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Of Lovers that in Reason's spite have loved,
« Oh! love me, love me, little Boy! Thou art thy Mother's only joy; And do not dread the waves below, When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go; The high crag cannot work me harm, Nor leaping torrents when they howl; The Babe I carry on my arm, He saves for me my precious soul: Then happy lie, for blest am I; Without me my sweet Babe would die.
« Then do not fear, my Boy! for thee
« Thy Father cares not for my breast, *T is thine, sweet Baby, there to rest; 'Tis all thine own!-and, if its hue Be changed, that was so fair to view, 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove! My beauty, little Child, is flown; But thou wilt live with me in love, And what if my poor cheek be brown? 'Tis well for me, thou canst not see Ilow pale and wan it else would be.
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
k comes to cool my Babe and me. 'For the account of these long-lived trees, seo Pliny's Natural flictory. lib. 16, cap. 46; and for the features in the character of Protesilaus (page 89) see the Iphigenia in Aulis of Euripides.Virgil placez ibe Shade of Laodamia is a mournful region, among subapry Lovers,
« Dread not their taunts, my little life;
« I'll teach my Boy the sweetest things;
« Oh smile on me, my little lamb!
As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE.
Couched on the bald top of an eminence;
Wonder to all who do the same espy,
By what means it could thither come, and whence; But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
Like a Sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf
Of rock or sand reposcth, there to sun itself;
Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
Nor all asleep-in his extreme old age :
His body was bent double, feet and head All things that love the sun are out of doors :
Coming together in life's pilgrimage; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage The grass is bright with rain-drops ;-on the moors
Of sickness felt by him in times long past, The Hare is running races in her mirth;
A more than human weight upon his frame had cast. And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun,
Himself he propped, his body, limbs, and face, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. Upon a long grey Staff of shaven wood:
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, I was a Traveller then upon
l'pon the margin of that moorish flood I saw the Hare that raced about with joy;
Motionless as a Cloud the Old Man stood; I heard the woods, and distant waters, roar;
That heareth not the loud winds when they call ; Or heard them not, as happy as a Boy:
And moveth all together, if it move at all. The pleasant season did my heart employ:
At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond My old remembrances went from me wholly;
Stirred with his Staff, and fixedly did look And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy!
Upon the muddy water, which he conned,
As if he had been reading in a book: But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
And now a stranger's privilege I took; Of joy in minds that can no farther go,
And, drawing to his side, to bim did say, As high as we have mounted in delight
«This morning gives us promise of a glorious day.» In our dejection do we sink as low, To me that morning did it bappen so;
A gentle answer did the Old Man make, And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came;
In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor And him with further words I thus bespake, could name.
«What occupation do you there pursue ! I heard the Sky-lark warbling in the sky;
This is a lonesome place for one like you.» And I bethought me of the playful Hare:
le answered, while a flash of mild surprise Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. Even as these blissful Creatures do I fare;
His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
But each in solemn order followed cach, But there may come another day to me
With something of a lofty utterance drest ; Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach
Of ordinary men; a stately speech; My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,
Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, As if life's business were a summer mood;
who give to God and Man their dues. As if all needful things would come unsought To genial faith, still rich in genial goout;
He told, that to these waters he had come But how can He expect that others should
To gather Leeches, beingold and poor : Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
Employment hazardous and wearisome! Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? And he had many hardships to endure:
From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,'
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance; The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride;
And in this way he gained an honest maintenance. Of Him who walked in glory and in joy
The Old Man still stood talking by my side; Following his plough, along the mountain-side:
But now his voice to me was like a stream By our own spirits are we deified :
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide ; We Poets in our youth begin in gladness : But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness. Like one whom I had met with in a dream;
And the whole Body of the Man did seem
Or like a man from some far region sent,
To give me human strength, by apt admonishment. Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,
My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, And hope that is unwilling to be fed; Beside a Pool bare to the eye of Heaven
Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills: I saw a Man before me unawares:
And mighty Poets in their misery dead. The oldest Man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs. -Perplexed, and longing to be comforted,
"T was worth your while, though in the dark, The church-yard path to seek: For many a time and oft were heard Cries coming from the mountain-head: Some plainly living voices were; And others, I 've heard many swear, Were voices of the dead: I cannot think, whate'er they say, They had to do with Martha Ray. « But that she goes to this old Thorn, The Thorn which I described to you, And there sits in a scarlet cloak, I will be sworn is true. For one day with my telescope, To view the ocean wide and bright, When to this country first I came, Ere I had heard of Martha's name, I climb'd the mountain's height: A storm came on, and I could see No object higher than my knee.
