Waving his hat, the shepherd, from the vale,
Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,
That, barking busy, 'mid the glittering rocks,
Hunts, where he points, the intercepted flocks.
Where oaks o'erhang the road the radiance shoots
On tawny earth, wild weeds, and twisted roots;
The Druid stones their lighted fane unfold,
And all the babbling brooks are liquid gold;
* Sunk to a curve, the day-star lessens still,
Gives one bright glance, and drops behind the hill.

In these secluded vales, if village fame, Confirmed by silver hairs, belief may claim; When up the hills, as now, retired the light, Strange apparitions mock'd the gazer's sight.

A desperate form appears, that spurs his steed Along the midway cliffs with violent speed; Unhurt pursues his lengthen'd flight, while all Attend, at every stretch, his headlong fall. Anon, in order mounts a gorgeous show Of horsemen shadows winding to and fro;

*

From Thomson. See Scott's Critical Essays.

At intervals imperial banners stream,

And now the van reflects the solar beam,

The rear thro' iron brown betrays a sullen gleam;
* Lost gradual, o'er the heights in pomp they go,
While silent stands th' admiring vale below;
Till, save the lonely beacon, all is fled,
That tips with eve's last gleam his spiry head.

Now, while the solemn evening shadows sail, On red slow-waving pinions, down the vale; And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines, Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines, How pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray Where winds the road along a secret bay; By rills that tumble down the woody steeps, And run in transport to the dimpling deeps; Along the "wild meand'ring shore" to view Obsequious Grace the winding Swan pursue: He swells his lifted chest, and backward flings His bridling neck between his towering wings;

See a description of an appearance of this kind in Clark's Survey of the Lakes, accompanied by vouchers of its veracity, that may amuse the reader.

In all the majesty of ease, divides

And glorying, looks around, the silent tides;
On as he floats, the silver'd waters glow,

Proud of the varying arch and moveless form of snow.
While tender Cares and mild domestic Loves,
With furtive watch pursue her as she moves;
The Female with a meeker charm succeeds,
And her brown little-ones around her leads,
Nibbling the water lilies as they pass,
Or playing wanton with the floating grass.
She, in a mother's care, her beauty's pride
Forgets, unwearied watching every side;
She calls them near, and with affection sweet
Alternately relieves their weary feet;
Alternately they mount her back, and rest
Close by her mantling wings' embraces prest.

Long may ye float upon these floods serene; Yours be these holms untrodden, still, and green, Whose leafy shades fence off the blustering gale, Where breathes in peace the lily of the vale. Yon Isle, which feels not even the milk-maid's feet, Yet hears her song, "by distance made more sweet,"

Yon isle conceals your home, your cottage bower,
Fresh water rushes strew the verdant floor;
Long grass and willows form the woven wall,
And swings above the roof the poplar tall.
Thence issuing often with unwieldly stalk,
With broad black feet ye crush your flow'ry walk;
Or, from the neighbouring water, hear at morn
The hound, the horse's tread, and mellow horn;
Involve your serpent necks in changeful rings,
Roll'd wantonly between your slippery wings,
Or, starting up with noise and rude delight,
Force half upon the wave your cumbrous flight.

Fair Swan! by all a mother's joys caress'd, Haply some wretch has eyed, and called thee bless'd; The whilst upon some sultry summer's day She dragg'd her babes along this weary way; Or taught their limbs along the burning road A few short steps to totter with their load.

I see her now, denied to lay her head,
On cold blue nights, in hut or straw-built shed,
Turn to a silent smile their sleepy cry,

By pointing to a shooting star on high:

I hear, while in the forest depth, he sees
The Moon's fix'd gaze between the opening trees,
In broken sounds her elder grief demand,

And skyward lift, like one that prays, his hand,
If, in that country, where he dwells afar,
His father views that good, that kindly star;
-Ah me! all light is mute amid the gloom,
The interlunar cavern, of the tomb.

When low-hung clouds each star of summer hide,
And fireless are the valleys far and wide,
Where the brook brawls along the painful road,
Dark with bat-haunted ashes stretching broad,
Oft has she taught them on her lap to play
Delighted, with the glow-worm's harmless ray
Toss'd light from hand to hand; while on the ground
Small circles of green radiance gleam around.

Oh! when the sleety showers her path assail, And roars between the hills the torrent gale.

No more her breath can thaw their fingers cold, Their frozen arms her neck no more can fold; Weak roof a cowering form two babes to shield, And faint the fire a dying heart can yield!