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A pair of herons oft-times have I seen,
Upon a rocky islet, side by side,
Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease;

And so, when night with grateful gloom had fallen, | Two glow-worms in such nearness that they shared,

As seemed, their soft self-satisfying light,
Each with the other, on the dewy ground,
Where He that made them blesses their repose.
When wandering among lakes and hills I note,
Onee more, those creatures thus by nature paired,
And guarded in their tranquil state of life,
Even, as your happy presence to my mind
Their union brought, will they repay the debt,
And send a thankful spirit back to you,
With hope that we, dear Friends! shall meet again.

But small and fugitive our gain
Compared with hers who long hath lain,
With languid limbs and patient head
Reposing on a lone sick-bed ;
Where now, she daily hears a strain
That cheats her of too busy cares,
Eases her pain, and helps her prayers.
And who but this dear Bird beguiled
The fever of that pale-faced Child;
Now cooling, with his passing wing,
Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring:
Recalling now, with descant soft
Shed round her pillow from aloft,
Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh,
And the invisible sympathy
Of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John,
Blessing the bed she lies upon *?'
And sometimes, just as listening ends
In slumber, with the cadence blends
A dream of that low-warbled hymn
Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim
Lamps of faith, now burning dim,
Say that the Cherubs carved in stone,
When clouds gave way at dead of night
And the ancient church was filled with light,
Used to sing in heavenly tone,
Above and round the sacred places
They guard, with winged baby-faces.

XXXVII.

THE REDBREAST.

(SUGGESTED IN A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE.)

| DRIVEN in by Autumn's sharpening air | From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,

Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home : | Not like a beggar is he come,

But enters as a looked for guest,
Confiding in his ruddy breast,
As if it were a natural shield
Charged with a blazon on the field,
Due to that good and pious deed
Of which we in the Ballad read.
But pensive fancies putting by,
And wild-wood sorrows, speedily
He plays the expert ventriloquist;
And, caught by glimpses now-now.missed,
Puzzles the listener with a doubt
If the soft voice he throws about
Comes from within doors or without!
Was ever such a sweet confusion,
Sastained by delicate illusion?
He's at your elbow-to your feeling
The notes are from the floor or ceiling;
And there's a riddle to be guessed,

Till you have marked his heaving chest,
And busy throat whose sink and swell,
Betray the Elf that loves to dwell
In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell.

Thrice happy Creature! in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands : Free entrance to this cot has he, Entrance and exit both yet free; And, when the keen unruffled weather That thus brings man and bird together, Shall with its pleasantness be past, And casement closed and door made fast, To keep at bay the howling blast, He needs not fear the season's rage, For the whole house is Robin's cage. Whether the bird Ait here or there, O'er table lilt, or perch on chair, Though some may frown and make a stir, To scare him as a trespasser, And he belike will flinch or start, Good friends he has to take his part; One chiefly, who with voice and look Pleads for him from the chimney-nook, Where sits the Dame, and wears away

Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird If seen, and with like pleasure stirred Commend him, when he's only heard.

* The words

•Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and Jobn,

Bless the bed that I lie on,' are part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the northern counties.

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IX. I'll teach my boy the sweetest things : I'll teach him how the owlet sings. My little babe ! thy lips are still, And thou hast almost sucked thy fill. - Where art thou gone, my own dear child ? What wicked looks are those I see? Alas! alas ! that look so wild, It never, never came from me: If thou art mad, my pretty lad, Then I must be for ever sad.

Oh ! smile on me, my little lamb !
For I thy own dear mother am :
My love for thee has well been tried :
I've sought thy father far and wide.
I know the poisons of the shade ;
I know the earth-nuts fit for food :
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid :
We'll find thy father in the wood.
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
And there, my babe, we 'll live for aye.”

1798.

POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES.

ADVERTISEMENT. By persons resident in the country and attached to rural objects, many places will be found unnamed or of unknown names, where little Incidents must have occurred, or feelings been experienced, which will have given to such places a private and peculiar interest. From a wish to give some sort of record to such Incidents, and renew the gratification of such feelings, Names have been given to Places by the Author and some of his Friends, and the following Poems written in consequence.

1.

“Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,

My Emma, I will dedicate to thee.” It was an April morning: fresh and clear

- Soon did the spot become my other home, The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,

My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice | And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, Of waters which the winter had supplied

To whom I sometimes in our idle talk Was softened down into a vernal tone.

Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, The spirit of enjoyment and desire,

Years after we are gone and in our graves,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.

