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From our own folly and rank wickedness,

And grateful, that by Nature's quietness
Which gave them birth and nurse them. Others, And solitary musings, all my heart
Dote with a mad idolatry; and all (meanwhile, Is soften'd, and made worthy to indulge
Who will not fall before their images,

Love, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.
And yield them worship, they are enemies,
Even of their country!

FIRE, FAMINE, AND SLAUGHTER. Such have I been deem'd But, О dear Britain! O my Mother Isle! Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy The Scene, a desolated Tract in La Vendee. FAXINE To me, a son, a brother, and a friend,

is discovered lying on the ground; to her enter A husband, and a father! who revere

All bonds of natural love, and find them all

Within the limits of thy rocky shores.
O native Britain! O my Mother Isle ! (holy

Sisters! sisters! who sent you here?
How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and

SLAUGHTER (to Fire.)
To me, who from thy lakes and mountain-hills,
Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and as,

I will whisper it in her ear.
Have drunk in all my intellectual life,

All sweet sensations, all ennobling thoughts,
All adoration of the God in Nature,

No! no! no!
All lovely and all honourable things,

Spirits hear what spirits tell: Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel

"Twill make an holiday in Hell.

No! no! no!
The joy and greatness of its future being?
There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul

Myself, I nam'd him once below,
Unborrow'd from my country. O divine

And all the souls, that damned be,
And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole Leapt up at once in anarchy,
And most magnificent temple, in the which Clapp'd their hands and danced for glee.
I walk with awe, and sing my stately songs,

They no longer beeded me;
Loving the God that made me!

But laugh'd to hear Hell's burning rafters

Unwillingly re-echo laughters!
May my fears,

No! no! no!
My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts

Spirits hear what spirits tell: And menace of the vengeful enemy

'Twill make an holiday in Hell ! Pass like the gust, that roar'd and died away In the distant tree: which heard, and only heard

FAMINE. In this low dell, bow'd not the delicate grass.

Whisper it, sister! so and so!
But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad

In a dark hint, soft and slow.
The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze:
The light has left the summit of the hill,

Though still a sunny gleam lies beautiful

Letters four do form his name-
Aslant the ivied beacon. Now farewell,

And who sent you?
Farewell, awhile, O soft and silent spot!
On the green sheep-track, up the heathy bill,

Homeward I wind my way; and, lo! recallid

The same! the same!
From bodings that have well nigh wearied me,
I find myself upon the brow, and pause

Startled! And after lonely sojourning

He came by stealth, and unlock'd my den, In such a quiet and surrounded nook,

And I have drunk the blood since then
This burst of prospect, here the shadowy Main,

Of thrice three hundred thousand men.
Dim tinted, there the mighty majesty
Of that huge amphitheatre of rich

And elmy fields, seems like society-

Who bade you do't?
Conversing with the mind, and giving it
A livelier impulse and a dance of thought!

And now, beloved Stowey! I behold

The same! the same!
Thychurch-tower,and, methinks, the four huge elms Letters four do form his name.
Clustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;

He let me loose, and cried, Halloo!
And close behind them, hidden from my view, To him alone the praise is due.
Is my own lowly cottage, where my babe
And my babe's mother dwell in peace! With light

And quicken’d footsteps thitherward I tend,

Thanks, sister, thanks! the men have bled, Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!

Their wives and their children faint for bread.

I stood in a swampy field of battle;

SLAUGHTER. With bones and skulls I made a rattle,

They shall tear him limb from limb! To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow And the homeless dog, but they would not go.

FIRE. So off I flew: for how could I bear

O thankless beldames and untrue! To see them gorge their dainty fare?

And is this all that you can do I heard a groan and a peevish squall,

For him, who did so much for you? And through the chink of a cottage-wall

Ninety months he, by my troth!
Can you guess what I saw there?

Hath richly cater'd for you both;

And in an hour would you repay

An eight years' work ?-Away! away! Whisper it, sister! in our ear.

I alone am faithful! I

Cling to him everlastingly.
A baby beat its dying mother:
I had stary'd the one and was starving the other!


All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Who bade you do't?

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

Are all but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.
The same! the same!

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Letters four do form his name.

Live o'er again that happy hour, He let me loose, and cried, Halloo !

When midway on the mount I lay, To him alone the praise is due.

Beside the ruin's tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Sisters! I from Ireland came !

Had blended with the lights of eve; Hedge and corn-fields all on flame,

And she was there, my hope, my joy, I triumph'd o'er the setting Sun!

My own dear Genevieve!
And all the while the work was done,
On as I strode with my huge strides,

She leant against the armed man,
I Aung back my head and I held my sides,

The statue of the armed knight; It was so rare a piece of fun

She stood and listen'd to my lay, To see the swelter'd cattle run

Amid the lingering light. With uncouth gallop through the night,

Few sorrows hath she of her own, Scared by the red and noisy light!

My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! By the light of his own blazing cot

She loves me best, whene'er I sing Was many a naked rebel shot:


that make her grieve. The house-stream met the flame and hiss'd, While crash! fell in the roof, I wist,

I play'd a soft and doleful air, On some of those old bed-rid nurses,

I sang an old and moving storyThat deal in discontent and curses.

An old rude song, that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.

She listen’d with a fitting blush,
Who bade you do't?

With downcast eyes and modest grace,

For well she knew, I could not chuse

But gaze upon her face.
The same! the same!
Letters four do form his name.

