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And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Crowding the quarter whence the sun Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.
comes forth Of vast circumference and gloom profound Gigantic mountains rough with crags , This solitary tree !-a living thing
(base, Produced too slowly ever to decay : Right at the imperial station's western Of form and aspect too magnificent Main Ocean, breaking audibly and To be destroyed. But worthier still of stretched note
Far into silent regions blue and pale ;Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale, And visibly engirding Mona's Isle, Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; That, as we left the plain, before our sight Huge trunks !-and each particular trunk Stood like a lofty mount, uplifting slowly, a growth
(Above the convex of the watery globe) Of intertwisted fibres serpentine
İnto clear view the cultured fields that Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved, - streak Nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks Her habitable shores ; but now appears That threaten the profane ;-a pillared A dwindled object, and submits to lie shade.
[hue, At the spectator's feet.-Yon azure ridge, Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown Is it a perishable cloud ? Or there By sheddings from the pining umbrage Do we behold the frame of Erin's coast? tinged
Land soinetimes by the roving shepherd Perennially-beneath whose sable roof
swain Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked (Like the bright confines of another world) With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes Not doubtfully perceived.—Look homeMay meet at noontide-Fear and trembling ward now ! Hope,
In depth, in height, in circuit, how serene Silence and Foresight-Death the Skeleton. The spectacle, how pure! Of nature's And Time the Shadow,—there to celebrate, works, As in a natural temple scattered o'er In earth, and air, and earth-embracing sex, With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, A revelation infinite it seems ; United worship ; or in mute repose Display august of man's inheritance, To lie, and listen to the mountain flood Oi Britain's calm felicity and power. Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.
It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out) This height a ministering angel might One of those heavenly days which cannot select
(name For from the summit of Black Comb (dread When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, Derived from clouds and storms !) the I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth amplest range
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung, Of unobstructed prospect may be seen
A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my That British ground commands :-low
steps dusky tracts,
(Cambrian hills Towards the distant woods, a figure quaint, Where Trent is nursed, far southward ! Tricked out in proud disguise of cast off To the south-west, a multitudinous show; weeds And, in a line of eye-sight linked with these, which for that service had been husbanded, The hoary peaks of Scotland that give birth By exhortation of my frugal dame. To Teviot's stream, to Annan, Tweed, and Motley accoutrement, of power to smile Clyde ;
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, -and in truth,
(woods. * Black Comb stands at the southern extre- More ragged than need was ! Among the mity of Cumberland ; its base covers a much And o'er the pathless rocks, I forced my greater extent of ground than any other mountain in these parts; and, from its situation, the
way, summit commands a more extensive view than Until, at length, I came to one dear nook any other point in Britain.
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, un- , But all things else about her drawn gracious sign
From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; Of devastation, but the hazels rose (hung, A dancing shape, an image gay, Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters To haunt, to startle, and waylay. A virgin scene!-A little while I stood, Breathing with such suppression of the I saw her upon nearer view, heart
A spirit, yet a woman too! As joy delights in ; and with wise restraint Her household motions light and free, Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed And steps of virgin liberty : The banquet, -or beneath the trees I sate A countenance in which did meet Among the flowers, and with the flowers 1 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; played ;
A creature not too bright or good A temper known to those, who, after long for human nature's daily food : And weary expectation, have been blest
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and Perhaps it was a bower' beneath whose
smiles. leaves The violets of five seasons re-appear
And now I see with eye serene And fade, unseen by any human eye ;
The very pulse of the machine ; Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller betwixt life and death; For ever,-and I saw the sparkling foam, And with my cheek on one of those green Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill,
The reason firm, the temperate will, stones
[trees, That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady To warn, to comfort, and command ;
A perfect woman, nobly planned, Lay round me, scattered like a flock of
And yet a spirit still, and bright sheep,
(sound, With something of an angel light. I heard the murmur and the murmuring In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to
pay Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure,
O NIGHTINGALE ! thou surely art
spierce ; The heart luxuriates with indifferent things, A creature of a fiery heart :Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones. These notes of thine-they pierce and And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
Tumultuous harmony and fierce! And dragged to earth both branch and Thou sing'st as if the god of wine bough, with crash
Had helped thee to a valentine ; And merciless ravage ; and the shady nook A song in mockery and despite of hazels, and the green and mossy bower, of shades, and dews, and silent night ; Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
And steady bliss, and all the loves Their quiet being : and, unless I now
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves. Confound my present feelings with the past,
I heard a stock-dove sing or say
His voice was buried among trees,
He did not cease; but cooed-and cooed. Then, dearest maiden! move along these and somewhat pensively he wooed : shades
He sang of love with quiet blending, In gentleness of heart : with gentle hand
Slow to begin, and never ending i
Of serious faith and inward glee ;
She was a phantom of delight
THREE years she grew in sun and shower.
"Myself will to my darling be
THE HORN OF EGREMONT Both law and impulse : and with me
CASTLE. The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, WHEN the brothers reached the gateway, Shall feel an overseeing power
Eustace pointed with his lance To kindle or restrain.
To the horn which there was hanging ;
Horn of the inheritance. “She shall be sportive as the fawn
Horn it was which none could sound, That wild with glee across the lawn
No one upon living ground, Or up the mountain springs;
Save he who came as rightful heir And hers shall be the breathing balm,
To Egremont's domains and castle fair.
