THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEONGHYLL FORCE. (20)
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.
Beneath a rock, upon the grass, Two boys are sitting in the sun; Their work, if any work they have, Is out of mind-or 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: And thus, as happy as the day, Those shepherds wear the time away.
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.
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 ;
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- James stopped with no good will: Said Walter then, exulting; "Here You'll find a task for half a year.
Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross- Come on, and tread where I shall 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.
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.
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.
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.
He drew it from the troubled 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,
Whose life and limbs the flood had spared;
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.
"WHEN, TO THE ATTRACTIONS OF THE
WHEN, to the attractions of the busy world, Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen A habitation in this peaceful Vale, Sharp season followed of continual storm In deepest winter; and, from week to week,
Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill At a short distance from my cottage, stands A stately Fir-grove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow, And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth To sympathise with vulgar coppice birds. That, for protection from the nipping blast, Hither repaired.-A single beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs! and, on the fork Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest ; A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground As gave sure sign that they, who in that house Of nature and of love had made their home Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes, A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with suspicious stare, From the remotest outskirts of the grove,-- Some nook where they had made their final stand, Huddling together from two fears—the fear Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven In such perplexed and intricate array ; That vainly did I seek, beneath their stems A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care; And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed, I ceased the shelter to frequent,—and prized, Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess.
The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts
Meanwhile were mine; till, one bright April day, By chance retiring from the glare of noon
To this forsaken covert, there I found A hoary pathway traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood
Much wondering how I could have sought in vain For what was now so obvious. To abide, For an allotted interval of ease,
Under my cottage-roof, had gladly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; And with the sight of this same path-begun, Begun and ended, in the shady grove, Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind That, to this opportune recess allured, He had surveyed it with a finer eye,
A heart more wakeful; and had worn the track By pacing here, unwearied and alone,
In that habitual restlessness of foot
That haunts the Sailor measuring o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck, While she is travelling through the dreary sea.
When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth, Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was fashioned; and at length, When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond Than common feelings of fraternal love.
But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections; Nature there
Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee; and even so didst thou become
A silent Poet; from the solitude
Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear,
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