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A healthy man, a man full grown,
Another still! and still another! Weep in the public roads alone.
A little lamb, and then its inother! But such a one, on English ground,
It was a vein that never stopp'dAnd in the broad high-way, I met;
Like blood-drops from my heart they droppid. Along the broad high-way he came,
Till thirty were not left alive His cheeks with tears were wet.
They dwindled, dwindled, one by one, Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
And I may say, that many a time And in his arms a lamb he had.
I wished they all were gone:
They dwindled one by one away; He saw me, and he turned aside,
For me it was a woeful day. As if he wished himself to hide:
To wicked deeds I was inclined, Then with his coat he made essay
And wicked fancies crossed my mind;
And every man I chanced to see,
I thought he knew some ill of me. -“ Shame on me, sir! this lusty lamb,
No peace, no comfort could I find,
No ease, within doors or without;
And crazily, and wearily,
I went my work about.
Oft-limes I thought to run away; When I was young, a single man,
For me it was a woeful day. And after youthful follies ran,
Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me, Though little given to care and thought,
As dear as my own children be; Yet, so it was, a ewe I bought;
For daily with my growing store And other sheep from her I raised,
I loved my children more and more. As healthy sheep as you might see;
Alas! it was an evil time; And then I married, and was rich
God cursed me in my sore distress; As I could wish to be;
I prayed, yet every day I thought Of sheep I numbered a full score,
I loved my children less ; And every year increased my store.
And every week, and every day,
My flock, it seemed to melt away.
They dwindled, sir, sad sight to see! # Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
From ten to five, from five to three, As sweet a flock as ever grazed !
A lamb, a wether, and a ewe;Upon the mountain did they feed,
And then at last, from three to two; They throve, and we at home did thrive.
And of my fifty, yesterday -This lusty lamb, of all my store,
I had but only one: Is all that is alive;
And here it lies upon my arm, And now I care not if we die,
Alas! and I have none;And perish all of poverty.
To-day I fetched it from the rock;
It is the last of all my flock."
“ With sacrifice, before the rising morn They said I was a wealthy man;
Performed, my slaughtered lord have I required; My sheep upon the mountain fed,
And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn, And it was fit that thence I took
Him of the infernal gods have I desired: Whereof to buy us bread. “ Do this: how can we give to you,”
Celestial pity I again implore ;They cried, “ what to the poor is due?"
Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore !"
So speaking, and by fervent love endowed [hands; I sold a sheep, as they had said,
With faith, the suppliant heaven-ward lifts her And bought my little children bread,
While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, And they were healthy with their food;
Her countenance brightens—and her eye expands, For me-it never did me good.
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows, A woeful time it was for me,
And she expects the issue in repose.
O terror! what hath she perceived ?-Ojoy! With all my care and pains,
What doth she look on i-whom doth she behold: To see it melt like snow away!
Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy? For me it was a woeful day.
His vital presence-his corporeal mold?
I act emb
[breat be toy ad
It is-if sense deceive her not-'tis he!
“ Be taught, O faithful consort, to control
On the to And a god leads him-winged Mercury!
Rebellious passion: for the gods approve
Ad cath The depth, and not the tumult of the soul;
The paths Mild Hermes spake—and touched her with his wand
A fervent, not ungovernable love.
hower That calms all fear,“ Such grace hath crowned thy
Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn Laodamia, that at Jove's command (prayer,
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn—" Thy husband walks the paths of upper air:
* But shot He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space; “ Ah, wherefore ? —Did not Hercules by forcedit Accept the gift, behold him face to face !"
Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb
Alcestis, a reanimated corse, Forth sprang the impassioned queen her lord to
Given back to dwell on earth in beauty's blocat maite
And Æson stood a youth ʼmid youthful peers.
“ The gods to us are merciful—and they And re-assume his place before her sight.
Yet further may relent: for mightier far
(krbiet “ Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone!
Of magic potent over sun and star, Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
Is love, though oft to agony distrest, This is our palace,-yonder is thy throne;
And though his favourite seat be feeble wonasi
Larob Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
Iswards Not to appal me have the gods bestowed
“ But if thou go’st, I follow"_" Peace!" he saidThis precious boon,--and blest a sad abode." She looked upon him and was calmed and cheers: Encourag
The ghastly colour from his lips had led; “ Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared His gifts imperfect:-Spectre though I be,
Elysian beauty-melancholy graceI am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
Brought from a pensive though a happy place.
ladhe But in reward of thy fidelity. And something also did my worth obtain ;
He spake of love, such love as spirits feel For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.
In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
No fears to beat away–no strife to heal“ Thou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold
The past unsighed for, and the future sure;
Spake, as a witness, of a second birth
Of all that is most beauteous—imaged there
In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
An ampler ether, a diviner air,
leadth The tour
Are og As ford
Hel A loot
Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.