Heirs from ages without record
Who of right had claimed the lordship " The floating clouds their state shall lend By the proof upon the horn : To her; for her the willow bend :
Each at the appointed hour Nor shall she fail to see
Tried the horn,-it owned his power; Even in the motions of the storm
He was acknowledged : and the blast, Grace that shall mould the maiden's form Which good Sir Eustace sounded was the By silent sympathy.
last. "The stars of midnight shall be dear
With his lance Sir Eustace pointed
And to Hubert thus said he-
· What I speak this horn shall witness Where rivulets dance their
wayward round, Hear, then, and neglect me not !
For thy better memory. And beauty born of murmuring sound
At this time, and on this spot, Shall pass into her face.
The words are uttered from my heart,
As my last earnest prayer ere we depart. “ And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, “On good service we are going Her virgin bosom swell ;
Life to risk by sea and land, Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
In which course if Christ our Saviour While she and I together live
Do my sinful soul demand, Here in this happy dell."
Hither come thou back straightway,
Hubert, if alive that day ; Thus nature spake--the work was done
Return, and sound the horn, that we How soon my Lucy's race was run !
May have a living house still left in thee !" She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene ;
Fear not !" quickly answered Hubert ; The memory of what has been,
As I am thy father's son,
\Vhat thou askest, noble brother,
From the castle forth they went,
And at the head of their array I had no human fears :
To Palestine the brothers took their way. She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years.
Side by side they fought, (the Lucies
Were a line for valour famed,) No motion has she now, no force ;
And where'er their strokes alighted,
There the Saracens were tamed.
* This story is a Cumberland tradition: I have heard it also related of the Hall of Hutton John, an ancient residence of the Huddlestones, in a sequestered valley upon the river Dacor,
Whence, then, could it come—the thought-Long, and long was he unheard of :
To his brother then he came,
And by all the saints in heaven ;
And of Eustace was forgiven : " Deep he lies in Jordan's flood,"
Then in a convent wert to hide Stricken by this ill assurance,
His melancholy head, and there he died. Pale and trembling Hubert stood. “ Take your earnings."-Oh! that I
But Sir Eustace, whom good angels Could have seen my brother die !
Had preserved from murderers' hands, It was a pang that vexed him then ;
And from pagan chains had rescued, And oft returned, again, and yet again. Lived with honour on his lands. Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace !
Sons he had, saw sons of theirs : Nor of him were tidings heard.
And through ages, heirs of heirs, Wherefore, bold as day, the murderer
A long posterity renowned, (sound. Back again to England steered.
Sounded the horn which they alone could To his castle Hubert sped ; He has nothing now to dread. But silent and by stealth he came, GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL. And at an hour which nobody could name.
A TRUE STORY. None could tell if it were night-time,
Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter? Night or day, at even or morn; For the sound was heard by no one
What is't that ails young Harry Gill ?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, With plenty was his table spread ;
Good duffle grey, and flannel fine ,
He has a blanket on his back,
In March, December, and in July,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbours tell, and tell you truly, Flourishing in fair estate. And while thus in open day
His teeth they chatter, chatter still ! Once he sate, as old books say,
At night, at morning, and at noon, A blast was uttered from the horn,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill ;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, Where by the castle-gate it hung forlorn.
His teeth they chatter, chatter still ! 'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace ! He is come to claim his right:
Young Harry was a lusty drover, Ancient castle, woods, and mountains
And who so stout of limb as he? Hear the challenge with delight.
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover ; Hubert ! though the blast be blown
His voice was like the voice of three. He is helpless and alone :
Old Goody Blake was old and poor ; Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word !
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad ; And there he may be lodged, and thou be And any man who passed her door lord.
Might see how poor a hut she had. Speak !-astounded Hubert cannot ; All day she spun in her poor dwelling : And if power to speak he had,
And then her three hours' work at night, All are daunted, all the household
Alas ! 'twas hardly worth the telling, Smitten to the heart, and sad.
It would not pay for candle-light. "Tis Sir Eustace; if it be
Remote from sheltered village green, Living man, it must be he!
On a hill's northern side she dwelt, Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean, And by a postern-gate he slunk away. And hoary dews are slow to melt.
By the same fire to boil their pottage, When with her load she turned about,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cried, "I've caught you, then, at But when the ice our streams did fetter,
last !" Oh ! then how her old bones would shake, Then Goody, who had nothing said, You would have said, if you had met her, Her bundle from her lap let fall ; 'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed Her evenings then were dull and dead! To God that is the judge of all. Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed ;
She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, And then for cold not sleep a wink.
While Harry held her by the arm
"God! who art never out of hearing, Oh, joy for her ! whene'er in winter
Oh, may he never more be warm !" The winds at night had made a rout; The cold, cold moon above her head, And scattered many a lusty splinter Thus on her knees did Goody pray. And many a rotten bough about.
Young Harry heard what she had said : Yet never had she, well or sick,
And icy cold he turned away
He went complaining all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill : Now, when the frost was past enduring,
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow; And made her poor old bones to achę,
Alas ! that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding-coat, Lould anything be more alluring
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.
'Twas all in vain, a useless matter
And blankets were about him pinned ; Now Harry he had long suspected
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter, This trespass of old Goody Blake ;
Like a loose casement in the wind. And vowed that she should be detected,
And Harry's flesh it fell away; And he on her would vengeance take.
And all who see him say, 'tis plain,
That, live as long as live he may,
A-bed or up, to young or old ;
Poor Harry Gill is very cold."
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, He stood behind a bush of elder,
When all at once I saw a cloud, Till she had filled her apron full. A host of golden daffodils ;