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; 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!”

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, " 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."

<

THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS;

OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL-FORCE.

A PASTORAL.

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 vapours dart
In very wantonness of heart.

Beneath a rock upon the grass,
Two boys are sitting in the sun;
Boys that have had no work to do,
Or work that now 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.

Along the river's stony marge
The sand-lark chants 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.

Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
66 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,

'Stop!" to his comrade Walter criesJames stopped with no good will: Said Walter then, "Your task is here, "Twill baffle you for half a year.

"Cross, if you dare, where I shall crossCome on, and in my footsteps tread!" The other took him at his word,

And followed as he led.

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 gulf is deep below;

And in a basin black and small

Receives a lofty waterfall.

With staff in hand, across the cleft
The challenger pursued his march;
And now,
all eyes and feet, hath gained
The middle of the arch.

When list! he hears a piteous moan

Again! his heart within him dies-
His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost,
He totters, pallid as a ghost,

And, looking down, espies

A lamb, that in the pool is pent
Within that black and frightful rent.

The lamb had slipped into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound
The cataract had borne him down
Into the gulf profound.

His dam had seen him when he fell,
She saw him down the torrent borne:
And, while with all a mother's love
She from the lofty rocks above

Sent forth a cry forlorn,

The lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer to that plaintive sound.

When he had learnt what thing it was

That sent this rueful cry;

I ween

The boy recovered heart, and told
The sight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferred their task;
Nor was there wanting other aid-
A poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the sages' books,
By chance had hither strayed;
And there the helpless lamb he found
By those huge rocks encompassed round.

He drew it gently from the pool,

And brought it forth into the light:
The shepherds met him with his charge,
An unexpected sight!

Into their arms the lamb they took,

Said they, "He's neither maimed nor scarred."
Then up the steep ascent they hied,
And placed him at his mother's side;
And gently did the bard

Those idle shepherd-boys upbraid,
And bade them better mind their trade.

TO H. C. SIX YEARS OLD.

O THOU whose fancies from afar are brought !
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought

The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol;
Thou fairy voyager that dost float

In such clear water that thy boat

May rather seem

To brood on air than on an earthly stream;
Suspended in a stream as clear as sky,
Where earth and heaven do make one imagery!
O blessed vision! happy child!

That art so exquisitely wild,

I think of thee with many fears

For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality!

And grief, uneasy lover! never rest

But when she sate within the touch of thee.

Oh, too industrious folly!

Oh, vain and causeless melancholy !

Nature will either end thee quite,

Or, lengthening out thy season of delight,
Preserve for thee, by individual right,