I knew that thou couldst never have a wish | He to that valley took his way, and there, To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound Wrought at the sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began
Only by links of love: when thou art gone, What will be left to us!-But, I forget My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, When thou art gone away, should evil men Be thy companions, think of me, my son, And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, fear And God will strengthen thee: amid all And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou Mayst bear in mind the life thy fathers lived,
Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare [wilt see When thou return'st, thou in this place A work which is not here: a covenant "Twill be between us--and -But, whatever fate Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last, And bear thy memory with me to the grave."
The shepherd ended here; and Luke' stooped down,
And, as his father had requested, laid The first stone of the sheep-fold. At the sight [his heart The old man's grief broke from him; to He pressed his son, he kissed him and wept ;
To slacken in his duty; and at length He in the dissolute city gave himself To evil courses: ignominy and shame Fell on him, so that he was driven at last To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
I have conversed with more than one who
Remember the old man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news. His bodily frame had been from youth to Of an unusual strength. age [rocks He went, and still looked up upon the sun, And listened to the wind; and as before Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep, And for the land his small inheritance. And to that hollow dell from time to time
Did he repair, to build the fold of which His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old man-and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither
TO CHARLES LAMB, ESQ.
MY DEAR FRIEND, -When I sent you, a few weeks ago, the Tale of Peter Bell, you asked why THE WAGGONER was not added ?" To say the truth,-from the higher tone of imagination, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in the former, I apprehended, this little piece could not accompany it without disadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, 'THE WAGGONER was read to you in manuscript and, as you have remembered it for so long a time, I am the more encouraged to hope, that, since the localities on which it partly depends did not prevent its being interesting to you, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measure the cause of its present appearance, you must allow me the gratification of inscribing it to you; in acknow. ledgment of the pleasure I have derived from your writings, and of the high esteem with which I am, very truly yours,
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
RYDAL MOUNT, May 20, 1819.
"TIS spent this burning day of June! Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is steal- The dor-hawk, solitary bird, Ling;
Round the dim crags on heavy pinions wheeling,
Buzzes incessantly, a tiresome tune; That constant voice is all that can be heard! In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon!!
Confiding glow-worms! 'tis a night Propitious to your earth-born light; But, where the scattered stars are seen In hazy straits the clouds between, Each, in his station twinkling not, Seems changed into a pallid spot, The air. as in a lion's den,
Is close and hot ;-and now and then Comes a tired and sultry breeze With a haunting and a panting, Like the stifling of disease;
The mountains rise to wondrous height, And in the heavens there hangs a weight; But the dews allay the heat, And the silence makes it sweet.
Hush, there is some one on the stir 'Tis Benjamin the waggoner;Who long hath trod this toilsome way, Companion of the night and day. That far-off tinkling's drowsy cheer, Mixed with a faint yet grating sound In a moment lost and found, The wain announces--by whose side, Along the banks of Rydal Mere, He paces on, a trusty guide,Listen! you can scarcely hear! Hither he his course is bending :Now he leaves the lower ground, And up the craggy hill ascending Many a stop and stay he makes, Many a breathing-fit he takes ;-Steep the way and wearisome, Yet all the while his whip is dumb!
For, at the bottom of the brow, Where once the DOVE and OLIVE-BOUGH Offered a greeting of good ale To all who entered Grasmere Vale; And called on him who must depart.. To leave it with a jovial heart ;— There, where the Dove and OLIVE-BOUGH Once hung, a poet harbours now,— A simple water-drinking bard; Why need our hero, then, (though frail His best resolves) be on his guard? He marches by, secure and bold,- Yet, while he thinks on times of old, It seems that all looks wondrous cold; He shrugs his shoulders-shakes his head- And, for the honest folk within, It is a doubt with Benjamin Whether they be alive or dead!
Here is no danger,
-none at all! Beyond his wish is he secure ; But pass a mile-and then for trial, – Then for the pride of self-denial; If he resist that tempting door, Which with such friendly voice will call, If he resist those.casement panes,
And that bright gleam which thence will | We climb-that, piteously abused,
Upon his leaders' bells and manes, Inviting him with cheerful lure; For still, though all be dark elsewhere, Some shining notice will be there, Of open house and ready fare.
