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OT birds that build their nests and sing, “My child, in Durham do you dwell ?” And all “since Mother went away!”

She checked herself in her distress, To her these tales they will repeat,

And said, “My name is Alice Fell;

I'm fatherless and motherless.
To her our new-born tribes will show,
The goslings green, the ass's colt,

And I to Durham, Sir, belong."
The lambs that in the meadow go.

Again, as if the thought would choke -But, see, the evening star comes forth !

Her very heart, her grief grew strong: To bed the children must depart;

And all was for her tattered cloak ! A moment's heaviness they feel,

The chaise drove on; our journey's end A sadness at the heart:

Was nigh; and, sitting by my side, 'Tis gone-and in a merry fit

As if she had lost her only friend They run up stairs in gamesome race ;

She wept, nor would be pacified. I, too, infected by their mood,

Up to the tavern-door we post; I could have joined the wanton chase.

Of Alice and her grief I told; Five minutes past-and, O the change !

And I gave money to the host, Asleep upon their beds they lie ;

To buy a new cloak for the old. Their busy limbs in perfect rest,

“And let it be of duffil grey, And closed the sparkling eye.

As warm a cloak as man can sell!" 1807

Proud creature was she the next day,
The little orphan, Alice Fell!


The post-boy drove with fierce career,

For threatening clouds the moon had drowned ; Oft I had heard of Lucy Grey :
When, as we hurried on, my ear

And, when I crossed the wild,
Was smitten with a startling sound.

I chanced to see at break of day As if the wind blew many ways,

The solitary child. I heard the sound,- and more and more ;

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; It seemed to follow with the chaise,

She dwelt on a wide moor, And still I heard it as before.

-The sweetest thing that ever grew At length I to the boy called out;

Beside a human door! He stopped his horses at the word,

You yet may spy the fawn at play, But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,

The hare upon the green ; Nor aught else like it, could be heard.

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray

Will never more be seen.
The boy then smacked his whip, and fast
The horses scampered through the rain;

“To-night will be a stormy nightBut, hearing soon upon the blast

You to the town must go ; The cry, I bade him halt again.

And take a lantern, Child, to light Forthwith alighting on the ground,

Your mother through the snow.' “Whence comes," said I, “this piteous moan ?" "That, Father! will I gladly do: And there a little Girl I found,

'Tis scarcely afternoonSitting behind the chaise, alone.

The minster-clock has just struck two, “My cloak !” no other word she spake,

And yonder is the moon ! But loud and bitterly she wept,

At this the Father raised his hook, As if her innocent heart would break ;

And snapped a faggot-band ; And down from off her seat she leapt.

He plied his work ;--and Lucy took

The lantern in her hand. “What ails you, child ?"—she sobbed “Look here!

Not blither is the mountain roe: I saw it in the wheel entangled,

With many a wanton stroke A weather-beaten rag as e'er

Her feet disperse the powdery snow, From any garden scare-crow dangled.

That rises up like smoke. There, twisted between nave and spoke,

The storm came on before its time: It hung, nor could at once be freed ;

She wandered up and down; But our joint pains unloosed the cloak,

And many a hill did Lucy climb A miserable rag indeed !

But never reached the town. And whither are you going, child,

The wretched parents all that night To-night along these lonesome ways?".

Went shouting far and wide ; "To Durham," answered she, half wild

But there was neither sound nor sight Then come with me into the chaise."

To serve them for a guide. Insensible to all relief

At day-break on a hill they stood Sat the poor girl, and forth did send

That overlooked the moor ; Sob after sob, as if her grief

And thence they saw the bridge of wood, Could never, never have an end,

A furlong from their door.

They wept-and, turning homeward, cried

In heaven we all shall meet ; - When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone-wall; And then an open field they crossed : The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; And to the bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none ! - Yet some maintain that to this da She is a living child ; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song, That whistles in the wind.


“Their graves are green, they may


seen, The little Maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hein; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. And often after sun-set, Sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain ; And then she went away. So in the church-yard she was laid ; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and l. And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go And he lies by her side. “How many are you, then,” said I, “If they two are in heaven?" Quick was the little Maid's reply.

