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We make a kind of handsome show!
Among these hills, from first to last,
We've weathered many a furious blast;
Hard passage forcing on, with head
Against the storm, and canvass spread.
I hate a boaster ; but to thee
Will say 't, who know'st both land and sea,
The unluckiest hulk that stems the brine
Is hardly worse beset than mine,
When cross-winds on her quarter beat;
And, fairly lifted from my feet,
I stagger onward-heaven knows how;
But not so pleasantly as now :
Poor pilot I, by snows confounded,
And many a foundrous pit surrounded !
Yet here we are, by night and day
Grinding through rough and smooth our way ;
Through foul and fair our task fulfilling ;
And long shall be so yet-God willing !"

This explanation stilled the alarm, Cured the foreboder like a charm ; This, and the manner, and the voice, Summoned the Sailor to rejoice; His heart is up-he fears no evil From life or death, from man or devil; He wheels—and, making many stops, Brandished his crutch against the mountain tops; And, while he talked of blows and scars, Benjamin, among the stars, Beheld a dancing and a glancing; Such retreating and advancing As, I ween, was never seen In bloodiest battle since the days of Mars !

“ Ay,” said the Tar, “ through fair and foulBut save us from yon screeching owl ! " That instant was begun a fray Which called their thoughts another way : The mastiff, ill-conditioned carl ! What must he do but growl and snarl, Still more and more dissatisfied With the meek comrade at his side ! Till, not incensed though put to proof, The Ass, uplifting a hind hoof, Salutes the Mastiff on the head ; And so were better manners bred, And all was calmed and quieted.

“ Yon screech-owl,” says the Sailor, turning Back to his former cause of mourning, “ Yon owl !-pray God that all be well! 'Tis worse than any funeral bell ; As sure as I've the gift of sight, We shall be meeting ghosts to-night!” -Said Benjamin, “ This whip shall lay A thousand, if they cross our way. I know that Wanton's noisy station, I know him and his occupation; The jolly bird hath learned his cheer Upon the banks of Windermere ; Where a tribe of them make merry, Mocking the Man that keeps the ferry; Hallooing from an open throat, Like travellers shouting for a boat. - The tricks he learned at Windermere This vagrant owl is playing hereThat is the worst of his employment: He's at the top of his enjoyment !''

CANTO FOURTH. Thus they, with freaks of proud delight, Beguile the remnant of the night; And many a snatch of jovial song Regales them as they wind along; While to the music, from on high, The echoes make a glad reply.But the sage Muse the revel heeds No farther than her story needs; Nor will she servilely attend The loitering journey to its end. -Blithe spirits of her own impel The Muse, who scents the morning air, To take of this transported pair A brief and unreproved farewell ; To quit the slow-paced waggon's side, And wander down yon hawthorn dell, With murmuring Greta for her guide. - There doth she ken the awful form Of Raven-crag-black as a stormGlimmering through the twilight pale; And Ghimmer-crag, . his tall twin brother, Each peering forth to meet the other :And, while she roves through St. John's Vale, Along the smooth unpathwayed plain, By sheep-track or through cottage lane, Where no disturbance comes to intrude Upon the pensive solitude, Her unsuspecting eye, perchance, With the rude shepherd's favoured glance, Beholds the faeries in array, Whose party-coloured garments gay The silent company betray: Red, green, and blue; a moment's sight! For Skiddaw-top with rosy light Is touched-and all the band take flight.

* The crag of the ewe lamb.

- Fly also, Muse! and from the dell
Mount to the ridge of Nathdale Fell;
Thence, look thou forth o'er wood and lawn
Hoar with the frost-like dews of dawn ;
Across yon meadowy bottom look,
Where close fogs hide their parent brook;
And see, beyond that hamlet small,
The ruined towers of Threlkeld-hall,
Lurking in a double shade,
By trees and lingering twilight made!
There, at Blencathara's rugged feet,
Sir Lancelot gave a safe retreat
To noble Clifford; from annoy
Concealed the persecuted boy,
Well pleased in rustic garb to feed
His flock, and pipe on shepherd's reed
Among this multitude of hills,
Crags, woodlands, waterfalls, and rills;
Which soon the morning shall enfold,
From east to west, in ample vest
Of massy gloom and radiance bold.