May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
The steps of June; as if their various hues
Were only hindrances that stood between
Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed
Such an entire contentment in the air

TO JOANNA.
That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance

Amid the smoke of cities did you pass
With which it looked on this delightful day

The time of early youth; and there you learned, Were native to the summer.- Up the brook From years of quiet industry, to love I roamed in the confusion of my heart,

The living Beings by your own fire-side, Alive to all things and forgetting all.

With such a strong devotion, that your heart At length I to a sudden turning came

Is slow to meet the sympathies of them In this continuous glen, where down a rock Who look upon the hills with tenderness, The Stream, so ardent in its course before, And make dear friendships with the streams and Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all

groves. Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind, Of common pleasure : beast and bird, the lamb, Dwelling retired in our simplicity The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush Among the woods and fields, we love you well, Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,

Joanna! and I guess, since you have been Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth So distant from us now for two long years, Or like some natural produce of the air,

That you will gladly listen to discourse, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; However trivial, if you thence be taught But 'twas the foliage of the rocks—the birch, That they, with whom you once were happy, tak The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, Familiarly of you and of old times. With hanging islands of resplendent furze: And, on a summit, distant a short space,

While I was seated, now some ten days past, By any who should look beyond the dell,

Beneath those lofty firs, that overtop A single mountain-cottage might be seen.

Their ancient neighbour, the old steeple-tower, I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,

The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by

Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked, The fair Joanna drew, as if she wished
“ How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted Maid ! To shelter from some object of her fear.
And when will she return to us ?” he paused; -And hence, long afterwards, when eighteen moons
And, after short exchange of village news, Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone
He with grave looks demanded, for what cause, Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm
Reviving obsolete idolatry,

And silent morning, I sat down, and there,
I, like a Runic Priest, in characters

In memory of affections old and true, Of formidable size had chiselled out

I chiselled out in those rude characters Some uncouth name upon the native rock,

Joanna's name deep in the living stone : Above the Rotha, by the forest-side.

And I, and all who dwell by my fireside, -Now, by those dear immunities of heart

Have called the lovely rock, Joanna's Rock." Engendered between malice and true love,

1800. I was not loth to be so catechised,

Note.--In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several And this was my reply :-“As it befel,

Inscriptions, upon the native rock, which, from the wastOne summer morning we had walked abroad

ing of time, and the rudeness of the workmanship, have

been mistaken for Runic. They are without doubt Roman. At break of day, Joanna and myself.

The Rotha, mentioned in this poem, is the River which, —'Twas that delightful season when the broom, flowing through the lakes of Grasmere and Rydale, falls Full-flowered, and visible on every steep,

into Wynandermere. On Helmcrag, that impressive single Along the copses runs in veins of gold.

mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, is a rock

which from most points of view bears a striking resemOur pathway led us on to Rotha's banks;

blance to an old Woman cowering. Close by this rock is And when we came in front of that tall rock

one of those fissures or caverns, which in the language of That eastward looks, I there stopped short-and the country are called dungeons. Most of the mountains stood

here mentioned immediately surround the Vale of Gras

mere; of the others, some are at a considerable distance, Tracing the lofty barrier with my eye

but they belong to the same cluster.
From base to summit; such delight I found
To note in shrub and tree, in stone and flower
That intermixture of delicious hues,
Along so vast a surface, all at once,
In one impression, by connecting force

THERE is an Eminence-of these our hills
Of their own beauty, imaged in the heart.
- When I had gazed perhaps two minutes' space,

The last that parleys with the setting sun ; Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld

We can behold it from our orchard-seat; That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.

And, when at evening we pursue our walk

Along the public way, this Peak, so high
The Rock, like something starting from a sleep,
Took up the Lady's voice, and laughed again;

Above us, and so distant in its height,
That ancient Woman seated on Helm-crag

Is visible; and often seems to send Was ready with her cavern ; Hammar-scar,

Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts. And the tall Steep of Silver-how, sent forth

The meteors make of it a favourite haunt:

The star of Jove, so beautiful and large
A noise of laughter; southern Loughrigg heard,
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone;

In the mid heavens, is never half so fair
Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky

As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth Carried the Lady's voice,-old Skiddaw blew

The loneliest place we have among the clouds. His speaking-trumpet ;-back out of the clouds

And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved Of Glaramara southward came the voice;

With such communion, that no place on earth And Kirkstone tossed it from his misty head.

Can ever be a solitude to me, -Now whether (said I to our cordial Friend,

Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name.

1800. Who in the hey-day of astonishment Smiled in my face) this were in simple truth A work accomplished by the brotherhood Of ancient mountains, or my ear was touched With dreams and visionary impulses

A NARROW girdle of rough stones and crags, To me alone imparted, sure I am

A rude and natural causeway, interposed That there was a loud uproar in the hills.

Between the water and a winding slope And, while we both were listening, to my side | Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore

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