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When he had learnt what thing it was
That sent this rueful cry; I ween,
The boy recovered heart, and told
The fight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferred their talk;
Nor was there wanting other aid, -
A Poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the sages' books,
By chance had thither strayed ;
And there the helpless lamb he found,
By those huge rocks encompassed round.

He drew it gently from the pool, And brought it forth into the light : The shepherds met him with his charge, An unexpected sight! Into their arms the lamb they took, Said they, “ He's neither maimed nor scarred.” Then up the steep ascent they hied, And placed him at his mother's side ; And gently did the Bard Those idle shepherd-boys upbraid, And bade them better mind their trade.

The Rotha.

TO JOANNA.

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MID the smoke of cities did you pass

Your time of early youth; and there you learned,
A From years of quiet industry, to love

The living beings by your own fire-side,
) With such a strong devotion, that your heart

Is flow towards the sympathies of them
Who look upon the hills with tenderness,
And make dear friendships with the streams and

groves.
Yet we, who are transgressors in this kind,
Dwelling retired in our simplicity
Among the woods and fields, we love you well,
Joanna ! and I guess, since you have been
So distant from us now for two long years,
That you will gladly listen to discourse,

However trivial, if you thence are taught
That they, with whom you once were happy, talk
Familiarly of you and of old times.

While I was seated, now some ten days past, Beneath those lofty firs that overtop Their ancient neighbour, the old steeple-tower, The Vicar from his gloomy house hard by Came forth to greet me; and when he had asked, “ How fares Joanna, that wild-hearted maid ! And when will she return to us?” he paused; And, after short exchange of village news, He with grave looks demanded, for what cause, Reviving obsolete idolatry, I, like a Runic priest, in characters Of formidable size had chiselled out Some uncouth name upon the native rock, Above the Rotha, by the forest side. --Now, by those dear immunities of heart Engendered betwixt malice and true love, I was not loth to be so catechised, And this was my reply :-“ As it befel, One Summer morning we had walked abroad At break of day, Joanna and myself. -'Twas that delightful season when the broom, Full-flowered, and visible on every steep, Along the copses runs in veins of gold.

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