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The Child, as if the thunder's voice spake But who shall show, to waking sense gleam of light that broke

with articulate call,

ΙΟ

Bowed meekly in submissive fear, before Forth from his eyes, when first the the Lord of All; looked down on that huge oak, His lips were moving; and his eyes, up- For length of days so much revered raised to sue for grace, famous where it stands

With soft illumination cheered the dim- For twofold hallowing-Nature's c ness of that place. and work of human hands?

How beautiful is holiness!-what wonder Strong as an Eagle with my charg glided round and round

if the sight,

Almost as vivid as a dream, produced a The wide-spread boughs, for view of d

dream at night?

It came with sleep and showed the Boy, no cherub, not transformed, 15 But the poor ragged Thing whose ways my human heart had warmed.

window, and stair that wound Gracefully up the gnarled trunk; left we unsurveyed

The pointed steeple peering forth f the centre of the shade.

Me had the dream equipped with wings, I lighted-opened with soft touch so I took him in my arms,

chapel's iron door,

And lifted from the grassy floor, stilling Past softly, leading in the Boy;

his faint alarms,

while from roof to floor,

And bore him high through yielding air From floor to roof, all round his eyes Child with wonder cast,

my debt of love to pay,

By giving him, for both our sakes, an Pleasure on pleasure crowded in, e hour of holiday. livelier than the last.

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I whispered, "Yet a little while, dear For, deftly framed within the trunk, Child! thou art my own, sanctuary showed,

To show thee some delightful thing, in By light of lamp and precious stor country or in town.

What shall it be? a mirthful throng? or

that holy place and calm

St. Denis, filled with royal tombs, or the
Church of Notre Dame?

"St. Ouen's golden Shrine? Or choose
what else would please thee most
Of any wonder Normandy, or all proud
France, can boast!"

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that glimmered here, there glow Shrine, Altar, Image, Offerings hung sign of gratitude;

Sight that inspired accordant though
and speech I thus renewed:
"Hither the Afflicted come, as thou h
heard thy Mother say,

And, kneeling, supplication make to
Lady de la Paix;

"My Mother," said the Boy, "was born What mournful sighs have here b

near to a blessed Tree,

heard, and, when the voice was st

The Chapel Oak of Allonville; good By sudden pangs; what bitter tears h Angel, show it me!"

on this pavement dropt!

On wings from broad and steadfast poise "Poor Shepherd of the naked Down let loose by this reply,

For Allonville, o'er down and dale, away then did we fly;

30 O'er town and tower we fled, and fields

in May's fresh verdure drest; The wings they did not flag; the Child, though grave, was not deprest.

favoured lot is thine,

Far happier lot, dear Boy, than bri
full many to this shrine;
From body pains and pains of soul th
needest no release,

Thy hours as they flow on are spent
not in joy in peace.

Then offer up thy heart to God in

thankfulness and praise,

ive to Him prayers, and many thoughts, in thy most busy days;

And in His sight the fragile Cross, on thy small hut, will be

Holy as that which long hath crowned 60

the Chapel of this Tree; Holy as that far seen which crowns the sumptuous Church in Rome There thousands meet to worship God under a mighty Dome;

He sees the bending multitude, He hears the choral rites,

Tet, not the less, in children's hymns and lonely prayer delights.

God for His service needeth not proud work of human skill; 65

By please Him best who labour most
to do in peace His will:

let us strive to live, and to our Spirits
will be given
chwings as, when our Saviour calls,
shall bear us up to heaven."

The Boy no answer made by words, but,
so earnest was his look,

eep fled, and with it fled the dreamrecorded in this book,

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tall that passed should melt away in silence from my mind,

XX.

THE WESTMORELAND GIRL.

TO MY GRANDCHILDREN.
[Composed June 6, 1845.-Published 1845.]
PART I.

SEEK who will delight in fable,
I shall tell you truth. A Lamb
Leapt from this steep bank to follow
'Cross the brook its thoughtless dam.
Far and wide on hill and valley
Rain had fallen, unceasing rain,
And the bleating mother's Young-one
Struggled with the flood in vain:
But, as chanced, a Cottage-maiden
(Ten years scarcely had she told)
Seeing, plunged into the torrent,
Clasped the Lamb and kept her hold.
Whirled adown the rocky channel,
Sinking, rising, on they go,

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Peace and rest, as seems, before them 15
Only in the lake below.