Pass by her door-t is seldom shutAnd, if you see her in her hut, Then to the spot away!I never heard of such as dare Approach the spot when she is there. » « But wherefore to the mountain-top Can this unhappy woman go, Whatever star is in the skies, Whatever wind may blow?» « 'T is known, that twenty years are passed Since she (her name is Martha Ray) Gave with a maiden's true good will Her company to Stephen Hill; And she was blithe and gay, While friends and kindred all approved Of him whom tenderly she loved. « And they had fixed the wedding day, The morning that must wed them both; But Stephen to another Maid Had sworn another oath; And, with this other Maid, to church Unthinking Stephen went Poor Martha! on that woeful day A
pang of pitiless dismay Into her soul was sent; A Fire was kindled in her breast, Which might not burn itself to rest. « They say, full six months after this, While yet the summer leaves were green, She to the mountain-top would go, And there was often seen. Alas! her lamentable state Even to a careless eye was plain; She was with child, and she was mad; Yet often she was sober sad From her exceeding pain. O guilty Father,—would that death Had saved him from that breach of faith! «Sad case for such a brain to hold Communion with a stirring child! Sad case, as you may think, for one Who had a brain so wild! Last Christmas-eve we talked of this, And grey-haired Wilfred of the glen Held that the unborn lofant wrought About its mother's heart, and brought Her senses back again : And whep at last her time drew near, Her looks were calm, her senses clear. « More know I not, I wish I did, And it should all be told to you; For what became of this
« 'T was mist and rain, and storm and rain;
say she drown'd it in the Pond,
« And some had sworn an oath that she
The poor Hart toils along the mountain side; Should be to public justice brought;
I will not stop to tell how far he fled, And for the little infant's bones
Nor will I mention by what death he died;
But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.
Dismounting then, he leaned against a thorn; And for full fifty yards around,
He had no follower, Dog, nor Mao, nor Boy: The grass-it shook upon the ground!
He neither crack'd his whip, nor blew luis horn, Yet all do still aver
But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy. The little Babe is buried there,
Close to the thorn op which Sir Walter lean'd, Beneath that Hill of moss so fair,
Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat: « I cannot tell how this may be :
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yean'd; But plain it is, the Thorn is bound
And wbite with foam as if with cleaving sleet. With heavy tufts of moss, that strive To drag it to the ground;
Upon his side the Hart was lying stretch'd: And this I know, full mapy a time,
His nostril touchi'd a spring beneath a bill, When she was on the mountain high,
And with the last deep groan his breath had fetch'd By day, and in the silent night,
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 walk'd all round, north, south, and west, Oh woe is me! ob misery!'»
And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot.
And climbing up the hill-(it was at least
Nine roods of sheer asceni) Sir Walter found
Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast Bart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Had left imprinted on the grassy ground.
Rubeood in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads fron Richmond 10 Askrige. lis name is derived from a remark- Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, « Till now able chase, the memory of wbich is preserved by the monuments
Such sight was never seen by living eyes : spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monumesta do now exist as I have there described them.
Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow
Down to the very fountain where he lies. Toe Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor « I 'll build a Pleasure-house upon this spot, With the slow motion of a summer's cloud;
And a small Arbour, made for rural joy; lle turned aside towards a Vassal's door,
"T will be the Traveller's shed, the Pilgrim's cot, And « Bring another horse!» he cried aloud.
A place of love for Damsels that are coy. Another Horse!»–That shout the Vassal beard,
« A cunning Artist will I have to frame Aod saddled his best Steed, a comely grey;
A basin for that Fountain in the dell! Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third
And they who do make mention of the same, Which he had mounted on that glorious day.
From this day forth, shall call it HART-LEAP Well. Joy sparkled in the prancing Courser's eyes;
« And, gallant Stag! to make thy praises known, The Horse and Horseman are a happy pair;
Another monument shall here be raised; But though Sir Walter like a falcon tlies,
Three several Pillars, each a rough-hewn Stone, There is a doleful silence in the air.
And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed. A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall,
« And, in the summer-time when days are long, That as they callop'd made the echoes roar;
I will come hither with my Paramour; But Ilorse and Man are vanishid one and all;
And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song Sach race, I think, was never seen before.
We will make merry in that pleasant Bower. Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind,
« Till the foundations of the mountains fail Calls to the few tired Dogs that yet remain:
My Mansion with its Arbour shall endure;Blanch, Swift, and Music, poblest of their kind, The joy of them who till the fields of Swale, Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.
And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!» The Knight hallood, he cheer'd and chid them on Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stero; With breathless nostrils stretch'd above the spring. But breath and eyesighe fail; and, one by one, -Soon did the Knight perform what he had said, The Dogs are stretch'd among the mountain fern. Anu far and wide the fame thereof did ring. Where is the throng, the tumult of the race?
Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steerd, The bugles that so joyfully were blown?
A Cup of stone received the living Well; - This Chase it looks not like an carilily Chase; Three Pillars of rude stone Sir Walter rear'd, Sir Walter and thc lları are left alone,
And built a House of Pleasure in the dell.