shall pass into her face.

The words are uttered from my heart,

As my last earnest prayer ere we depart. “ And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, “On good service we are going Her virgin bosom swell ;

Life to risk by sea and land, Such thoughts to Lucy I will give

In which course if Christ our Saviour While she and I together live

Do my sinful soul demand, Here in this happy dell."

Hither come thou back straightway,

Hubert, if alive that day ; Thus nature spake--the work was done

Return, and sound the horn, that we How soon my Lucy's race was run !

May have a living house still left in thee !" She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene ;

Fear not !" quickly answered Hubert ; The memory of what has been,

As I am thy father's son,
And never more will be.

\Vhat thou askest, noble brother,
With God's favour shall be done."
So were both right well content :

From the castle forth they went,
A SLUMBER did my spirit seal ;

And at the head of their array I had no human fears :

To Palestine the brothers took their way. She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years.

Side by side they fought, (the Lucies

Were a line for valour famed,) No motion has she now, no force ;

And where'er their strokes alighted,
She neither hears nor sees,

There the Saracens were tamed.
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course
With rocks and stones and trees !

* This story is a Cumberland tradition: I have heard it also related of the Hall of Hutton John, an ancient residence of the Huddlestones, in a sequestered valley upon the river Dacor,

Whence, then, could it come—the thought-Long, and long was he unheard of :
By what evil spirit brought ?

To his brother then he came,
Oh! can a brave man wish to take (sake? Made confession, asked forgiveness,
His brother's life, for land's and castle's Asked it by a brother's name,
“Sir!" the ruffians said to Hubert,

And by all the saints in heaven ;

And of Eustace was forgiven : " Deep he lies in Jordan's flood,"

Then in a convent wert to hide Stricken by this ill assurance,

His melancholy head, and there he died. Pale and trembling Hubert stood. “ Take your earnings."-Oh! that I

But Sir Eustace, whom good angels Could have seen my brother die !

Had preserved from murderers' hands, It was a pang that vexed him then ;

And from pagan chains had rescued, And oft returned, again, and yet again. Lived with honour on his lands. Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace !

Sons he had, saw sons of theirs : Nor of him were tidings heard.

And through ages, heirs of heirs, Wherefore, bold as day, the murderer

A long posterity renowned, (sound. Back again to England steered.

Sounded the horn which they alone could To his castle Hubert sped ; He has nothing now to dread. But silent and by stealth he came, GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL. And at an hour which nobody could name.

A TRUE STORY. None could tell if it were night-time,

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter? Night or day, at even or morn; For the sound was heard by no one

What is't that ails young Harry Gill ?

That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Of the proclamation-horn.
But boid Hubert lives in glee :

Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
Months and years went smilingly;

Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, With plenty was his table spread ;

Good duffle grey, and flannel fine ,

He has a blanket on his back,
And bright the lady is who shares his bed. And coats enough to smother nine.
Likewise he had sons and daughters ;

In March, December, and in July,
And, as good men do, he sate
At his board by these surrounded,

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;

The neighbours tell, and tell you truly, Flourishing in fair estate. And while thus in open day

His teeth they chatter, chatter still ! Once he sate, as old books say,

At night, at morning, and at noon, A blast was uttered from the horn,

'Tis all the same with Harry Gill ;

Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, Where by the castle-gate it hung forlorn.

His teeth they chatter, chatter still ! 'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace ! He is come to claim his right:

Young Harry was a lusty drover, Ancient castle, woods, and mountains

And who so stout of limb as he? Hear the challenge with delight.

His cheeks were red as ruddy clover ; Hubert ! though the blast be blown

His voice was like the voice of three. He is helpless and alone :

Old Goody Blake was old and poor ; Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word !

Ill fed she was, and thinly clad ; And there he may be lodged, and thou be And any man who passed her door lord.

Might see how poor a hut she had. Speak !-astounded Hubert cannot ; All day she spun in her poor dwelling : And if power to speak he had,

And then her three hours' work at night, All are daunted, all the household

Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling, Smitten to the heart, and sad.

It would not pay for candle-light. "Tis Sir Eustace; if it be

Remote from sheltered village green, Living man, it must be he!

On a hill's northern side she dwelt, Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean, And by a postern-gate he slunk away. And hoary dews are slow to melt.

By the same fire to boil their pottage, When with her load she turned about,
Iwo poor old dames, as I have known, The by-way back again to take ;
Will often live in one si all cottage ; He started forward with a shout,
But she, poor woman ! housed alone. And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.
'Twas well enough when summer came,
The long, warm, lightsome summer-day, And fiercely by the arm he took her,
Then at her door the canty Dame

And by the arm he held her fast,
Would sit, as any livnet gay.

And fiercely by the arm he shook her,

And cried, "I've caught you, then, at But when the ice our streams did fetter,

last !" Oh ! then how her old bones would shake, Then Goody, who had nothing said, You would have said, if you had met her, Her bundle from her lap let fall ; 'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed Her evenings then were dull and dead! To God that is the judge of all. Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed ;

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, And then for cold not sleep a wink.

While Harry held her by the arm

"God! who art never out of hearing, Oh, joy for her ! whene'er in winter

Oh, may he never more be warm !" The winds at night had made a rout; The cold, cold moon above her head, And scattered many a lusty splinter Thus on her knees did Goody pray. And many a rotten bough about.

Young Harry heard what she had said : Yet never had she, well or sick,

And icy cold he turned away
As every man who knew her says,
A pile beforehand, turf or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.

He went complaining all the morrow

That he was cold and very chill : Now, when the frost was past enduring,

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow; And made her poor old bones to achę,

Alas ! that day for Harry Gill!

That day he wore a riding-coat, Lould anything be more alluring

But not a whit the warmer he:
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?

Another was on Thursday brought,
And, now and then, it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chill,

And ere the Sabbath he had three.
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Giil.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter

And blankets were about him pinned ; Now Harry he had long suspected

Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter, This trespass of old Goody Blake ;

Like a loose casement in the wind. And vowed that she should be detected,

And Harry's flesh it fell away; And he on her would vengeance take.

And all who see him say, 'tis plain,
And oft from his warm fire he'd go,

That, live as long as live he may,
And to the fields his road would take. He never will be warm again.
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watched to seize old Goody Blake. No word to any man he utters,

A-bed or up, to young or old ;
And once, behind a rick of barley, But ever to himself he mutters,
Thus looking out did Harry stand :

Poor Harry Gill is very cold."
The moon was full and shining clearly, A-bed or up, by night or day :
And crisp with frost the stubble land. His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
He hears a noise- he's all awake-

Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Again !-on tip-toe down the hill

Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.
He softly creeps—"Tis Goody Blake,
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.
Right glad was he when he beheld her : I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
Stick after stick did Goody pull:

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, He stood behind a bush of elder,

When all at once I saw a cloud, Till she had filled her apron full. A host of golden daffodils ;

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