I.

THERE WAS A BOY.

THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs

And islands of Winander!—many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rang or setting, would he stand alone,
Beath the trees, or by the glimmering lake ;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Hey mimic hootings to the silent owls,

That they might answer him.-And they would shout
Are the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,-with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Roccabled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of and din! And, when there came a pause
Ofence such as baffled his best skill:

Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Lastening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
fias carried far into his heart the voice

Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
World enter unawares into his mind

Wall its solemn imagery, its rocks,

In woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Is the bosom of the steady lake.

The boy was taken from his mates, and died la muihood, ere he was full twelve years old. Pent in beauty is the vale

Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs [pm a slope above the village-school;

And, through that church-yard when my way has led
O zamer-evenings, I believe, that there
Ang half-hour together I have stood
X-looking at the grave in which he lies!

1799.

11.

TO THE CUCKOO.

O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard,

I bear thee and rejoice.

0 Cuckoo shall I call thee Bird,

Or bat a wandering Voice!

With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon,
Which through that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull, contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,

Chequering the ground-from rock, plant, tree, or

tower.

At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam

Startles the pensive traveller while he treads

His lonesome path, with unobserving eye

Asunder, and above his head he sees

The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not!-the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent;-still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,

Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.

At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.

IV.

AIREY-FORCE VALLEY.

Nor a breath of air

Ruffles the bosom of this leafy glen.

1798.

From the brook's margin, wide around, the trees
Are stedfast as the rocks; the brook itself,

Old as the hills that feed it from afar,
Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm
Where all things else are still and motionless.
And yet, even now, a little breeze, perchance
Escaped from boisterous winds that rage without,
Has entered, by the sturdy oaks unfelt,
But to its gentle touch how sensitive

Is the light ash! that, pendent from the brow
Of yon dim cave, in seeming silence makes
A soft eye-music of slow-waving boughs,

Powerful almost as vocal harmony

Of form and aspect too magnificent

To be destroyed. But worthier still of note
Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale,
Joined in one solemn and capacious grove;
Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine
Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved;
Nor uninformed with Phantasy, and looks
That threaten the profane ;—a pillared shade,
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged
Perennially-beneath whose sable roof

Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked
With unrejoicing berries-ghostly Shapes
May meet at noontide; Fear and trembling Hope,
Silence and Foresight; Death the Skeleton
And Time the Shadow;-there to celebrate,

As in a natural temple scattered o'er
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,
United worship; or in mute repose
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.

A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,

V. YEW-TREES.

THERE is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
Which to this day stands single, in the midst
Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore:
Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands
Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched

A virgin scene!-A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Valuptaons, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet ;-or beneath the trees I sate

Ang the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And-with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep-
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

Lad dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage and the shady nook

Of bands, and the green and mossy bower, man as
Defamed and sullied, patiently gave up the ravage,
The quiet being: and, unless I now intruder
Cand my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The ant trees, and saw the intruding sky.—
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
la gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Tourh-for there is a spirit in the woods.

As if a voice were in them, the sick sight
And giddy prospect of the raving stream,
The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens,
Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light-
Were all like workings of one mind, the features
Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree,
Characters of the great Apocalypse,
The types and symbols of Eternity,
Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.

Love

✓VIII.

SHE was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

1799.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;

A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

IX.

1804.

O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art
A creature of a 'fiery heart' :-
These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;

My fash upon that inward eye

is the bliss of solitude;

dad en my heart with pleasure fills,

And cances with the daffodils.

1804.

XIII.

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.

It the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,

Has a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:

Paz Suan has passed by the spot, and has heard sience of morning the song of the Bird.

note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees Atain ascending, a vision of trees;

As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,

So He, where he stands, is a centre of light;
It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed Jack,
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.

That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in hasteWhat matter! he's caught-and his time runs to waste;

The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret;

And the half-breathless Lamplighter-he's in the net!

The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore; The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store ;If a thief could be here he might pilfer at ease; She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees!

At the to herself all the wonders of old ;

the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same set that from Oxford hath borrowed its

tower

That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour!

That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the sound.

Now, coaches and chariots! roar on like a stream; Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream: They are deaf to your murmurs-they care not for you,

Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue!

1806.