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And this the little Blind Boy knew:
And he a story strange, yet true,
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English boy, O thought of bliss!

Had stoutly launch'd from shore;
Launch'd from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sail'd far
To join that gallant ship of war,
In his delightful shell.

Our Highland Boy oft visited

The house which held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come,
One day, when no one was at home,
And found the door unbarr'd.

While there he sat, alone and blind,
That story flash'd upon his mind,--
A bold thought roused him, and he took
The shell from out its secret nook,
And bore it in his arms.

And with the happy burthen hied,
And push'd it from Loch Leven's side,-
Stepp'd into it; and, without dread,
Following the fancies in his head,
He paddled up and down.

Awhile he stood upon his feet;
He felt the motion-took his seat;
And dallied thus, till from the shore
The tide retreating more and more

Had suck'd, and suck'd him in.
And there he is, in face of heaven,-
How rapidly the child is driven !
The fourth part of a mile I ween
He thus had gone, ere he was seen
By any human eye.

But when he was first seen, oh me,
What shrieking and what misery!
For many saw: among the rest
His mother, she who loved him best,
She saw her poor Blind Boy.
But for the child, the sightless Boy,
It is the triumph of his joy!
The bravest traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the moon,
Was never half so bless'd.

And let him, let him go his way,
Alone, and innocent, and gay!
For, if good angels love to wait
On the forlorn unfortunate,

This child will take no harm.

But now the passionate lament,

Which from the crowd on shore was sent, The cries which broke from old and young In Gaelic, or the English tongue,

Are stifled-all is still.

And quickly, with a silent crew,
A boat is ready to pursue ;

And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running lake
They follow the Blind Boy.

But soon they move with softer pace;
So have ye seen the fowler chase,
Or Grasmere's clear unruffled breast,
A youngling of the wild duck's nest,
With deftly lifted oar.

Or, as the wily sailors crept

To seize (while on the deep it slept)
The hapless creature which did dwell,
Erewhile, within the dancing shell,
They steal upon their prey.

With sound the least that can be made
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,

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And guesses their intent.

Lei-gha-Lei-gha !"-then did he cry
Lei-gha-Lei-gha!"-most eagerly;
Thus did he cry, and thus did pray,
And what he meant was, "Keep away,
And leave me to myself!"

Alas! and when he felt their hands-
You've often heard of magic wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,
Or melt it into air.

So all his dreams, that inward light
With which his soul had shone so bright,
All vanish'd ;-'twas a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,

As he had ever known.

But hark! a gratulating voice
With which the very hills rejoice:
"Tis from the crowd, who, tremblingly,
Had watch'd the event, and now can see
That he is safe at last.

And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which, gathering round, did on the banks
Of that great water give God thanks,

And welcomed the poor child.

And in the general joy of heart
The Blind Boy's little dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation.

But most of all, his mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when, waking, she espies
The child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the Blind Boy.

She led him home, and wept amain,
When he was in the house again:
Tears flow'd in torrents from her eyes;
She could not blame him or chastise:
She was too happy far.

Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous deep, the Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased and reconciled
To live in peace on shore.

And in the lonely Highland dell
Still do they keep the turtle shell;
And long the story will repeat
Of the Blind Boy's adventurous feat,
And how he was preserved.

Jubenile Pieces.

EXTRACT

FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM, COMPOSED UPON LEAVING SCHOOL.

DEAR native regions, I foretell,

From what I feel at this farewell,

That, wheresoe'er my steps shall tend,

And whensoe'er my course shall end,
If in that hour a single tie

Survive of local sympathy,

My soul will cast the backward view,
The longing look, alone on you.

Thus, when the sun, prepared for rest,
Hath gain'd the precincts of the west,
Though his departing radiance fail
To illuminate the hollow vale,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose,

AN EVENING WALK.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

General Sketch of the Lakes-Author's regret of his youth which was passed amongst them-Short description of Noon-Cascade-Noon-tide Retreat-Precipice and sloping Lights-Face of Nature as the Sun declines-Mountain 1..rm, and the Cock-Slatequarry-Sunset-Superstition of the Country connected with that moment-Swan Female Beggar-Twilight sounds-Western Lights-Spirits-Night-Moonlight-HopeNight sounds-Conclusion.