O Master! we are seven. “But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!” 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, “Nay, we are seven!”



A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl :
She was eight years old, she said ;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.
“Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?
“How many ? Seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me.
“And where are they? I pray you

She answered, “Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother ;
And, in the church-yard cottage,
Dwell near them with my mother."
“You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven !- I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be.
Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we:
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."
You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive ;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."


· 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, pon


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. * 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

An unexpected sight!
Into their arms the lamh 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. 180o.


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 criesJames 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 crossCome 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 moanAgain !-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 ruefui cry; 1 ween The Boy recovered heart, and told The sight which he had seen.. Both gladly now deferred their task; Nor was there wanting other aidA 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,

ANECDOTE FOR FATHERS. “Retine vim istam, falsa enim dicam, si coges."

EUSEBIUS. I have a boy of five years old ; His face is fair and fresh to see ; His limbs are cast in beauty's mould, And dearly he loves me. One morn we strolled on our dry walk, Our quiet home all full in view, And held such intermitted talk As we are wont to do. My thoughts on former pleasures ran; I thought of Kilve's delightful shore, Our pleasant home when spring began, A long, long year before. A day it was when I could bear Some fond regrets to entertain ; With so much happiness to spare, I could not feel a pain. The green earth echoed to the feet Oflarnbs that bounded through the glade, From shade to sunshinc, and as fleet From sunshine back to shade. Birds warbled round me--and each trace Of inward sadness had its charm ; Kilve, thought I, was a favoured place, And so is Liswyn farm. My boy beside me tripped, so slim And graceful in his rustic dress! And, as we talked, I questioned him, In very idleness. “Now tell me, had you rather be," I said, and took him by the arm, “On Kilve's smooth shore, by the green sea, Or here at Liswyn farm?" In careless mood he looked at me, While still I held him by the arm, And said, "At Kilve I'd rather be Than here at Liswyn farm.” “Now, little Edward, say why so:

little Edward, tell me why.”

cannot tell, I do not know.' “Why, this is strange,” said I ; For, here are woods, hiils smooth and warm: There surely must some reason be Why you would change sweet Liswyn farm For Kilve by the green sea. At this, my boy hung down his head, He blushed with shame, nor made reply: And three times to the child I said, “Why, Edward, tell me why?" His head he raised—there was in sight, It caught his eye, he saw it plain Upon the house-top, glittering bright, A broad and gilded vane.


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Then did the boy his tongue unlock, The lamb, while from her hand he thus his

supAnd eased his mind with this reply:

per took, “At Kilve there was no weather-cock; Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his And that's the reason why."

tail with pleasure shook. O dearest, dearest boy ! my heart

“Drink, pretty creature, drink,” she said in

such a tone For better lore would seldom yearn,

That I almost received her heart into my own. Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of 2798.

beauty rare ! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely

pair. XIII.

Now with her empty can the maiden turned RURAL ARCHITECTURE.

away : THERE'S George Fisher, Charles Fleming, and But ere ten yards ere gone her footsteps did

Reginald Shore, Three rosy.checked school-boys, the highest Right towards the lamb she looked ; and from a not more

shady place Than the height of a counsellor's bag :

I unobserved could see the workings of her face: To the top of Great How* did it please them If Nature to her tongue could measured numto climb:

bers bring, And there they built up, without mortar or lime, Thus, thought i, to her lamb that little Maid A Man on the peak of the crag.

might sing: They built him of stones gathered up as they lay: "What ails thee, young One! what? Why puli They built him and christened him all in one day,

so at thy cord ? An urchin both vigorous and hale ; And so without scruple they called him Ralph Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and

Jones. Now Ralph is renowned for the length of his Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can bones;

Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.

thee 7 Just half a week after, the wind sallied forth,

What is it thou wouldst seek? what is wantAnd, in anger or merriment, out of the north, Coming on with a terrible pother,

ing to thy heart? From the peak of the crag blew the giant away. Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful And what did these school-boys ?—The very This grass is tender grass ; these flowers they

thou art : next day

peers ; They went and they built up another.

