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a the guardian mostra
go'st, I follow"
Zient, shape, and so
Ty best pastgeFrom out the tomb of him for whom she died; wel, miadi. Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
ht, О faithful soarer - en thee too fondly did my memory hang,
The mountains have all opened out themselves, Es pakulos: for the parend on the joys we shared in mortal life,
And made a hidden valley of their own, Eh, and not the mana ia he paths which we had trod—these fountains, No habitation there is seen; but such - not ungovernable lawn flowers;
As journey thither find themselves alone ports moderate
; ani su ly new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites repart, for brief is vives
That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
But for one object which you might pass by, reanimated corse, i soul I swept the indignity away:
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook to dweil on eartikeld frailties then recurred:—but lofty thought
There is a straggling heap of unhewn stones! Eils dispersed the menu 1 act embodied my deliverance wrought.
And to that place a story appertains, stood a youth and were And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak
Which, though it be ungarnished with events,
Is not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, to us are mercii -- 1 reason, in self-government too slow;
Or for the summer shade. It was the first, may relent: for nge counsel thee by fortitude to seek
The earliest of those tales that spake to me th of nerve and to-Jur blest re-union in the shades below. Feat orer suu asist. The invisible world with thee hath sympathized;
Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
Whom I already loved;—not verily gh oft to agocy does be thy affections raised and solemnized.
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills his favourite se Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend
Where was their occupation and abode. Towards a higher object:-Love was given, And hence this tale, while I was yet a boy on him and was al encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for this end: Careless of books, yet having felt the power wlour from his for this the passion to excess was driven
Of Nature, by the gentle agency l'hat self might be annulled; her bondage prove Of natural objects led me on to feel
l'he fetters of a dream, opposed to love.” --melanchey are
For passions that were not my own, and think a persive bago Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes re-appears! (vain :
(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life. se, such love a en Round the dear shade she would have clung—'tis
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.
Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale ty; more peizace was in a trance of passion thus removed;
There dwelt a shepherd, Michael was his name; Delivered from the galling yoke of time,
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. ated with parparei." And these frail elements—to gather flowers
His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of blissful quiet ʼmid unfading bowers.
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt
And watchful more than ordinary men.
Of blasts of every tone, and, oftentimes,
When others heeded not, he heard the south
Make subterraneous music, like the noise
Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. And ever, when such stature they had gained The shepherd, at such warning, of his flock uthful peers,
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view, Bethought him, and he to himself would say,
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
That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks You will suppose that with an upright path Were things indifferent to the shepherd's thoughts. Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. The common air; the hills, which he so oft (pressed But courage! for beside that boisterous ook
Had climbed with vigorous steps; which had im
Ost beautets- og
slal enter Face virtue. - L." s existence I disumme Games and reizes we had parted,
& his peculiare
was girer : libe
A PASTORAL POEM.
Teaving to the
itter, was they bt, beloved
That cb Were de
Thus And 00 He was
From Distre Uxbi la gre Cian Batur
There, while they two were sitting in the shade,
And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up
At gate or gap, to stem or turn the Rock;
So many incidents upon his mind
Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear;
This light was famous in its neighbourhood, Which like a book preserved the memory
And was a public symbol of the life Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved,
The thrifty pair had lived. For, as it chanced, Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts,
Their cottage on a plot of rising ground So grateful in themselves, the certainty
Stood single, with large prospect, north and south, Of honourable gain; these fields, these hills, High into Easedale, up to Dunmal-Raise, 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 Strong hold on his affections, were to him
And so far seen, the house itself, by all 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
This son of his old age was yet more dear-
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
Down from the cieling, by the chimney's edge,
Was Agrit Than
ere yet the boy
With sheep before him on his shepherd's stool,
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 thrist Receiving from his father hire of praise;
He quickly will repair this loss, and then Though nought was left undone which staffor voice, May come again to us.
If here he stay, Or looks, or threatening gestures could perform. What can be done? Where every one is poor
But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand What can be gained ?" At this the old man paused, Against the mountain blasts, and to the heights, And Isabel sat silent, for her mind Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways,
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 floored 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,—and 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 Such was his first resolve; he thought again, Things needful for the journey of her son. And his heart failed him. “ Isabel," said he, But Isabel was glad when Sunday came Two evenings after he had heard the news,
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 morving 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.
Like happy people round a Christmas fire. When I began, my purpose was to speak
With daylight Isabel resumed her work; Of remedies and of a cheerful hope.
And all the ensuing week the house appeared Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land
As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length Shall not go from us, and it shall be free.
The expected letter from their kinsman came, He shall possess it, free as is the wind
With kind assurances that he would do That passes over it. We have, thou know'st, His utmost for the welfare of the boy;
To which requests were added that forthwith But 'tis a long time to look back, my son,
These fields were burthened when they came to me;
Than half of my inheritance was mine.
