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"It will not, will not rest! Poor Creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

66 Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like Lions for their prey.

"Here thou needest not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe, our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain ? Sleep and at break of day I will come to thee again!'

!”

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;

66

Nay,” said I, “more than half to the Damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own."

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THE valley rings with mirth and joy ;
Among the hills the echoes play
A never, never ending song,
To welcome in the May.

The Magpie chatters with delight;
The mountain Raven's youngling brood
Have left the Mother and the Nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;

Or through the glittering Vapours dart
In very wantonness of heart.

II.

Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two Boys are sitting in the sun;
Boys that have had no work to do,
Or work that now is done.

On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas Hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call Stag-horn, or Fox's Tail,
Their rusty Hats they trim:

* Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, is a short, and, for the most part, a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for Waterfall.

And thus, as happy as the Day,
Those Shepherds wear the time away.

III.

Along the river's stony marge

The Sand-lark chants a joyous song;
The Thrush is busy in the wood,
And carols loud and strong.

A thousand Lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky
Keep jubilee, and more than all,
Those Boys with their green Coronal;
They never hear the cry,

That plaintive cry! which up the hill
Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.

IV.

Said Walter, leaping from the ground
"Down to the stump of yon old yew
We'll for our Whistles run a race."
Away the Shepherds flew

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They leapt they ran and when they came
Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,
Seeing that he should lose the prize,
"Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries
He stopped with no good will:

Said Walter then, "Your task is here,
'Twill baffle you for half a year.

V.

"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross — Come on, and in my footsteps tread!"

The other took him at his word,

And followed as he led.

It was a spot which you may see

If ever you to Langdale go;

Into a chasm a mighty Block

Hath fallen, and made a Bridge of rock:

The gulf is deep below;

And in a basin black and small

Receives a lofty Waterfall.

VI.

With staff in hand across the cleft
The Challenger pursued his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained
The middle of the arch.

When list! he hears a piteous moan
Again! his heart within him dies-
His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost,
He totters, pallid as a ghost,
And, looking down, espies

A Lamb, that in the pool is pent
Within that black and frightful Rent.

VII.

The Lamb had slipped into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound
The Cataract had borne him down
Into the gulf profound.

His Dam had seen him when he fell,

She saw him down the torrent borne ;
And, while with all a mother's love

She from the lofty rocks above

Sent forth a cry forlorn,

The Lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer to that plaintive sound.

VIII.

When he had learnt what thing it was,
That sent this rueful cry; I ween
The Boy recovered heart, and told
The sight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferred their task ;
Nor was there wanting other aid –
A Poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the sages' books,
By chance had thither strayed;

And there the helpless Lamb he found
By those huge rocks encompassed round.

IX.

He drew it gently from the pool,

And brought it forth into the light:

The Shepherds met him with his charge,

An unexpected sight!

Into their arms the Lamb they took,

Said they, "He's neither maimed nor scarred."

Then up the steep ascent they hied,

And placed him at his Mother's side;
And gently did the Bard

Those idle Shepherd-boys upbraid,

And bade them better mind their trade.

XIII.

To H. C.

SIX YEARS OLD.

O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,

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