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HAWKSHEAD CHURCH AND THE MOUNTAINS AT THE HEAD OF WINDERMERE

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Remember the old Man, and what he was
Years after he had heard this heavy news.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks
He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud,
And listened to the wind; and, as before,
Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep,
And for the land, his small inheritance.
And to that hollow dell from time to time
Did he repair, to build the Fold of which
His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet
The pity which was then in every heart
For the old Man-and 'tis believed by all
That many and many a day he thither went,
And never lifted up a single stone.

There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen
Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog,

Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.

The length of full seven years, from time to time,
He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought,
And left the work unfinished when he died.

Three years, or little more, did Isabel

Survive her Husband: at her death the estate

Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand.

The Cottage which was named THE EVENING STAR
Is gone the ploughshare has been through the ground
On which it stood; great changes have been wrought
In all the neighbourhood:-yet the oak is left
That grew beside their door; and the remains
Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen

Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll.

The Pet-Lamb1

A PASTORAL

HE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink ;

THE

1800.

I heard a voice; it said, 'Drink, pretty creature, drink!'

And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;

With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.

'Drink, pretty creature, drink,' she said in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away:
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place

I unobserved could see the workings of her face:

If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing:

'What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy

cord?

Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?

Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ;

Rest, little young One, rest; what is 't that aileth thee?

'What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs, are they not strong?

And beautiful thou art:

This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no

peers;

And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

'If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;

For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear,

The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come

here.

Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

'He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home: A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.

'Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this

can

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;

And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

'Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

'It will not, will not rest!-Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

'Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

'Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,—our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!'

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;

'Nay,' said I, 'more than half to the damsel must belong,

For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a

tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own.'

1800.

POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES1

I

T was an April morning: fresh and clear 2

IT

The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,

Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied
Was softened down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,

And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
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
That every naked ash, and tardy tree

Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance
With which it looked on this delightful day
Were native to the summer.-Up the brook
I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came
In this continuous glen, where down a rock
The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all,
Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb,
The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush,
Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
Or like some natural produce of the air,

That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;

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