“ The wish’d-for wind was given :--I then revolved
“ No spectre greets me,-no vain shadow this:
Сpte You Yout The Bot
And, if no worthier led the way, resolved
in thee too fondly did my memory hang,
The mountains have all opened out themselves, nd on the joys we shared in mortal life,
And made a hidden valley of their own. he paths which we had trod—these fountains, No habitation there is seen; but such flowers;
As journey thither find themselves alone sy new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky. But should suspense permit the foe to cry,
It is in truth an utter solitude; Behold they tremble !_haughty their array, Nor should I have made mention of this dell et of their number no one dares to die?'
But for one object which you might pass by, soul I swept the indignity away:
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook d frailties then recurred:—but lofty thought
There is a straggling heap of unhewn stones! act embodied my deliverance wrought.
And to that place a story appertains, And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak
Which, though it be ungarnished with events, reason, in self-government too slow;
Is not unfit, I deen, for the fireside, ounsel thee by fortitude to seek
Or for the summer shade. It was the first, ir blest re-union in the shades below.
The earliest of those tales that spake to me je invisible world with thee hath sympathized;
Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men thy affections raised and solemnized.
Whom I already loved;—not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills Learn by a mort al yearning to ascend
Where was their occupation and abode. wards a higher object :-Love was given, And hence this tale, while I was yet a boy couraged, sanctioned, chiefly for this end: Careless of books, yet having felt the power r this the passion to excess was driven
Of Nature, by the gentle agency lat self might be annulled; her bondage prove Of natural objects led me on to feel le fetters of a dream, opposed to love."
For passions that were not my own, and think
(At random and imperfectly indeed) oud she shrieked! for Hermes re-appears! (vain :
On man, the heart of man, and human life. und the dear shade she would have clung—'tis
Therefore, although it be a history e hours are past,—too brief had they been years;
Homely and rude, I will relate the same id him no mortal effort can detain: rift, tow'rd the realms that know not earthly day,
For the delight of a few natural hearts; through the portal takes his silent way
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake id on the palace floor a lifeless corse she lay.
Of youthful poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone. 1, judge her gently who so deeply loved! s, who, in reason's spite, yet without crime,
Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale as in a trance of passion thus removed;
There dwelt a shepherd, Michael was his name; livered from the galling yoke of time,
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. id these frail elements—to gather flowers
His bodily frame had been from youth to age blissful quiet ʼmid unfading bowers.
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense and frugal, apt for all affairs, ?t tears to human suffering are due ;
And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt ad mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
And watchful more than ordinary men. e mourned by man, and not by man alone, Hence he had learned the meaning of all winds, i fondly he believes.-Upon the side
Of blasts of every tone, and, oftentimes, Hellespont (such faith was entertained)
When others heeded not, he heard the south knot of spiry trees for ages grew
Make subterraneous music, like the noise com out the tomb of him for whom she died; Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. nd ever, when such stature they had gained The shepherd, at such warning, of his flock nat llium's walls were subject to their view, Bethought him, and he to himself would
say, ne trees' tall summits withered at the sight; “ The winds are now devising work for me!” constant interchange of growth and blight! And truly, at all times, the storm—that drives
The traveller to a shelter-summoned him
Up to the mountains: he had been alone
Amid the heart of many thousand mists,
So lived he till his eightieth year was past.
And grossly that man errs, who should suppose the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks ou will suppose that with an upright path Were things indifferent to the shepherd's thoughts. our feet must struggle; in such bold ascent Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed ne pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
The cominon air; the hills, which he so oft (pressed et courage! for beside that boisterous brook
Had climbed with vigorous steps; which had im
A PASTORAL POEM.
That cb Were de
And 00 He was
So many incidents upon his mind
Murmur as with the sound of summer flies.
Ard, to Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear;
This light was famous in its neighbourhood,
Therest Which like a book preserved the memory
And was a public symbol of the life
Sethi Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved,
The thrifty pair had lived. For, as it chanced,
And for Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts,
Their cottage on a plot of rising ground
RECENIE So grateful in themselves, the certainty
Stood single, with large prospect, north and south,
Though Of honourable gain; these fields, these hills, High into Easedale, up to Dunmal-Raise,
Op look: Which were his living being, even more
And westward to the village near the lake; Than his own blood--what could they less? had laid And from this constant light, so regular
Agziast Strong hold on his affections, were to him
And so far seen, the house itself, by all
Na fear A pleasurable feeling of blind love,
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, The pleasure which there is in life itself.
Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. His days had not been passed in singleness. Thus living on through such a length of years, His helpmate was a comely matron, old
The shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs Though younger than himself full twenty years. Have loved his help-mate; but to Michael's heart She was a woman of a stirring life,
This son of his old age was yet more dear
Light te Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had
Effect which might perhaps have been produced Of antique form, this large for spinning wool, By that instinctive tenderness, the same
Or that a child, more than all other gifts,
, An only child, who had been born to them
And stirrings of inquietude, when they
By tendency of nature needs must fail.
