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Pull the Primrose, Sister Anne!

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, Pull as many as you can.

And rings a sharp larum !-but, if you should look, - Here are Daisies, take your fill;

There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow Pansies, and the Cuckow-flower :

Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk, Of the lofty Daffodil

And softer than if it were covered with silk. Make your bed, and make your bower;

Sometimes he 'll hide in the cave of a rock, Fill your lap, and fill your bosom ;

Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock ; Only spare the Strawberry-blossom!

- Yet scck him,-and what shall you find in the place?

Nothing but silence and empty space; Primroses, the Spring may love them

Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,
Summer knows but little of them :

That he's left, for a bed, to becgars or thieves !
Violets, a barren kind,
Withered on the ground must lie;

As soon as 't is daylight, to-morrow, with me
Daisies leave no fruit bebiod

You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see When the pretty flowerets die;

That be has been there, and made a great rout, Pluck them, and another year

Apd cracked the branches, and strewn them about; As many will be blowing here.

Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig

That looked up at the sky so proud and big God has given a kindlier power

All last summer, as well you know,
To the favoured Strawberry-flower.

Studded with apples, a beautiful show!
When the months of Spring are fled
Hither let us bend our walk;

Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,
Lurking berries, ripe and red,

And growls as if he would fix his claws Then will hang on every stalk,

Right in the slates, and with a liuge rattle Each within its leafy bower;

Drive them down, like men in a battle :
And for that promise spare the flower!

– But let him range round; he does us po harm,
We build up the fire, we're snug
Untouclid by his breath see the candle shines bright,

And burns with a clear and steady light; CHARACTERISTICS OF A CHILD THREE YEARS Books have we to read, — but that half-stilled knellOLD.

Alas! 't is the sound of the eight o'clock bell. Loving she is, and tractable, though wild;

-Come now we 'll to bed! and when we are there And innocence hath privilege in der

He may work his own will, and what shall we care? To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes ;

He may knock at the door,-we'll not let him in ; And feats of cunning; and the pretty round

May drive at the windows, -- we'll laugh at his din; Of trespasses, affected to provoke

Let bim scck his own home wherever it be;
Mock-chastisement and partnership in play-

Here 's a cozie warm llouse for Edward and me.
And, as a faggot sparkles on the learth,
Not less if unattended and alone
Than when both young and old sit gathered round
And take delight in its activity,

Even so this happy Creature of herself

Is all-sufficient; solitude to her
Is blithe society, who fills the air

A MONTII, sweet Little-ones, is passed
With gladness and involuntary songs.

Since your dear Mother went away,
Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's

And she to-morrow will return;
Forth-startled from the fern where she lay couched; To-morrow is the happy day.
Unthought-of, unexpected, as the stir
Of the soft breeze ruftling the meadow flowers;

O blessed tidings ! thought of joy!
Or from before it chasing wantonly

The eldest heard with steady glee; The many-coloured images impressed

Silent be stood ; then laughed amain,Upon the bosom of a placid lake.

And shouted, « Mother, come to me!»

and warm ;

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« What ails thee, Young Ope? what? Why pull so at thy


Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? From the meadows of ARMATD, ONTWIRLMERE's wild shore, Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass cau be; Three rosy-cheek'd School-boys, the highest not more

Rest, little Young One, rest; what is t that aileth thee? Than the height of a Counsellor's bag; To the top of Great How, were once tempted to climb; «What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy And there they built up, without mortar or lime,

heart? A Man on the peak of the crag.

Thy limbs, are they not stroog? And beautiful thou art:

This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no They built him of stones gathered up as they lay;

peers; They built him and christend him all in one day, And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears! Ao l'rchin both vigorous and hale; And so without scruple they called him Ralph Jones.

« If the Sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen Now Ralph is renoward for the length of his bones;

chain, The Magog of Legberthwaite dale.

This becch is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;

For rain and mountainstorms? the like thou need'se not Great low is a single and conspicuous bill, which rises towards

fearthe four 4 of Thirimere, on the western side of the beautiful dalo of Loyberdwaite, along the high road between Koswick und Ambles

. The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come



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Beneath a rock, upon


grass, Two Boys are sitting in the sun; Boys that have had no work to do, Or work that now is done. On pipes of sycamore they play The fragments of a Christmas lymn; Or with that plant which in our dale We call Stag-horn, or Fox's Tail, Their rusty Hats they trim : And thus, as happy as the Day, Those Shepherds wear the time away.

Along the river's scony marge
The Sand-lark chants a joyous song;
Thc Thrush is busy in the wood,
And carols loud and strong.
A thousand Lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky
Keep jubilee; and more than all,
Those Boys with their green

They never hear the cry,
That plaintive cry! which up the hill
Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Glyn.

yon old

Said Walter, leaping from the ground, « Down to the stump



And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
« !Je took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home.
A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam?
A faithful Nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.
« Thou know'st that twice a day I have 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 milk, warm milk it is and new.
« Thy limbs will shortly be twice as slout 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't is thy mother's heart which is working so in thec?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
Aod dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor


We 'll for our Whistles run a race.»

- Away the Sheplerds lew.
They leapı-they ran-and when they came
Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,
Seeing that he should lose the prize,

Stop!» to his comrade Walter cries-
He stopped with no good will:
Said Walter then, « Your task is here,
'T will baftle you for half a year.

« 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 need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe, -our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Wly 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 seem'd, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and oue half of it was mine.
Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;
«Nay,» said I, «more than half to the Damsel must belong,
For she look'd with such a look, and she spake with such

a tone,
That I almost received her heart into my own.»

«Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross-
Come on, and in my footsteps tread!»
The other took him at his word,
And followed as he led.
It was a spot which you may see
If ever you to Langdale go ;
Into a chasm a mighty Block
llath fallen, and made a Bridge of rock :
The gulf is deep below;
And in a basin black and small
Receives a lofty Waterfall.




The valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the echoes play
A never, never-ending song,
To welcome in the May.
The Magpie chatters with delight;
The mountain Raven's youngling brood
Have left the Mother and the Nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;
Or through the glittering Vapours dart
lo very wantonness of heart.

Ghyll, in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland, is a short, and, for the most part, a stoep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for Waterfall.

With staff in hand across the cleft
The Challenger pursued his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gain'd
The middle of the arch.
When list! hc hears a piteous moan-
Again!- his heart within him dies--
His pulse is stopp'd, his breath is lost,
He tolters, pallid as a gbost,
And, looking down, espies
A Lamh, that in the pool is pent
Within that black and frightful Rent.

The Lamb had slipp'd into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound
The Cataracı had borne him down
Into the gulf profound.
His Dam had seen him when he fell,
She saw him down the torrent borne:

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