"Thou knowest that twice a day I brought thee in this Can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts of mild new. warm milk it is and "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now; Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony in the plough: My Playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold. "It will not, will not rest! Poor Creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear. "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 needest 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? Sleep and at break of day I will come to thee again!" As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, 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; 66 Nay," said I, 66 more than half to the Damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own." HART-LEAP WELL. Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them. THE Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor "Another horse!" That shout the Vassal heard Joy sparkled in the prancing Courser's eyes; A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? The poor Hart toils along the mountain side; Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn; Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned, Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched; And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched The waters of the spring were trembling still. And now, too happy for repose or rest, (Never had living man such joyful lot!) Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west, And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot. And climbing up the hill (it was at least Nine roods of sheer ascent)-Sir Walter found Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till now I'll build a Pleasure-house upon this spot, A cunning Artist will I have to frame A basin for that fountain in the dell! And they who do make mention of the same And, gallant Stag! to make thy praises known, And, in the summer-time, when days are long, Till the foundations of the mountains fail Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steered, And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall 1 |