He's in a vessel of his own,
On the swift water hurrying down
Towards the mighty sea.
In such a vessel never more
May human creature leave the shore:
If this or that way he should stir,
Woe to the poor blind mariner !
For death will be his doom.
But say what bears him?-Ye have seen
The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright
Gifts which, for wonder or delight,
Are brought in ships from far.
Such gifts had those sea-faring men
Spread round that haven in the glen;
Each hut, perchance, might have its own,
And to the boy they all were known,
He knew and prized them all.
And one, the rarest, was a shell
Which he, poor child, had studied well;
The shell of a green turtle, thin
And hollow;-you might sit therein,
It was so wide and deep.
'Twas even the largest of its kind,
Large, thin, and light as birch-tree rind ;
So light a shell that it would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim
Above the tossing waves.
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 launched from shore ;
Launched from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sailed 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 unbarred.
While there he sat, alone and blind,
That story flashed 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 burden hied,
And pushed it from Loch Leven's side,-
Stepped into it; and, without dread,
Following the fancies in his head,
He paddled up and down.
A while 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 sucked, and sucked him in.
And there he is in face of heaven,-
How rapidly the child is driven í
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 blessed.
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
On 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,
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, 66 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 vanished;-'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 watched 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 flowed 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.*
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 gained the precincts of the west,
Though his departing radiance fail
To illuminate the hollow vaie,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.
*See Note at the end of this volume.
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 farm, and the cock-Slate-quarry-Sunset-Superstition of the country connected with that moment-Swans-Female beggarTwilight sounds-Western lights-Spirits-Night-Moonlight-Hope-Night 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 cliffs 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 bosomed 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+ roamed 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, showed,
Where, tipped with gold, the mountain summits glowed.
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.
* 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.
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