That dooms her to a convent. Who shall tell, 230 Who dares report, the tidings to the lord In the city he remained 240 To those religious walls. He, too, departs Who with him?- even the senseless Little-one. With that sole charge he passed the citygates, For the last time, attendant by the side The dwellers in that house where he had lodged Accompanied his steps, by anxious love 250 Impelled; - they parted from him there, and stood Watching below till he had disappeared veiled 66 When I sent you, a few weeks ago, the tale of Peter Bell, you asked "why The, Waggoner' was not added?"- To say the truth - from the higher tone of imagination, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in the former, I apprehended this little Piece could not accompany it without disadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, The Waggoner" was read to you in manuscript, and, as you have remembered it for so long a time, I am the more encouraged to hope, that, since the localities on which the Poem partly depends did not prevent its being interesting to you, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measure the cause of its present appearance, you must allow me the gratification of inscribing it to you; in acknowledgment of the pleasure I have derived from your Writings, and of the high esteem with which I am very truly yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. RYDAL MOUNT, May 20, 1819. But, where the scattered stars are seen In hazy straits the clouds between, Each, in his station twinkling not, Seems changed into a pallid spot. 10 The mountains against heaven's grave weight Rise up, and grow to wondrous height. Is close and hot; - and now and then 20 30 The Horses have worked with right good-will, And so have gained the top of the hill; 40 Heaven shield him from mishap and snare! For at the bottom of the brow, Where once the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH Offered a greeting of good ale To all who entered Grasmere Vale; And called on him who must depart 50 There, where the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH Once hung, a Poet harbours now, A simple water-drinking Bard; 60 Why need our Hero then (though frail And that bright gleam which thence will fall Upon his Leaders' bells and manes, The place to Benjamin right well 80 90 the OLIVE-BOUGH and DOVE; He knows it to his cost, good Man ! Who does not know the famous SWAN ? Object uncouth! and yet our boast, For it was painted by the Host; His own conceit the figure planned, 'T was coloured all by his own hand; And that frail Child of thirsty clay, Of whom I sing this rustic lay, Could tell with self-dissatisfaction Quaint stories of the bird's attraction! Well! that is past — and in despite Of open door and shining light. And now the conqueror essays The long ascent of Dunmail-raise; And with his team is gentle here As when he clomb from Rydal Mere; His whip they do not dread - his voice They only hear it to rejoice. 100 To stand or go is at their pleasure; Now am I fairly safe to-night — 110 |