Moving untouched in silver purity, And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom. A mournful labour, while to her is given WHEN I sent you, a few weeks ago, the Tale of Peter Bell, you asked why THE WAGGONER was not added?' -T my the truth,-from the higher tone of imagination, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in the former, I appended, this little Piece could not accompany it without disadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, Is WAGGONER was read to you in manuscript, and, as you have remembered it for so long a time, I am the more muraged to hope, that, since the localities on which the Poem partly depends did not prevent its being interesting ty, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measure the cause of its present appearance, you at allow me the gratification of inscribing it to you; in acknowledgment of the pleasure I have derived from your raigs, and of the high esteem with which I am very truly yours, The air, as in a lion's den, Is close and hot ;-and now and then 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, Mix'd 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! The Horses have worked with right good-will, Heaven shield him from mishap and snare! To all who entered Grasmere Vale; Here is no danger,-none at all! And that bright gleam which thence will fall 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 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, 'Twas 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 To stand or go is at their pleasure; Now am I fairly safe to-nightAnd 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. Yes, let my master fume and fret, Here am I—with my horses yet! My jolly team, he finds that ye Will work for nobody but me! Full proof of this the Country gained; It knows how ye were vexed and strained, And forced unworthy stripes to bear, When trusted to another's care. Here was it on this rugged slope, Which now ye climb with heart and hope, I saw you, between rage and fear, Plunge, and fling back a spiteful ear, And ever more and more confused, As ye were more and more abused: As chance would have it, passing by I saw you in that jeopardy: *This rude piece of self-taught art (such is the progress of refinement) has been supplanted by a professional per duction. The ASTROLOGER was not unseen A word from me was like a charm; Ye pulled together with one mind; And your huge burthen, safe from harm, Ta vain to strive for mastery. Then grieve not, jolly team! though tough The road we travel, steep, and rough; Though Rydal-heights and Dunmail-raise, And all their fellow banks and braes, Full often make you stretch and strain, While Benjamin in earnest mood A storm, which had been smothered long, Was badly employed as he. The thunder had begun to growl— He heard not, too intent of soul; He marked not that 'twas still as death. Af intent on magic spell; Dread p par, that, spite of wind and weather, sit upon Helm-crag together! ⚫ Amtain of Grasmere, the broken summit of which presenta taro Águres, full as distinctly shaped as that of the famose Coisibler near Arroquhar in Scotland. By solitary Benjamin ; But total darkness came anon, And he and every thing was gone: And suddenly a ruffling breeze, (That would have rocked the sounding trees He is astounded,-wonder not,— Till, breaking in upon the dying strain, A rending o'er his head begins the fray again. Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, Their way, without mishap or fault; When, passing through this narrow strait, Stony, and dark, and desolate, Benjamin can faintly hear A voice that comes from some one near, A female voice :-"Whoe'er you be, While, with increasing agitation, The Woman urged her supplication, In rueful words, with sobs betweenThe voice of tears that fell unseen; There came a flash-a startling glare, And all Seat-Sandal was laid bare! "Tis not a time for nice suggestion, Another voice, in tone as hoarse As a swoln brook with rugged course, Cried out, "Good brother, why so fast? I've had a glimpse of you-avast! Or, since it suits you to be civil, Take her at once-for good and evil!" "It is my Husband," softly said The Woman, as if half afraid: By this time she was snug within, Through help of honest Benjamin; She and her Babe, which to her breast With thankfulness the Mother pressed; And now the same strong voice more near Said cordially, "My Friend, what cheer? Rough doings these! as God's my judge, The sky owes somebody a grudge! We've had in half an hour or less A twelvemonth's terror and distress!" Then Benjamin entreats the Man Would mount, too, quickly as he can : The Sailor Sailor now no more, But such he had been heretoforeTo courteous Benjamin replied, "Go you your way, and mind not me; For I must have, whate'er betide, My Ass and fifty things beside,Go, and I'll follow speedily!" The Waggon moves-and with its load For when, at closing-in of day, The Sailor gathers up his bed, Takes down the canvass overhead; And, after farewell to the place, A parting word--though not of grace, Pursues, with Ass and all his store, The way the Waggon went before. CANTO SECOND. IF Wytheburn's modest House of prayer, (And one, too, not in crazy plight) Twelve strokes that clock would have been telling Dinning from the CHERRY TREE ! Thence the sound-the light is thereAs Benjamin is now aware, Who, to his inward thoughts confined, Had almost reached the festive door, When, startled by the Sailor's roar, He hears a sound and sees the light, And in a moment calls to mind That 'tis the village MERRY-NIGHT!* Although before in no dejection, His heart with sudden joy is filled,— And there are reasons manifold That make the good, tow'rds which he's yearning, Nor has thought time to come and go, A term well known in the North of England, and applied to rural Festivals where young persons meet in the evening for the purpose of dancing. He draws him to the door-"Come in, Blithe souls and lightsome hearts have we, What tankards foaming from the tap! A steaming bowl, a blazing fire, To anck for thoughts of a gloomy cast, He thinks not of his long, long, strife ;— Under cover, Terror over, Sleeping by her sleeping Baby. With bowl that sped from hand to hand, The gladdest of the gladsome band, Amid their own delight and fun, They bear-when every dance is done, When every whirling bout is o'er The fiddle's squeak*—that call to bliss, They envy not the happy lot, While thus our jocund Travellers fare, Up springs the Sailor from his chairLimps (for I might have told before That he was lame) across the floorIs gone-returns-and with a prize; With what?-a Ship of lusty size; A gallant stately Man-of-war, Fixed on a smoothly-sliding car. Surprise to all, but most surprise To Benjamin, who rubs his eyes, Not knowing that he had befriended A Man so gloriously attended! "This," cries the Sailor," a Third-rate is-Stand back, and you shall see her gratis! This was the Flag-ship at the Nile, The Vanguard-you may smirk and smile, A nobler ship did never swim, And you shall see her in full trim : So said, so done; and masts, sails, yards, Hushed was by this the fiddle's sound, The dancers all were gathered round, And, such the stillness of the house, You might have heard a nibbling mouse; While, borrowing helps where'er he may, The Sailor through the story runs Of ships to ships and guns to guns; And does his utmost to display The dismal conflict, and the might And terror of that marvellous night! *At the close of each strathspey, or jig, a particular note from the fiddle summons the Rustic to the agreeable duty of saluting his partner. |