Of the old man his only son was now
Exceeding was the love he bare to him, Made all their household. I may truly say, His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes That they were as a proverb in the vale,
Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, For endless industry. When day was gone,
Had done him female service, not alone And from their occupations out of doors
For dalliance and delight, as is the use
To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked
Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love,
To have the young one in his sight, when he
Had work by his owo door, or when he sat To such convenient work as might employ
With sheep before him on his shepherd's stool, Their hands by the fire-side; perhaps to card
*| Wool for the housewife's spindle, or repair
Ano Some injury done to sickle, tail, or scythe,
HAE Or other implement of house or field.
She Down from the cieling, by the chimney's edge,
Ti Which in our ancient uncouth country style
There, while they two were sitting in the shade, Did with a huge projection overbrow
With others round them, earnest all and blithe, Large space beneath, as duly as the light
Te Of day grew dim the housewife hung a lamp; An aged utensil, which had performed Service beyond all others of its kind.
By catching at their legs, or with his shouts Early at evening did it burn and late,
Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears,
H Surviving comrade of uncounted hours,
And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up
With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped
With iron, making it throughout in all There by the light of this old lamp they sat, Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, Father and son, while late into the night
And gave it to the boy, wherewith equipt The housewife plied her own peculiar work,
He as a watchman oftentimes was placed Making the cottage through the silent hours
At gate or gap, to stem or turn the Rock;
ere yet the boy
Apa Sect And
Beneath that large old oak, which near their dee
Would Michael exercise his heart with looks
A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek
And, to his office prematurely called,
Another kinsman-he will be our friend There stood the urchin, as you will divine,
In this distress. He is a prosperous man, Something between a hindrance and a help; Thriving in trade--and Luke to him shall go, And for this cause not always, I believe,
And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift Receiving from his father hire of praise;
He quickly will repair this loss, and then
If here he stay,
But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand What can be gained :" At this the old man paused,
Was busy, looking back into past times. He with his father daily went, and they
There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, Were as companions, why should I relate
He was a parish-boy-at the church-door That objects which the shepherd loved before They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence, Were dearer now? that from the boy there came And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours bought Feelings and emanations--things which were A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares; Light to the sun and music to the wind;
And with this basket on his arm, the lad And that the old man's heart seemed born again. Went up to London, found a master there, Thus in his father's sight the boy grew up:
Who out of many chose the trusty boy And now when he had reached his eighteenth year,
To go and overlook his merchandize He was his comfort and his daily hope.
Beyond the seas, where he grew wondrous rich,
And left estates and monies to the poor, While in this sort the simple household lived And at his birth-place built a chapel foored From day to day, to Michael's ear there came With marble, which he sent from foreign lands. Distressful tidings. Long before the time
These thoughts, and many others of like sort, Of which I speak, the shepherd had been bound Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, In surety for his brother's son, a man
And her face brightened. The old man was glad, of an industrious life, and ample means,
And thus resumed:-" Well, Isabel! this scheme But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly
These two days has been meat and drink to me. Had pressed upon him,-aud old Michael now
Far more than we have lost is left us yet. Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,
-We have enough-I wish indeed that I A grievous penalty, but little less
Were younger,-but this hope is a good hope. Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim, - Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best At the first hearing, for a moment took
Buy for him more, and let us send him forth More hope out of his life than he supposed
To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: That any old man ever could have lost.
-If he could go, the boy should go to-night.” As soon as he had gathered so much strength
Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth That he could look his trouble in the face,
With a light heart. The housewife for five days It seemed that his sole refuge was to sell
Was restless morn and night, and all day long A portion of his patrimonial fields.
Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare
To stop her in her work: for, when she lay “ I have been toiling more than seventy years,
By Michael's side, she through the two last nights And in the open sunshine of God's love
Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep: Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours And when they rose at moruing she could see Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think
That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon That I could not lie quiet in my grave.
She said to Luke, while they two by themselves Our lot is a hard lot; the sun itself
Were sitting at the door, " Thou must not go: Has scarcely been more diligent than I,
We have no other child but thee to lose, And I have lived to be a fool at last
None to remember-do not go away, To my own family. An evil man
For if thou leave thy father he will die." That was, and made an evil choice, if he
The youth made answer with a jocund voice; Were false to us; and, if he were not false,
And Isabel, when she had told her fears, There are ten thousand to whom loss like this
Recovered heart. That evening her best fare Had been no sorrow. I forgive him-but
Did she bring forth, and all together sat *Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. When I began, my purpose was to speak
Like happy people round a Christmas fire,
With daylight Isabel resumed her work;
And all the ensuing week the house appeared