Knowing what cause there is for shame,
They are labouring to avert
As much as may be of the blame,
Which, they foresee, must soon alight
Upon his head, whom, in despite
Of all his failings, they love best;
Whether for him they are distrest;
Or, by length of fasting roused,
Are impatient to be housed:
Up against the hill they strain
Tugging at the iron chain,
Tugging all with might and main,
Last and foremost, every horse
To the utmost of his force!
And the smoke and respiration,
Rising like an exhalation,
Blend with the mist-a moving shroud
To form, an undissolving cloud;
Which, with slant ray, the merry sun
Takes delight to play upon.
Never golden-haired Apollo,
Pleased some favourite chief to follow
Through accidents of peace or war,
In a perilous moment threw
Around the object of his care
Veil of such celestial hue;
Interposed so bright a screen-
Him and his enemies between!

The mists, that o'er the streamlet's bed Hung low, begin to rise and spread; Even while I speak, their skirts of grey Are smitten by a silver ray; And lo!-up Castrigg's naked steep (Where, smoothly urged, the vapours sweep Along-and scatter and divide, Like fleecy clouds self-multiplied) The stately waggon is ascending, With faithful Benjamin attending, Apparent now beside his teamNow lost amid a glittering steam: And with him goes his Sailor-friend, By this time near their journey's end; And, after their high-minded riot, Sickening into thoughtful quiet ; As if the morning's pleasant hour, Had for their joys a killing power. And, sooth, for Benjamin a vein Is opened of still deeper pain As if his heart by notes were stung From out the lowly hedge-rows flung; As if the warbler lost in light Reproved his soarings of the night, In strains of rapture pure and holy Upbraided his distempered folly.

Alas! what boots it who can hide, When the malicious Fates are bent On working out an ill intent? Can destiny be turned aside ? No-sad progress of my story! Benjamin, this outward glory Cannot shield thee from thy Master, Who from Keswick has pricked forth, Sour and surly as the north ; And, in fear of some disaster, Comes to give what help he may, And to hear what thou canst say; If, as needs he must forebode, Thou hast been loitering on the road! His fears, his doubts, may now take flightThe wished-for object is in sight; Yet, trust the Muse, it rather hath Stirred him up to livelier wrath ; Which he stifles, moody man! With all the patience that he can; To the end that, at your meeting, He may give thee decent greeting.

Drooping is he, his step is dull ; But the horses stretch and pull ; With increasing vigour climb, Eager to repair lost time; Whether, by their own desert,

There he is resolved to stop, Till the waggon gains the top ;

And sure it is, that through this night,
And what the morning brought to light,
Two losses had we to sustain,
We lost both WAGGONER and Wain !

But stop he cannot-must advance :
Him Benjamin, with lucky glance,
Espies and instantly is ready,
Self-collected, poised, and steady:
And, to be the better seen,
Issues from his radiant shroud,
From his close-attending cloud,
With careless air and open mien.
Erect his port, and firm his going;
So struts yon cock that now is crowing;
And the morning light in grace
Strikes upon his lifted face,
Hurrying the pallid hue away
That might his trespasses betray.
But what can all avail to clear him,
Or what need of explanation,
Parley or interrogation?
For the Master sees, alas !
That unhappy Figure near him,
Limping o'er the dewy grass,
Where the road it fringes, sweet,
Soft and cool to way-worn feet;
And, O indignity! an Ass,
By his noble Mastiff's side,
Tethered to the waggon's tail :
And the ship, in all her pride,
Following after in full sail !
Not to speak of babe and mother;
Who, contented with each other,
And snug as birds in leafy arbour,
Find, within, a blessed harbour !