I told her of the Knight that wore
He let me loose, and cried, Halloo!

Upon his shield a burning brand; To him alone the praise is due.

And that for ten long years he woo'd

The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pin'd; and ah!
He let us loose, and cried, Halloo!

The deep, the low, the pleading tone How shall we yield him honour due ?

With which I sang another's love,

Interpreted my own.
Wisdom comes with lack of food.

She listen'd with a flitting blush, I'll gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude,

With downcast eyes, and modest grace; Till the cup of rage o'erbrim:

And she forgave me, that I gazed They shall seize him and his brood

Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn

All impulses of soul and sense That craz'd that bold and lovely Knight,

Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve; And that he cross’d the mountain-woods,

The music, and the doleful tale, Nor rested day nor night;

The rich and balmy eve; That sometimes from the savage den,

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, And sometimes from the darksome shade,

An undistinguishable throng, And sometimes starting up at once

And gentle wishes long subdued, In green and sunny glade,

Subdued and cherish'd long ! There came and look'd him in the face

She wept with pity and delight, An angel beautiful and bright;

She blush'd with love, and virgin-shame; And that he knew it was a fiend,

And like the murmur of a dream, This miserable Knight!

I heard her breathe my name. And that unknowing what he did,

Her bosom heav'd-she stept aside, He leap'd amid a murderous band,

As conscious of my look she steptAnd sav'd from outrage worse than death

Then suddenly, with tímorous eye The Lady of the Land!

She fled to me and wept. And how she wept, and claspt his knees;

She half enclosed me with her arms, And how she tended him in vain

She press'd me with a meek embrace; And ever strove to expiate

And bending back her head, look'd up, The scorn that crazed his brain.

And gazed upon my face. And that she nursed him in a cave;

'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear, And how his madness went away,

And partly 'twas a bashful art, When on the yellow forest-leaves

That I might rather feel, than see, A dying man he lay.

The swelling of her heart. His dying words—but when I reach'd

I calm’d her fears, and she was calm, That tenderest strain of all the ditty,

And told her love with virgin-pride. My faultering voice and pausing harp

And so I won my Genevieve, Disturb'd her soul with pity!

My bright and beauteous bride.



The first that died was little Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.


A simple child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage girl: She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.

So in the church-yard she was laid; And all the summer dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side.” “ How many are you then,” said I, “ If they two are in Heaven!” The little maiden did reply, “ O master! we are seven." “ But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in Heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away: for still The little maid would have her will, And said, “ Nay, we are Seven !"



She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
- Her beauty made me glad.
“ Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?”
“ How many? Seven in all,” she said,
And wondering looked at me.
“ And where are they? I pray you

She answered, “ Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
- Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
“ You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven !-I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be?"
Then did the little maid reply,
“ Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree.”
“ You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
“ Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
The little maid replied,
“ Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit-
I sit and sing to them.
And often after sun-set, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice: it said, “ Drink, pretty creature,

drink!" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its


No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,

(meal. While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper

took, Seem'd to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.

[a tone “ Drink, pretty creature, drink,” she said in such That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare !

[pair. I watched them with delight; they were a lovely Now with her empty can the maiden turned away; But, ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she




Towards the lamb she looked; and from that shady “ Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; place

Night and day thou art safe,ếour cottage is hard by. I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face: Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee bring,

(sing. again!" Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy “ What ails thee, young one? What? Why pull

This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; [feet, so at thy cord ?

[board ?

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, Is it not well with thee? Well both for bed and

That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; mine. Rest, little young one, rest; what is’t that aileth thee? “ What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting

Again, and once again did I repeat the song; to thy heart


“ Nay,” said I, “ more than half to the dansel must belong,

(such a tone, Thy limbs, are they not strong? And beautiful thou

For she looked with such a look, and she spake with This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have

That I almost received her heart into my own." no peers; And that green corn, all day, is rustling in thy ears! “ If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,

THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain ; For rain and mountain storms! the like thou need'st not fear[come here

I. The rain and storm are things which scarcely can

The valley rings with mirth and joy; “ Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day

Among the hills the echoes play When

father found thee first in places far away: A never, never ending song, Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned To welcome in the May: by none;

The magpie chatters with delight; And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone. The mountain raven's youngling brood “ He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee

Have left the mother and the nest; home:

[roam ?

And they go rambling east and west A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou

In search of their own food; A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee

Or through the glittering vapours

dart yean

In very wantonness of heart. Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

II. “ Thou know'st that twice a-day I have brought

Beneath a rock, upon the grass, thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;

Two boys are sitting in the sun; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with

It seems they have no work to do

Or that their work is done. dew,

[new. I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is, and

On pipes of sycamore they play

The fragments of a Christmas hymn; “ Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they Or with that plant which in our dale are now,

[plough; We call stag-horn, or fox's tail, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the Their rusty hats they trim: My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is And thus, as happy as the day, cold

(fold. Those shepherds wear the time away. Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy

III. “ It will not, will not rest!-poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in

Along the river's stony marge thee?

The sand-lark chaunts a joyous song; Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

The thrush is busy in the wood, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see

And carols loud and strong. nor hear.

A thousand lambs are on the rocks,

All newly born! both earth and sky
6 Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair! Keep jubilee; and more than all,
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come Those boys with their green coronal;

They never hear the cry,
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, That plaintive cry! which up the hill
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey. Comes from the depth of Dungeon Ghyll.

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