Compared with hers who long hath lain, The fever of that pale-faced Child; 35 To scare him as a trespasser, Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring; 40 On human nature's second infancy. Recalling now, with descant soft Shed round her pillow from aloft, 75 80 66 II. Sweet babe! they say that I am mad, Thrice happy Creature! in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands: Free entrance to this cot has he, Entrance and exit both yet free; And when the keen unruffled weather, That thus brings man and bird together, Shall with its pleasantness be past, And casement closed and door made fast, To keep at bay the howling blast, He needs not fear the season's rage, For the whole house is Robin's cage. Whether the bird flit here or there, O'er table lilt, or perch on chair, Though some may frown and make a stir, 1 The words “Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on," 66 70 are part of a child's prayer, still in general use through the northern counties. pray thee have no fear of me; But safe as in a cradle, here My lovely baby! thou shalt be: To thee I know too much I owe; I cannot work thee any woe. III. "A fire was once within my brain; ΙΟ 15 20 25 Oh joy for me that sight to see! For he was here, and only he. IV. "Suck, little babe, oh suck again! V. "Oh! love me, love me, little boy! child? Without me my sweet babe would die. 50 What wicked looks are those I see? 85 90 95 "Oh! smile on me, my little lamb! And there, my babe, we'll live for aye." 100 POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES. ADVERTISEMENT. By persons resident in the country, and attached to rural objects, many places will be found unnamed or of unknown names, where little Incidents must have occurred, or feelings been expe rienced, which will have given to such places a private and peculiar interest. From a wish to give some sort of record to such Incidents, and renew the gratification of such feelings, Names have been given to Places by the Author and some of his Friends, and the following Poems written in consequence. The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush, Vied with this waterfall, and made a song Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth Or like some natural produce of the air, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; 30 But 'twas the foliage of the rocks-the birch, The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, With hanging islands of resplendent furze : And on a summit, distant a short space, By any who should look beyond the dell 35 A single mountain-cottage might be seen. I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, "Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook, My EMMA1, I will dedicate to thee." -Soon did the spot become my other Years after we are gone and in our graves, When they have cause to speak of this wild place, 46 May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL. 1 Emma: the poet's sister Dora, just as Emmeline is elsewhere used as a pseudonym for Dorothy. See editor's note on To a Butterfly, 25 p. 897.-ED. Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb, The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by Came forth to greet me; and, when he had asked, "How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted And Fairfield answered with a mountain Maid! tone; And when will she return to us?" he Helvellyn far into the clear blue sky paused; And, after short exchange of village news, 60 Carried the Lady's voice,-old Skiddaw blew He with grave looks demanded for what His speaking-trumpet;-back out of the Some uncouth name upon the native rock,-Now whether (said I to our cordial teen moons Were wasted, as I chanced to walk alone Beneath this rock, at sunrise, on a calm And silent morning, I sat down, and there, In memory of affections old and true, 81 I chiselled out in those rude characters Joanna's name deep in the living stone:And I, and all who dwell by my fireside, Have called the lovely rock, JOANNA'S ROCK." 85 NOTE.-In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several Inscriptions, upon the native rock, which, from the wasting of time, and the rudeness of the workmanship, have been mistaken for Runic. They are, without doubt, Roman. The Rotha, mentioned in this poem, is the River which, flowing through the lakes of Grasmere and Rydal, falls into Winandermere. On Helm-crag, that impressive single mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, is a rock which from most points of view bears a striking resemblance to an old Woman cowering. Close by this rock is one of those fissures or caverns, which in the language of the country are called dungeons. Most of the mountains here mentioned immediately surround the Vale of Grasmere; of the others, some are at a considerable distance, but they belong to the same cluster. III. [Composed 1800.-Published 1800.] THERE is an Eminence,-of these our hills The last that parleys with the setting sun; We can behold it from our orchard seat; And, when at evening we pursue our walk Along the public way, this Peak, so high Above us, and so distant in its height, 6 Is visible; and often seems to send Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts. The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: The star of Jove, so beautiful and large In the mid heavens, is never half so fair |