Oh! it was a frightful current
Whose fierce wrath the Girl had braved;
Clap your hands with joy my Hearers,
Shout in triumph, both are saved;

Saved by courage that with danger

visions still more bright have done, Grew, by strength the gift of love,

and left no trace behind. But oh! that Country-man of thine,

whose eye, loved Child, can see pledge of endless bliss in acts of early piety,

verse, which to thy ear might come, would treat this simple theme, For leave untold our happy flight in that 75 adventurous dream. Alas the dream, to thee, poor Boy! to

thee from whom it flowed,

as nothing, scarcely can be aught, yet 'twas bounteously bestowed,

I may dare to cherish hope that gentle eyes will read

Not loth, and listening Little-ones, hearttouched, their fancies feed1.

1 See Note, p. 897

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And belike a guardian angel
Came with succour from above.

PART II.

Now, to a maturer Audience,
Let me speak of this brave Child
With wild Nature to run wild.
Left among her native mountains

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So, unwatched by love maternal,
Mother's care no more her guide,
Fared this little bright-eyed Orphan
Even while at her father's side.
Spare your blame,-remembrance makes
him
Loth to rule by strict command;
Still upon his cheek are living
Touches of her infant hand,

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Dear caresses given in pity,
Sympathy that soothed his grief,
As the dying mother witnessed
To her thankful mind's relief.

Time passed on; the Child was happy,
Like a Spirit of air she moved,
Wayward, yet by all who knew her
For her tender heart beloved.

Scarcely less than sacred passions,
Bred in house, in grove, and field,
Link her with the inferior creatures,
Urge her powers their rights to shield.

Anglers, bent on reckless pastime,
Learn how she can feel alike
Both for tiny harmless minnow
And the fierce sharp-toothed pike.

Merciful protectress, kindling
Into anger or disdain;

Many a captive hath she rescued,
Others saved from lingering pain.
Listen yet awhile;-with patience
Hear the homely truths I tell,
She in Grasmere's old church-steeple
Tolled this day the passing bell.

Yes, the wild Girl of the mountains
To their echoes gave the sound,
Notice punctual as the minute,
Warning solemn and profound.

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To control the froward impulse
And restrain the vague desire ?

Easily a pious training

And a steadfast outward power
Would supplant the weeds, and cheri
In their stead each opening flower.

Thus the fearless Lamb-deliv❜rer,
Woman-grown, meek-hearted, sage,
55 May become a blest example
For her sex, of every age.

Watchful as a wheeling eagle,
Constant as a soaring lark,

Should the country need a heroine, 60 She might prove our Maid of Arc.

Leave that thought; and here be utte
Prayer that Grace divine may raise
Her humane courageous spirit
Up to heaven, thro' peaceful ways.

POEMS FOUNDED ON THE AFFECTIONS.

I.

THE BROTHERS.

Composed (in or about) February, 1800.-Pub

lished 1800.]

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Her large round wheel was turning. To wards the field

THESE Tourists, heaven preserve us! In which the Parish Chapel stood alone, Girt round with a bare ring of mossy

needs must live

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Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Will look and scribble, scribble on and
look,

wall,

While half an hour went by, the Priest
had sent

Many a long look of wonder: and at last,
Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white

ridge

31 Of carded wool which the old man had piled

He laid his implements with gentle care,

Until a man might travel twelve stout Each in the other locked; and down the miles,

Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn. 10
But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why can he tarry yonder?-In our church-
yard

neither epitaph nor monument, Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread

And a few natural graves."

To Jane, his wife, Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale.

was a July evening; and he sate

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path,

That from his cottage to the church-yard led,

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He took his way, impatient to accost
The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering
there.

'Twas one well known to him in former days,

A Shepherd-lad; who ere his sixteenth year

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Had left that calling, tempted to entrust
His expectations to the fickle winds
And perilous waters; with the mariners

pon the long stone-seat beneath the A fellow-mariner; and so had fared Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared

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Between the tropics filled the steady When Leonard had approached his ho

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Over the vessel's side, and gaze and His family were laid, he thence mi

gaze;

And, while the broad blue wave and sparkling foam

56 Flashed round him images and hues that wrought

learn

If still his Brother lived, or to the file Another grave was added.-He had for Another grave,-near which a full h hour

In union with the employment of his He had remained; but, as he gazed, th

heart,

He, thus by feverish passion overcome, Even with the organs of his bodily eye, Below him, in the bosom of the deep, 61 Saw mountains; saw the forms of sheep that grazed

grew

Such a confusion in his memory,

That he began to doubt; and even

hope

That he had seen this heap of turf fore,

On verdant hills-with dwellings among That it was not another grave; but one He had forgotten. He had lost

trees,

And shepherds clad in the same country

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