FAR from my dearest friend, 'tis mine to rove

Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove;
His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes,
Through crags and forest glooms and opening lakes,
Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar

That stuns the tremulous clifis of high Lodore;
Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads,
To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads;
Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottaged grounds,
Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds;
Where bosom'd deep, the shy Winander* peeps
'Mid clustering isles, and holly-sprinkled steeps;
Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore,
And memory of departed pleasures, more.

Fair scenes, erewhile, I taught, a happy child,
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild;
Then did no ebb of cheerfulness demand'
Sad tides of joy from Melancholy's hand,
In youth's wild eye the livelong day was bright,
The sun at morning, and the stars at night,
Alike when first the vales the bittern fills,

Or the first woodcocks† roam'd the moonlight hills.
In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain,

And hope itself was all I knew of pain;

For then, even then, the little heart would beat
At times, while young Content forsook her seat,
And wild Impatience, pointing upward, show'd,

Where, tipp'd with gold, the mountain summits glow'd.
Alas! the idle tale of man is found

Depicted in the dial's moral round;

With hope reflection blends her social rays,
To gild the total tablet of his days:
Yet still, the sport of some malignant power,
He knows but from its shade the present hour.

But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain?
To show her yet some joys to me remain,
Say will my friend, with soft affection's ear,
The history of a poet's evening hear?

When, in the south, the wan noon, brooding still,
Breathed a pale steam around the glaring hill,

These lines are only applicable to the middle part of that lake.

+ In the beginning of winter, these mountains are frequented by woodcocks, which in dark nights retire into the woods.

And shades of deep-embattled clouds were seen,
Spotting the northern cliffs with lights between ;
Gazing the tempting shades to them denied,
When stood the shorten'd herds amid the tide,
Where from the barren wall's unshelter'd end
Long rails into the shallow lake extend.

When school-boys stretch'd their length upon the green;
And round the humming elm, a glimmering scene,
In the brown park, in flocks the troubled deer
Shook the still-twinkling tail and glancing ear;
When horses in the wall-girt intake* stood,
Unshaded, eying far below the flood,
Crowded behind the swain, in mute distress,
With forward neck the closing gate to press-
Then, as I wander'd where the huddling rill
Brightens with water-breaks, the hollow ghyll,+
To where, while thick above the branches close,
In dark brown basin its wild waves repose,
Inverted shrubs, and moss of darkest green,
Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between
Save that aloft the subtile sunbeams shine
On wither'd briers that o'er the crags recline;
Sole light admitted here, a small cascade,
Illumes with sparkling foam the twilight shade;
Beyond, along the vista of the brook,
Where antique roots its bustling path o'erlook,
The eye reposes on a secret bridge,+

Half grey, half shagged with ivy to its ridge.

Sweet rill, farewell! To-morrow's noon again
Shall hide me, wooing long, thy wildwood strain;
But now the sun has gain'd his western road,
And eve's mild hour invites my steps abroad.

While, near the midway cliff, the silver'd kite
In many a whistling circle wheels her flight;
Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, apace
Travel along the precipice's base;

Cheering its naked waste of scatter'd stone,
By lichens grey and scanty moss o'ergrown ;
Where scarce the foxglove peeps, or thistle's beard;
And restless stone-chat, all day long, is heard.

How pleasant, as the yellowing sun declines,

And with long rays and shades the landscape shines;
To mark the birches' stems all golden light,
That lit the dark slant woods with silvery white;
The willow's weeping trees, that twinkling hoar,
Glanced oft upturn'd along the breezy shore,
Low bending o'er the colour'd water, fold

Their moveless boughs and leaves like threads of gold;

The word intake is local, and signifies a mountain inclosure.

+ Ghyll is also, I believe, a term confined to this country: ghyll and dingle have the same meaning.

The reader who has made the tour of this country, will recognize, in this description, the features which characterize the lower waterfall in the grounds of Rydal.

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