The place to Benjamin full well Is known, and by as strong a spell As used to be that sign of love
[fall Ye plunged in anger and confused: As chance would have it, passing by
And hope-the OLIVE-BOUGH and DOVE He knows it to his cost, good man! Who does not know the famous SWAN? Uncouth although the object be, An image of perplexity; Yet not the less it is our boast, For it was painted by the host; His own conceit the figure planned, "Twas coloured all by his own hand; And that frail child of thirsty clay, Of whom I sing this rustic lay, Could tell with self-dissatisfaction Quaint stories of the bird's attraction !*
Well! that is past-and in despite Of open door and shining light. And now the conqueror essays The long ascent of Dunmail-raise; And with his team is gentle here As when he clomb from Rydal Mere; His whip they do not dread-his voice They only hear it to rejoice.
To stand or go is at their pleasure; 'Their efforts and their time they measure By generous pride within the breast And, while they strain, and while they rest, He thus pursues his thoughts at leisure.
Now am I fairly safe to-night- And never was my heart more light. I trespassed lately worse than ever- But Heaven will bless a good endeavour; And, to my soul's delight, I find The evil one is left behind.
Yes, let my master fume and fret, Here am I-with my horses yet! My jolly team, he finds that ye Will work for nobody but me! Good proof of this the country gained, One day, when ye were vexed and strained- Intrusted to another's care,
And forced unworthy stripes to bear. Here was it-on this rugged spot Which now, contented with our lot,
*This rude piece of self-taught art (such is the progress of refinement) has been supplanted by a professional production,
I saw you in your jeopardy:
A word from me was like a charm- The ranks were taken with one mind; And your huge burthen, safe from harm, Moved like a vessel in the wind! Yes, without me, up hills so high 'Tis vain to strive for mastery.
Then grieve not, jolly team! though tough The road we travel, steep and rough. Though Rydal-heights and Dunmail-raise, And all their fellow banks and braes, Full often make you stretch and strain, And halt for breath and halt again, Yet to their sturdiness 'tis owing That side by side we still are going!
While Benjamin in earnest mood His meditations thus pursued,
A storm, which had been smothered long, Was growing inwardly more strong; And, in its struggles to get free, Was busily employed as he. The thunder had begun to growl-- He heard not, too intent of soul; The air was now without a breath- He marked not that 'twas still as death, But soon large drops upon his head Fell with the weight of drops of lead ;- He starts-and, at the admonition, Takes a survey of his condition. The road is black before his eyes, Glimmering faintly where it lies; Black is the sky-and every hill, Up to the sky, is blacker still; A huge and melancholy room, Hung round and overhung with gloom! Save that above a single height Is to be seen a lurid light,
Above Helm-cragf-a streak half dead, A burning of portentous red; And, near that lurid light, full well The ASTROLOGER, sage Sidrophel, Where at his desk and book he sits, Puzzling on high his curious wits; He whose domain is held in common With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN, Cowering beside her rifted cell;
As if intent on magic spell ;- Dread pair, that spite of wind and weather, Still sit upon Helm-crag together!
A mountain of Grasmere, the broken summit of which presents two figures, full as distinctly shaped as that of the famous Cobbler, near Arroquhar, in Scotland.
The ASTROLOGER was not unseen By solitary Benjamin :
But total darkness came anon, And he and everything was gone. And suddenly a ruffling breeze, (That would have sounded through the Had aught of sylvan growth been there) Was felt throughout the region bare : The rain rushed down-the road was bat- tered,
As with the force of billows shattered; The horses are dismayed, nor know Whether they should stand or go; And Benjamin is groping near them, Sees nothing, and can scarcely hear them.
He is astounded,-wonder not,— With such a charge in such a spot; Astounded in the mountain gap By peals of thunder, clap on clap! And many a terror-striking flash ;- And somewhere, as it seems, a crash, Among the rocks; with weight of rain, And sullen motions long and slow, That to a dreary distance go- Till, breaking in upon the dying strain, A rending o'er his head begins the fray again.
Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, And oftentimes compelled to halt, The horses cautiously pursue Their way, without mishap or fault; And now have reached that pile of stones, Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones; He who had once supreme command, Last king of rocky Cumberland ; His bones, and those of all his power, Slain here in a disastrous hour!
