« AnteriorContinuar »
Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady “ Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the st place
Night and day thou art safe, -our cottage is bando I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face: Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy ebe If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers Sleep-and at break of day I will come to the bring,
(sing. again!" Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might
-As homeward through the lane I went with a “ What ails thee, young one? What? Why pull
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; [ so at thy cord ?
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by liar Is it not well with thee? Well both for bed and
That but half of it was hers, and one half of its Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; mine. Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee? “ What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting
Again, and once again did I repeat the song; to thy heart?
Nay,” said I, “ more than half to the dance Thy limbs, are they not strong? And beautiful thou
(such a tres
For she looked with such a look, and she spale wa This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have
That I almost received her heart into my own." 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,
THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain ; For rain and mountain storms! the like thou need'st not fear[come here
I. The rain and storm are things which scarcely can
The valley rings with mirth and joy; “ Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
Among the hills the echoes play
The magpie chatters with delight; And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone. The mountain raven's youngling brood “ He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee
Have left the mother and the nest; home:
And they go rambling east and west A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou
In search of their own food; A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee Or through the glittering vapours dart yean
In very wantonness of heart. Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.
II. “ Thou know'st that twice a-day I have brought
Beneath a rock, upon thee in this can
the grass, Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
Two boys are sitting in the sun; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with
It seems they have no work to do dew,
Or that their work is done. I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is, and
On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas hymn; “ Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they Or with that plant which in our dale are now,
Cplough; We call stag-horn, or fox's tail,
[fold. Those shepherds wear the time away. Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy
III. “ It will not, will not rest!-poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in
Along the river's stony marge thee?
The sand-lark chaunts a joyous song; Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
The thrush is busy in the wood, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see
And carols loud and strong. nor hear.
A thousand lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky “ Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair ! Keep jubilee; and more than all, I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come
Those boys with their green coronal; there;
They never hear the cry; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
That plaintive cry! which up the hill When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey. Comes from the depth of Dungeon Ghyll.
SIX YEARS OLD.
By chance had thither strayed ;
And there the helpless lamb be found,
By those huge rocks encompassed round.
He drew it gently from the pool,
And brought it forth into the light:
The shepherds met him with his charge,
An unexpected sight!
Into their arms the lamb they took,
Said they, “ He's neither maimed nor scarred.” 'Twill keep you working half a year.
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.
то н. с.
O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought
The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou fairy voyager! that dost float
In such clear water, that thy boat
May rather seem
To brood on air than on an earthly stream;
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,
Where earth and heaven do make one imagery;
O blessed vision! happy child!
That art so exquisitely wild,
I think of thee with many fears
For what may be thy lot in future years.
I thought of times when pain might be thy guest,
Lord of thy house and hospitality;
And grief, uneasy lover! never rest
But when she sate within the touch of thee.
Oh! too industrious folly!
Oh! vain and causeless melancholy!
Nature will either end thee quite;
Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,
Preserve for thee, by individual right,
A young lamb's leart among the full-grown flocks.
What hast thou to do with sorrow,
Or the injuries of to-morrow?
Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings forth,
Not framed to undergo unkindly shocks;
Or to be trailed along the soiling earth;
And no forewarning gives;
But, at the touch of wrong, without a strife
Slips in a moment out of life.
THE FEMALE VAGRANT.
My father was a good and pious man,
An honest man by honest parents bred,
And I believe that, soon as I began
To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed,
And in his hearing there my prayers I said:
And afterwards, by my good father taught, He well could love in grief: his faith he kept;
We lived in peace and comfort; and were blest And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought.
With daily bread, by constant toil supplied. Can I forget what charm did once adorn
Three lovely infants lay upon my breast; My garden, stored with pease, and mint, and thyme, And often, viewing their sweet smiles, I sighed, And rose, and lily, for the sabbath morn?
And knew not why. My happy father died The sabbath bells, and their delightful chime; When sad distress reduced the children's Heal: The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time; Thrice happy! that for him the grave did hide My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied; The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel, The cowslip-gathering in June's dewy prime; And tears which flowed for ills which patience osa't The swans, that, when I sought the water-side,
not heal. From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy
'Twas a hard change, an evil time was come; pride?
We had no hope, and no relief could gain. The staff I yet remember which upbore
But soon, with proud parade, the noisy drum The bending body of my active sire;
Beat round, to sweep the streets of want and pais. His seat beneath the honeyed sycamore
My husband's arms now only served to strain Where the bees hummed, and chair by winter fire; Me and his children hungering in his view: When market-morning came, the neat attire In such dismay my prayers and tears were rain: With which, though bent on haste, myself I deck'd; To join those miserable meu he flew; (drez, My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire, And now to the sea-coast with numbers more se When stranger passed, so often I have checked; The red-breast known for years, which at my case
There long were we neglected, and we bore ment pecked.
Much sorrow, ere the fleet its anchor weigbed;
Green fields before us, and our natire shore, The suns of twenty summers danced along, We breathed a pestilential air, that made Ah! little marked how fast they rolled away: Ravage for which no knell was heard. We prayed But, through severe mischance, and cruel wrong, For our departure; wished and wished-nor knet My father's substance fell into decay;
'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes delayed We toiled, and struggled-hoping for a day That happier days we never more must siev: When fortune should put on a kinder look;
The parting signal streamed, at last the land withBut vain were wishes-efforts vain as they:
drew. He from his old hereditary nook
(we took. Must part,—the summons came,-our final leave
But the calm summer season now was past.
On as we drove, the equinoctial deep
Ran mountains-high before the howling blast; Peering above the trees, the steeple tower
And many perished in the whirlwind's sweep.
We gazed with terror on their gloomy sleep, That on his marriage day sweet music made!
Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue, Till then, he hoped his bones might there be laid,
Our hopes such barvest of affliction reap, Close by my mother in their native bowers;
That we the mercy of the waves should rue: Bidding me trust in God, he stood and prayed,
We reached the western world, a poor, devoted crer. I could not pray:-through tears that fellin showers, Glimmered our dear-loved home, alas! no longer The pains and plagues that on our heads came ours!
Disease and famine, agony and fear, There was a youth whom I had loved so long,
In wood or wilderness, in camp or town, That when I loved him not I cannot say.
It would thy brain unsettle even to hear. 'Mid the green mountains many and many a song
All perished-all, in one remorseless year, We two had sung, like gladsome birds in May.
Husband and children! one by one, by sword When we began to tire of childish play
And ravenous plague, all perished: every tear We seemed still more and more to prize each other;
Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board We talked of marriage and our marriage day;
A British ship I waked, as from a trance restored And I in truth did love him like a brother, For never could I hope to meet with such another.
Peaceful as some immeasurable plain
By the first beams of dawning light impsest, Two years were passed since to a distant town In the calm sunshine slept the glittering (21. He had repaired to ply the artist's trade.
The very ocean has its hour of rest. What tears of bitter grief till then unknown! I too was calm, though heavily distrest What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed ! Oh me, how quiet sky and ocean were ! To him we turned:-we had no other aid.
My heart was hushed within me, I wa Like one revived, upon his neck I wept,
And looked, and looked along the sil... And her whom he had loved in joy, he said
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my d iespai.
Ah! how unlike those late terrific sleeps,
My memory and my strength returned; and, thence
They with their panniered asses semblance made
Of potters wandering on from door to door:
But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed,
The bag-pipe, dinning on the midnight moor,
Well met from far with revelry secure,
Among the forest glades, when jocund June
Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon, Was best, could I but shun the spot where man
But ill they suited me; those journies dark might come.
O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch! And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong)
To charm the surly house-dog's faithful bark, That I, at last, a resting-place had found;
Or hang on tip-toe at the lifted latch. “Here will I dwell,” said I, “ my whole life long, The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match, Roaming the illimitable waters round:
The black disguise, the warning whistle shrill,
And ear still busy on its nightly watch,
Were not for me, brought up in nothing ill: [still.
What could I do, unaided and unblest?
My father! gone was every friend of thine:
And kindred of dead husband are at best
Small help; and, after marriage such as mine,
With little kindness would to me incline.
Ill was I then for toil or service fit:
With tears whose course no effort could confine,
By the road-side forgetful would I sit
Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit.
I led a wandering life among the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
I lived upon what casual bounty yields,
Now coldly given, now utterly refused.
The ground I for my bed have often used:
But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth
Is, that I have my inner self abused,
Forgone the home delight of constant truth,
And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.
Three years thus wandering, often have I viewed,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:
And now across this moor my steps I bend
Oh! tell me whither--for no earthly friend
Have I.”-Sheceased, and weeping turned away;
As if because her tale was at an end
She wept;-because she had no more to say
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.
'TIS SAID, THAT SOME ILAVE DIED And groans, which, as they said, might make a dead
And here and there a church-yard grave is found
In the cold north's unhallowed ground,
I heard, and saw the flashes drive; Because the wretched man himself had slain,
And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive.
Oh let my body die away!
My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
Yet is it dead, and I remain.
All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
And they are dead, and I will die.
When I was well, I wished to live, “Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind that oak! For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fre; Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,
But they to me no joy can give, That in some other way yon smoke
No pleasure now,
and no desire. May mount into the sky!
Then here contented will I lie!
Alas! ye might have dragged me on But, when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.
Another day, a single one!
Too soon I yielded to despair; “ 0! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, Why did ye listen to my prayer? When will that dying murmur be supprest?
When ye were gone my limbs were stronger; Your sound my heart of peace bereaves,
And oh how grievously I rue, It robs my heart of rest.
That, afterwards, a little longer, Thou thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free, My friends, I did not follow you! Into yon row of willows flit,
For strong and without pain I lay, Upon that alder sit;
My friends, when ye were gone away. Or sing another song, or choose another tree.
My child! they gave thee to another, “Roll back, sweetrill! back to thy mountain bounds, A woman who was not thy mother. And there for ever be thy waters chained!
When from my arms my babe they took, For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
On me how strangely did he look! That cannot be sustained;
Through his whole body something rall, If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
A most strange working did I see; Headlong yon waterfall must come,
-As if he strove to be a man, Oh let it then be dumb!
That he might pull the sledge for me. Be any thing, sweet rill, but that which thou art now. And then he stretched his arms, how wild! “ Thou eglantine, whose arch so proudly towers,
Oh mercy! like a helpless child. (Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale)
My little joy! my little pride! Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
In two days more I must have died. And stir not in the gale.
Then do not weep and grieve for me ; For thus to see thee nodding in the air,
I feel I must have died with thee. To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Oh wind, that o'er my head art flying Thus rise and thus descend,
The way my friends their course did bead, Disturbs me, till the sight is more than I can bear." I should not feel the pain of dying,
Could I with thee a message send! The man who makes this feverish complaint
Too soon, my friends, ye went away; Is one of giant stature, who could dance
For I had many things to say.
I'll follow you across the snow;
Ye travel heavily and slow; Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk
In spite of all my weary pain, Within the sound of Emma's voice, or know
I'll look upon your tents again.
-My fire is dead, and snowy white
The wolf has come to me to-night,
And he has stolen away my food.
For ever left alone am I,
Then wherefore should I fear to die? Oh let my body die away! In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
THE LAST OF THE FLOCK. The stars were mingled with my dreams;
In distant countries have I been, In rustling conflict, through the skies,
And yet I have not often seen