Accept, 0 Friend, for praise or blame,
The gift of this adventurous song;
A record which I dared to frame,
Though timid scruples checked me long;
They checked me and I left the theme
Untouched ;-in spite of many a gleam
Of fancy which thereon was shed,
Like pleasant sunbeams shifting still
Upon the side of a distant hill :
But Nature might not be gainsaid ;
For what I have and what I miss
'I sing of these ;-it makes my bliss !
Nor is it I who play the part,
But a shy spirit in my heart,
That comes and goes—will sometimes leap
From hiding-places ten years deep;
Or haunts me with familiar face,
Returning, like a ghost unlaid,
Until the debt I owe be paid.
Forgive me, then ; for I had been
On friendly terms with this Machine :
In him, while he was wont to trace
Our roads, through many a long year's space,
A living almanack had we;
We had a speaking diary,

That in this uneventful place,
| Gave to the days a mark and name
By which we knew them when they came.
-Yes, I, and all about me here,
Through all the changes of the year,
Had seen him through the mountains go,
In pomp of mist or pomp of snow,
Majestically huge and slow :
Or, with a milder grace adorning
The landscape of a summer's morning;
While Grasmere smoothed her liquid plain
The moving image to detain;
And mighty Fairfield, with a chime
Of echoes, to his march kept time;
When little other business stirred,
And little other sound was heard;
In that delicious hour of balm,
Stillness, solitude, and calm,
While yet the valley is arrayed,
On this side with a sober shade;
On that is prodigally bright-
Crag, lawn, and wood—with rosy light.

With eager eyes the Master pries; Looks in and out, and through and through ; Says nothing—till at last he spies A wound upon the Mastiff's head, A wound, where plainly might be read What feats an Ass's hoof can do! But drop the rest :-this aggravation, This complicated provocation, A hoard of grievances unsealed; All past forgiveness it repealed; And thus, and through distempered blood On both sides, Benjamin the good, The patient, and the tender-hearted, Was from his team and waggon parted; When duty of that day was o'er, Laid down his whip-and served no more.Nor could the waggon long survive, Which Benjamin had ceased to drive : It lingered on ;-guide after guide Ambitiously the office tried; But each unmanageable hill Called for his patience and his skill ;

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-But most of all, thou lordly Wain!
I wish to have thee here again,
When windows flap and chimney roars,
And all is dismal out of doors;
And, sitting by my fire, I see
Eight sorry carts, no less a train !
Unworthy successors of thee,
Come straggling through the wind and rain:
And oft, as they pass slowly on,
Beneath my windows, one by one,
See, perched upon the naked height
The summit of a cumbrous freight,
A single traveller--and there
Another; then perhaps a pair-

The lame, the sickly, and the old ; Men, women, heartless with the cold; And babes in wet and starveling plight; Which once, be weather as it might, Had still a nest within a nest, Thy shelter and their mother's breast ! Then most of all, then far the most, Do I regret what we have lost; Am grieved for that unhappy sin Which robbed us of good Benjamin ;And of his stately Charge, which none Could keep alive when He was gone !

1805.

POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION.

While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear,
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off, and near.

Though babbling only to the Vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring !
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery ;

The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

THERE WAS A BOY. THERE was a Boy ; ye knew him well, ye cliffs And islands of Winander!-many a time, At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake ; And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they mightanswer him.-And they would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call,—with quivering peals, And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled ; concourse wild

Of jocund din ! And, when there came a pause ! Of silence such as baffled his best skill :

Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents ; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its Foods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Preeminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs
Upon a slope above the village-school;
And, through that church-yard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe, that there
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies !

1799.

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II.

TO THE CUCKOO. O BLITHE New-comer ! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice ?

A NIGHT-PIECE.

The sky is overcast With a continuous cloud of texture close, Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon, Which through that veil is indistinctly seen, A dull, contracted circle, yielding light So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,

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