That thou shouldst go." At this the old man paus'd;
Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, | Thus, after a short silence, he resumed: In that deep valley, Michael had designed
66 This was a work for us; and now, my son, To build a sheep-fold; and, before he heard It is a work for me. But, lay one stoneThe tidings of his melancholy loss,
Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.
Nay, boy, be of good hope;-we both may live
I still am strong and stout;—do thou thy part,
All works which I was wont to do alone,
Before I knew thy face.- Heaven bless thee, boy! And all thy life hast been my daily joy.
Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast I will relate to thee some little part
With many hopes—It should be so—Yes-yesOf our two histories; 'twill do thee good
I knew that thou couldst never have a wish When thou art from me, even if I should speak To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to me Of things thou canst not know of. After thou Only by links of love: when thou art gone, First cam'st into the world--as it befalls
What will be left to us!-But, I forget To new-born infants—thou didst sleep away
My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone,
And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts,
Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well-
'Twill be between us-But, whatever fate As well thou know'st, in us the old and young
Besal thee, I sball love thee to the last,
And bear thy memory with me to the grave."
The shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped
And, as his father bad requested, laid
The first stone of the sheep-fold. At the sight
The old man's grief broke from him, to his heart
He pressed his son, he kissed him and wept; A kind and a good father: and herein
And to the house together they returned.
-Hushed was that house in peace, or seeming peace,
Ere the night fell:-with morrow's dawn the boy
Began his journey, and when he had reached Remember them who loved me in my youth.
The public way, he put on a bold face ; Both of them sleep together: here they lived,
And all the neighbours as he passed their doors As all their forefathers had done; and when
Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, At length their time was come, they were not loth
That followed him till he was out of sight. To give their bodies to the family mold.
A good report did from their kinsman come,
Of Luke and his well-doing: and the boy
Which, as the housewife phrased it, were throughout When soothed awhile by milder airs, “ The prettiest letters that were ever seen."
Thee Winter in the garland wears Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.
That thinly shades his few grey hairs; So, many months passed on: and once again
Spring cannot shun thee; The shepherd went about his daily work
Whole Summer fields are thine by right; With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now
And Autumn, melancholy wight! F31. Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour
Doth in thy crimson head delight He to that valley took his way, and there
When rains are on thee. **Wrought at the sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began
In shoals and bands, & morrice train, Er To slacken in his duty; and at length
Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane ; "" He in the dissolute city gave himself
If welcomed once thou count'st it gain; To evil courses: ignominy and shame
Thou art not daunted, SHE Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
Nor car'st if thou be set at nought: 38,5 To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
And oft alone in nooks remote Bre: There is a comfort in the strength of love;
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, Lal . C. 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else
When such are wanted. - Would overset the brain,-or break the heart: I have conversed with more than one who well
Be Violets in their secret mews. 5- Remember the old man, and what he was
The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose ; Im Years after he had heard this heavy news.
Proud be the Rose, with rains and dews 12 His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Her head'impearling; Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks
Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, He went, and still looked up upon the sun,
Yet hast not gone without thy fame; e And listened to the wind; and as before
Thou art indeed by many a claim - Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep,
The Poet's darling. **?' And for the land his small inheritance.
If to a rock from rains he fly, det And to that hollow dell from time to time
Or, some bright day of April sky, Ek Did he repair, to build the fold of which
Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie px His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet
Near the green holly, ries The pity which was then in every heart
And wearily at length should fare ; be For the old man--and 'tis believed by all
He needs but look about, and there *** That many and many a day he thither went,
Thou art! a friend at hand, to scare And never lifted up a single stone.
His melancholy. There, by the sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen his Sitting alone, with that his faithful dog,
A hundred times, by rock or bower, Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, The length of full seven years from time to time
Have I derived from thy sweet power He at the building of this sheep-fold wrought,
Some apprehension ; And left the work unfinished when he died.
Some steady love; some brief delight; Three years, or little more, did Isabel
Some memory that had taken flight; Survive her husband: at her death the estate
Some chime of fancy wrong or right; Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand:
Or stray invention. The cottage which was named The Evening Star
If stately passions in me burn, Is gone-the ploughshare has been through the
And one chance look to thee should turn, ground
I drink out of an humbler urn On which it stood ; great changes have been wrought
A lowlier pleasure; In all the neighbourhood :-yet the oak is left
The homely sympathy that heeds That grew beside their door; and the remains
The common life our nature breeds; Of the unfinished sheep-fold may be seen
A wisdom fitted to the needs Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll..
Of hearts at leisure.
TO THE DAISY.
Most pleased when most uneasy;
Of thee, sweet Daisy!
When, smitten by the morning ray,
With kindred gladness :
Of careful sadness.
And all day long 1 number yet,