"Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like Lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe, our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? and at break of day I will come to thee again!”

Sleep

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seem'd, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;

Nay," said I, "more than half to the Damsel must belong, For she look'd with such a look, and she spake with such

a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

THE valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the echoes play

A never, never ending song,
To welcome in the May.

The Magpie chatters with delight;
The mountain Raven's youngling brood

Have left the Mother and the Nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;

Or through the glittering Vapours dart

In very wantonness of heart.

* Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, i a short, and, for the most part, a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for Waterfall.

Two Boys are sitting in the sun;
Boys that have had no work to do,
Or work that now is done.

On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas Hymn ;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call Stag-horn, or Fox's Tail,
Their rusty Hats they trim:

And thus, as happy as the Day,

Those Shepherds wear the time away.

III.

Along the river's stony marge

The Sand-lark chants a joyous song;
The Thrush is busy in the wood,
And carols loud and strong.

A thousand Lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky
Keep jubilee; and more than all,
Those Boys with their green Coronal;
They never hear the cry,

That plaintive cry! which up the hill

Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.

IV.

Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
"Down to the stump of yon old yew
We'll for our Whistles run a race."
Away the Shepherds flew.

They leapt

they ran - and when they came

Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,

Seeing that he should lose the prize,

Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries

He stopped with no good will:

Said Walter then, "Your task is here,
"Twill baffle for half a year.
you

ས.

"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross Come on, and in my footsteps tread!"

The other took him at his word,

And followed as he led.

It was a spot which you may see

If ever you to Langdale go;

Into a chasm a mighty Block

Hath fallen, and made a Bridge of rock:

The gulf is deep below;

And in a basin black and small

Receives a lofty Waterfall.

VI.

With staff in hand across the cleft

The Challenger pursued his march;
all eyes and feet, hath gain'd

And now,

The middle of the arch.

When list! he hears a piteous moan

Again! his heart within him dies

His pulse is stopp'd, his breath is lost,
He totters, pallid as a ghost,

And, looking down, espies

A Lamb, that in the pool is pent

Within that black and frightful Rent.

VII.

The Lamb had slipp'd into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound

The Cataract had borne him down
Into the gulf profound.

His Dam had seen him when he fell,
She saw him down the torrent borne ;

And, while with all a mother's love

She from the lofty rocks above

Sent forth a cry forlorn,

The Lamb, still swimming round and round,

Made answer to that plaintive sound.