And there they built up, without mortar or lime,
A Man on the peak of the crag.

Just half a week after, the wind sallied forth,
And, in anger or merriment, out of the north,
Coming on with a terrible pother,

From the peak of the crag blew the giant away.
And what did these school-boys?—The very next
day
They went and they built

up

They built him of stones gathered up as they lay:

They built him and christened him all in one day, "Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty
An urchin both vigorous and hale;

rare!

And so without scruple they called him Ralph Jones.
Now Ralph is renowned for the length of his bones;
The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.

another.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,

And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper

took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.

"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such

a tone

That I almost received her heart into my own.

the beautiful dale of Legberthwaite, along the high road

between Keswick and Ambleside.

I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the maiden turned away:
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she

stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place

I unobserved could see the workings of her face : If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,

Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing:

"What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull
so at thy cord?

Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ;
Rest, little young One, rest; what is that aileth
thee?

What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art :

This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;

And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;

While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned

meal.

If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;
chain,
For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou
need'st not fear,

The rain and storm are things that scarcely can
come here.

by none,

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home :

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam ?

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.

[This extract is reprinted from "THE FRIEND."] WISDOM and Spirit of the universe! Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought! And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion! not in vain,

By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn

J