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This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. Fair is the spot, most beautiful the vale Where he was born : the grassy churchyard hangs Upon a slope above the village school; And through that churchyard when my way has led At evening, I believe, that oftentimes A long half-hour together I have stood Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies !



INMATE of a mountain-dwelling,
Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed,
From the watch-towers of Helvellyn :
Awed, delighted, and amazed !
Potent was the spell that bound thee,
Not unwilling to obey ;
For blue ether's arms, flung round thee,
Stilled the pantings of dismay.
Lo! the dwindled woods and meadows !
What a vast abyss is there!
Lo! the clouds, the solemn shadows,
And the glistenings-heavenly fair!
And a record of commotion
Which a thousand ridges yield;
Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean
Gleaming like a silver shield!
Take thy Alight;—possess,

Alps or Andes--they are thine !
With the morning's roseate spirit,
Sweep their length of snowy line


Or survey the bright dominions
In the gorgeous colours drest,
Flung from off the purple pinions
Evening spreads throughout the west !

Thine are all the choral fountains
Warbling in each sparry vault
Of the untrodden lunar mountains;
Listen to their songs !-or halt,
To Niphate's top invited,
Whither spiteful Satan steered ;
Or descend where the ark alighted,
When the green earth re-appeared ;
For the power of hills is on thee,
As was witnessed through thine eye
Then, when old Helvellyn won thee
To confess their majesty!

TO THE CUCKOO. O blithe new-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass At once far off and near.

Though babbling only, to the vale,
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird: but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery.
The same whom in my schoolboy days
I listened to; that cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen.
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial fairy place;
That is fit home for thee!


The sky is overcast 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 Bent earthwards: he looks up—the clouds are split

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.

WATER-FOWL. MARK how the feathered tenants of the food, With grace of motion that might scarcely seein Inferior to angelical, prolong Their curious pastime! shaping in mid air (And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars High as the level of the inountain tops) A circuit ampler than the lake beneath, Their own domain ;-but ever, while intent On tracing and retracing that large round, Their jubilant activity

olves Hundreds of curves and circles, to and fro, Upward and downward, progress intricate Yet unperplexed, as if one spirit swayed Their indefatigable flight.- 'Tis doneTen times, or more, I fancied it had ceased; But lo! the vanished company again Ascending ;-they approach-I hear their wings Faint, faint at first ; and then an eager sound,

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Past in a moment—and as faint again!
They tempt the sun to sport amid their plumes;
They tempt the water, or the gleaming ice,
To show them a fair image;—'tis themselves,
Their own fair forms, upon the glimmering plain,
Painted more soft and fair as they descend
Almost to touch ;-then up again aloft,
Up with a sally and a flash of speed,
As if they scorned both resting-place and rest!

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 To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea And drew their sounding bows at Azincour, Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. Of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary tree !-a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; 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


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