"Tis not a time for nice suggestion, And Benjamin, without further question, Taking her for some way-worn rover, Said, Mount, and get you under cover!"
Another voice, in tone as hoarse As a swoln brook with rugged course, Cried out, Good brother, why so fast? I've had a glimpse of you-avast! Or, since it suits you to be civil, Take her at once-for good and evil!"'
"It is my husband," softly said The woman, as if half afraid :
By this time she was snug within, Through help of honest Benjamin ; She and her babe, which to her breast With thankfulness the mother pressed; And now the same strong voice more near Said cordially, "My friend, what cheer? Rough doings these! as God's my judge, The sky owes somebody a grudge! We've had in half an hour or less A twelvemonth's terror and distress !''
Then Benjamin entreats the man Would mount, too, quickly as he can: The sailor, sailor now no more, But such he had been heretofore, To courteous Benjamin replied,
Go you your way, and mind not me; For I must have, whate'er betide, My ass and fifty things beside,- Go, and I'll follow speedily!"
The waggon moves-and with its load Descends along the sloping road; And to a little tent hard by Turns the sailor instantly;
For when, at closing-in of day, The family had come that way, Green pasture and the soft warm air Had tempted them to settle there. Green is the grass for beast to graze, Around the stones of Dunmail-raise !
The sailor gathers up his bed, Takes down the canvas overhead; And, after farewell to the place, A parting word-though not of grace, Pursues, with ass and all his store, The way the waggon went before.
IF Wytheburn's modest house of prayer, As lowly as the lowliest dwelling, Had, with its belfry's humble stock, A little pair that hang in air,
Been mistress also of a clock,
(And one, too, not in crazy plight)
This was the outside proclamation, T This was the inside salutation;filos vi*
Twelve strokes that clock would have been What bustling-jostling-high and low !
Under the brow of old Helvellyn- Its bead-roll of midnight, Then, when the hero of my tale Was passing by, and down the vale (The vale now silent, hushed I ween, As if a storm had never been) Proceeding with an easy mind; While he, who had been left behind, Intent to use his utmost haste, Gained ground upon the waggon fast, And gives another lusty cheer; For spite of rumbling of the wheels, A welcome greeting he can hear ;— It is a fiddle in its glee
Dinning from the CHERRY TREE!
Thence the sound-the light is thereAs Benjamin is now aware, Who, to his inward thoughts confined, Had almost reached the festive door, When, startled by the sailor's roar, He hears a sound and sees the light, And in a moment calls to mind That 'tis the village MERRY-NIGHT !*
Although before in no dejection, At this insidious recollection His heart with sudden joy is filled,— His ears are by the music thrilled, His eyes take pleasure in the road Glittering before him bright and broad; And Benjamin is wet and cold, And there are reasons manifold [yearning That make the good, towards which he's Look fairly like a lawful earning.
Nor has thought time to come and go, To vibrate between yes and no;
For," cries the sailor, "glorious chance That blew us hither! Let him dance Who can or will;-my honest soul Our treat shall be a friendly bowl!" He draws him to the door-" Come in, Come, come," cries he to Benjamin; And Benjamin-ah, woe is me! Gave the word,-the horses heard And halted, though reluctantly.
"Blithe souls and lightsome hearts have Feasting at the CHERRY TREE!"
* A term well known in the north of England, and applied to rural festivals where young persons meet in the evening for the purpose of dancing.
A universal overflow;
What tankards foaming from the tap! What store of cakes in every lap!
thumping-stumping-over-head! The thunder had not been more busy: With such a stir, you would have said, This little place may well be dizzy! 'Tis who can dance with greatest vigour'Tis what can be most prompt and
A steaming bowl-a blazing fire- What greater good can heart desire? 'Twere worth a wise man's while to try The utmost anger of the sky;
To seek for thoughts of painful cast, If such be the amends at last. Now, should you think I judge amiss, The CHERRY TREE shows proof of this; For soon, of all the happy there, Our travellers are the happiest pair. All care with Benjamin is gone- A Cæsar past the Rubicon!
He thinks not of his long, long strife ;- The sailor man, by nature gay, Hath no resolves to throw away; And he hath now forgot his wife, Hath quite forgotten her-or may be Deems that she is happier, laid Within that warm and peaceful bed; Under cover, terror over, Sleeping by her sleeping baby.
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