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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 arbor,
Find, within, a blessed harbor !

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the rest :— this aggravation, This complicated provocation, A hoard of grievances unsealed ; All past forgiveness it repealed ; And thus, and through distempered blood On both sides, Benjamin the good, The patient, and the tender-hearted, Was from his team and wagon parted; When duty of that day was o'er, Laid down his whip — and served no more. — Nor could the wagon 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 ; And sure it is, that through this night, VOL. II.

And what the morning brought to light,
Twc losses had we to sustain,
We lost both WAGONER and WAIN !

Accept, O 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 almanac 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. - 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 !

1806.

POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION.

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 might answer 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

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