And that green corn all day's rustling in thy Some little I've seen of blind boisterous works

ears By Christian disturbers more savage than Turks, Spirits busy to do and undo:

If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy At remembrance whereof my blood sometimes woollen chain, will flag ;

This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst Then, light-hearted Boys, to the top of the crag ; gain ; And I'll build up a giant with you.

For rain and mountain-storms ! the like thou 1801.

need'st not fear, The rain and storm are things that scarcely can

come here. THE PET-LAMB,

Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot A PASTORAL.

the day The dew was falling fast, the stars began to

When my father found thee first in places far blink;

away ; I heard a voice ; it said, “Drink, pretty crea- Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert

owned by none, And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at

gone. its side.

He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought Nor sheep nor kine were near ; the lamb was thee home : all alone,

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; thou roam ? With one knec on the grass did the little Maiden A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee kneel,

yean While to that mountain-lamb she gave its even- Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have ing meal.

been, * GREAT How is a single and conspicuous Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought bill, which rises towards the foot of Thirlmere, thee in this can on the western side of the beautiful dale of Fresh water from the brook, as clear as cver Legberthwaite.



ture, drink!

And twice in the day, when the ground is wet I thought of times when Pain might be thy with dew,

guest, I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is Lord of thy house and hospitality; and new.

And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they But when she sate within the touch of thee. are now,

O too industrious folly! Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in o vain and causeless melancholy ! the plough;

Nature will either end thee quite ; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, wind is cold

Preserve for thee, by individual right, Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be A young lamb's heart among the full-grown

flocks. thy fold.

What hast thou to do with sorrow, It will not, will not rest!--Poor creature, can it Or the injuries of to-morrow?

be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working

Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings

forth, so in thee?

Ill fitted to sustain unkindly shocks, Things that I know not of belike to thee are

Or to be trailed along the soiling earth; dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither And no forewarning gives;

A gem that glitters while it lives, see nor hear.

But, at the touch of wrong, without a strise Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and Slips in a monient out of life. fair!

1802. I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that

come there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all

XVI. play,

INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS When they are angry, roar like lions for their


IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the


FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM, Night and day thou art safe,–

-our cottage is hard by:

[This extract is reprinted from “The FRIEND."] Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! chain ?

Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought ! Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee And giv'st to forms and images a breath again!”

And everlasting motion ! not in vain, -As homeward through the lane I went with By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn lazy feet,

of childhood didst thou intertwine for me This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; The passions that build up our human soul, And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by Not with the mean and vulgar works of Mani line,

But with high objects, with enduring things, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it With life and nature ; purifying thus was mine.

The elements of feeling and of thought, Again, and once again, did I repeat the song ;

And sanctifying by such discipline 'Nay,” said I, “more than half to the damsel Both pain and fear,- until we recognise must belong,

A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. For she looked with such a look, and she spake Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me with such a tone,

With stinted kindness. In November days, That I alınost received her heart into my own." When yapours rolling down the valleys made 1800.

A lonely scene more lonesome : among woods
At noon; and mid the calm of summer nights,

When, by the margin of the trembling lake, то н. с.

Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went

In solitude, such intercourse was mine:

Mine was it in the fields both day and night,
O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought; And by the waters, all the summer long.
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And in the frosty season, when the sun
And fittest to unutterable thought

Was set, and, visible for many a mile, The breeze-like motion and the

self-born carol ; The cottage - windows through the twilight Thou faery voyager ! that dost float

blazed, In such clear water, that thy boat

I heeded not the summons: happy time May rather seem

It was indeed for all of us; for me To brood on air than on an earthly stream ; It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, The village-clock tolled six-I wheeled about, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; Proud and exulting like an untired horse O blessed vision ! happy child !

That cares not for his home.-All shod with Thou art so exquisitely wild,

steel I think of thee with many fears

We hissed along the polished ice, in games For what may be thy lot in future years. Confederate, imitative of the chase

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