That dooms her to a convent. Who shall tell,

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Who dares report, the tidings to the lord
Of her affections? so they blindly asked
Who knew not to what quiet depths a weight
Of agony had pressed the Sufferer down:
The word, by others dreaded, he can hear
Composed and silent, without visible sign
Of even the least emotion. Noting this,
When the impatient object of his love
Upbraided him with slackness, he returned
No answer, only took the Mother's hand
And kissed it; seemingly devoid of pain,
Or care, that what so tenderly he pressed,
Was a dependant on the obdurate heart
Of one who came to disunite their lives
For ever sad alternative! preferred,
By the unbending Parents of the Maid,
To secret 'spousals meanly disavowed.
So be it!

In the city he remained
A season after Julia had withdrawn

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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
Of a close chair, a litter, or sedan,
In which the Babe was carried. To a hill,
That rose a brief league distant from the
town,

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
On the hill top. His eyes he scarcely took,
Throughout that journey, from the vehicle
(Slow-moving ark of all his hopes !) that

veiled

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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.
The air, as in a lion's den,

Is close and hot; - and now and then
Comes a tired and sultry breeze
With a haunting and a panting,
Like the stifling of disease;
But the dews allay the heat,
And the silence makes it sweet.
Hush, there is some one on the stir!
"Tis Benjamin the Waggoner;
Who long hath trod this toilsome way,
Companion of the night and day.
That far-off tinkling's drowsy cheer,
Mixed with a faint yet grating sound
In a moment lost and found,
The Wain announces - by whose side
Along the banks of Rydal Mere
He paces on, a trusty Guide,
Listen! you can scarcely hear!
Hither he his course is bending;
Now he leaves the lower ground,
And up the craggy hill ascending
Many a stop and stay he makes,
Many a breathing-fit he takes; -
Steep the way and wearisome,
Yet all the while his whip is dumb!

20

30

The Horses have worked with right good-will,

And so have gained the top of the hill;
He was patient, they were strong,
And now they smoothly glide along,
Recovering breath, and pleased to win
The praises of mild Benjamin.

40

Heaven shield him from mishap and snare!
But why so early with this
?
prayer
Is it for threatenings in the sky?
Or for some other danger nigh?
No; none is near him yet, though he
Be one of much infirmity;

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
To leave it with a jovial heart;

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,
Inviting him with cheerful lure:
For still, though all be dark elsewhere,
Some shining notice will be there,
Of open house and ready fare.

The place to Benjamin right well
Is known, and by as strong a spell
As used to be that sign of love
And hope

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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.

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To stand or go is at their pleasure;
Their efforts and their time they measure
By generous pride within the breast;
And, while they strain, and while they rest,
He thus pursues his thoughts at leisure.

Now am I fairly safe to-night —
And with proud cause my heart is light:
I trespassed lately worse than ever-
But Heaven has blest a good endeavour;
And, to my soul's content, I find
The evil One is left behind.

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