'T will be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot, A place of love for damsels that are coy. "A cunning artist will I have to frame And they who do make mention of the same, Well. 60 64 "And, gallant stag! to make thy praises known, grazed. 68 “And in the summer-time, when days are long, "Till the foundations of the mountains fail Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone dead, With breathless nostrils stretched above the 76 spring. --Soon did the Knight perform what he had said, And far and wide the fame thereof did ring. 80 Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steered, And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall With trailing plants and trees were inter twined, Which soon composed a little sylvan hall, 84 88 And thither, when the summer days were long, The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time, 96 PART SECOND The moving accident is not my trade; 100 As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, What this imported I could ill divine: The trees were gray, with neither arms nor head; 108 Half wasted the square mound of tawny green; So that you just might say, as then I said, "Here in old time the hand of man hath been." I looked upon the hill both far and near,— 112 116 I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost, quired. 120 The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed. "A jolly place," said he, “in times of old! But something ails it now: the spot is curst. 124 "You see these lifeless stumps of aspen wood— Some say that they are beeches, others elmsThese were the bower; and here a mansion "The arbour does its own condition tell; 132 "There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep. Will wet his lips within that cup of stone; And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep, This water doth send forth a dolorous groan. 136 'Some say that here a murder has been done, And blood cries out for blood: but, for my part, I've guessed, when I've been sitting in the sun, That it was all for that unhappy Hart. "What thoughts must through the creature's brain have past! Even from the topmost stone, upon the steep, Are but three bounds-and look, sir, at this last O master! it has been a cruel leap. "For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; And in my simple mind we cannot tell 140 144 What cause the Hart might have to love this place, And come and make his deathbed near the well. 'Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, side. 148 152 'In April here beneath the flowering thorn spring. 156 Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade; The sun on drearier hollow never shone; So will it be, as I have often said, Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are gone." 160 Gray-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well; Small difference lies between thy creed and mine: This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell; "The Being, that is in the clouds and air, That is in the green leaves among the groves, |