"

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; My Playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not rest!-poor Creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?

Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair! I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come

there;

The little Brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like Lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe,—our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!"

D 2

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,

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,

belong,

(6 more than half to the Damsel must

For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such

a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

XIII.

THE

IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS;

OR,

DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE,

A PASTORAL.

I.

THE valley rings with mirth and joy;

Among the hills the Echoes play

A

never, never ending song,

To welcome in the May.

The Magpie chatters with delight;

The mountain Raven's youngling Brood

Have left the Mother and the Nest;

And they go rambling east and west

In search of their own food;

Or through the glittering Vapors dart
In very wantonness of heart.

* 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.

II.

Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two Boys are sitting in the sun;
It seems they have no work to do
Or that their work is done.
On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas Hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call Stag-horn, or Fox's Tail,
Their rusty Hats they trim:

And thus, as happy as the Day,

Those Shepherds wear the time away.

III.

Along the river's stony marge

The Sand-lark chaunts a joyous song;
The Thrush is busy in the wood,
And carols loud and strong.

A thousand Lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky
Keep jubilee; and more than all,
Those Boys with their green Coronal;

They never hear the cry,

That plaintive cry! which up the hill

Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.

IV.

Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
"Down to the stump of yon old yew
We'll for our Whistles run a race."
-Away the Shepherds flew.

They leapt they ran-and when they came
Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,

Seeing that he should lose the prize,
06 Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries-
James stopped with no good will:
Said Walter then, " Your task is here,

"Twill keep you working half a year.

V.

"Now cross where I shall cross-come on,

And follow me where I shall lead"

The other took him at his word,

But did not like the deed.

It was a spot, which you may see

If ever you to Langdale go:

Into a chasm a mighty Block

Hath fallen, and made a Bridge of rock:

The gulph is deep below;

And in a bason black and small

Receives a lofty Waterfall.