The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down, And, as his Father had requested, laid The first stone of the Sheepfold. At the sight The old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept ; And to the house together they returned. -Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace, Ere the night fell :—with morrow's dawn the Boy Began his journey, and when he had reached The public way, he put on a bold face; And all the neighbours, as he passed their doors, To evil courses: ignominy and shame Fell on him, so that he was driven at last To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas. There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart: I have conversed with more than one who well 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, And never lifted up a single stone. There, by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen Came forth with wishes and with farewell Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog, THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS ; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE 1 A PASTORAL Written at Town-end, Grasmere. I will only add a little monitory anecdote concerning this subject. When Coleridge and Southey were walking together upon the Fells, Southey observed that, if I wished to be considered a faithful painter of rural manners, I ought not to have said that my Shepherd-boys trimmed their rustic hats as described in the poem. Just as the words had passed his lips two boys appeared with the very plant entwined round their hats. I have often wondered that Southey, who rambled so much about the mountains, should have fallen into this mistake, and I record it as a warning for others who, with far less opportunity than my dear friend had of knowing what things are, and far less sagacity, give way to presumptuous criticism, from which he was free, though in this matter mistaken. In describing a tarn under Helvellyn, I say "There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer." This was branded by a critic of these days, in a review ascribed to Mrs. Barbauld, as unnatural and absurd. I admire the genius of Mrs. Barbauld, and am certain that, had her education been favourable to imaginative influences, no female of her day would have been more likely to sympathise with that image, and to acknowledge the truth of the sentiment. THE valley rings with mirth and joy; The magpie chatters with delight; Or through the glittering vapours dart Beneath a rock, upon the grass, Two boys are sitting in the sun; 1 Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, is a short and, for the most part, a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for waterfall. Their work, if any work they have, On pipes of sycamore they play Along the river's stony marge A thousand lambs are on the rocks, That plaintive cry! which up the hill loveliest sight she had ever seen was that mother as she lay in her coffin with her babe in her arm. I mention this to notice what I cannot but think a salutary custom once universal in these vales. Every attendant on a funeral made it a duty to look at the corpse in the coffin before the lid was closed, which was never done (nor I believe is now) till a minute or two before the corpse was removed. Barbara Lewthwaite was not in fact the child whom I had seen and overheard as described in the poem. I chose the name for reasons implied in the above; and will here add a caution against the use of names of living persons. Within a few months after the publication of this poem, I was much surprised, and more hurt, to find it in a child's school-book which, having been compiled by Lindley Murray, had come into use at Grasmere School where Barbara was a pupil; and, alas! I had the mortification of hearing that she was very vain of being thus distinguished; and, in after-life, she used to say that she remembered the incident and what I said to her upon the occasion. THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; 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 Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could 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? 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; Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass My playmate thou shalt be; and when the '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, I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, The rain and storm are things that scarcely When they are angry, roar like lions for 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 their prey. 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 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. I Written at Grasmere. This poem was suggested on the banks of the brook that runs through Easedale, which is, in some parts of its course, as wild and beautiful as brook can be. I have composed thousands of verses by the side of it. IT was an April morning: fresh and clear Of waters which the winter had supplied Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance 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; But 'twas the foliage of the rocks-the birch, The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, With hanging islands of resplendent furze: And, on a summit, distant a short space, By any who should look beyond the dell, A single mountain-cottage might be seen. I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, "Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook, My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee." -Soon did the spot become my other home, My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, To whom I sometimes in our idle talk Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, Years after we are gone and in our graves, When they have cause to speak of this wild place, And hopes and wishes, from all living May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL. 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 Such an entire contentment in the air II TO JOANNA 1800. Written at Grasmere. The effect of her laugh is an extravagance; though the effect of the reverberation of voices in some parts of the mountains is very striking. There is, in the "Excursion," an allusion to the bleat of a lamb thus re-echoed, and described without any ex |