Those boys with their green

They never hear the cry,

coronal;

That plaintive cry! which up the hill
Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.

Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
"Down to the ftump of yon old yew
We'll for our whiftles run a race."
-Away the fhepherds flew.

They leapt they ran-and when they came.
Right oppofite to Dungeon-Ghyll,
Seeing that he should lose the prize,

(c Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries—
James stopped with no good will :
Said Walter then, "Your task is here,
"Twill keep you working half a year.

"Now cross where I fhall cross-come on,

And follow me where I fhall lead.".

The other took him at his word,

But did not like the deed.

It was a spot which you may fee

If ever you to Langdale go :
Into a chaẩm a mighty block

Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock :

The gulf is deep below;

And in a basin black and small
Receives a lofty waterfall.

With ftaff in hand, across the cleft
The challenger began his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained
The middle of the arch.

When lift! he hears a piteous moan—
Again!-his heart within him dies-
His pulse is stopped, his breath is loft,
He totters, pale as any ghost,
And looking down, he spies
A lamb, that in the pool is pent
Within that black and frightful rent.

The lamb had flipped into the stream,
And fafe, without a bruife or wound,
The cataract had borne him down
Into the gulf profound.

His dam had seen him when he fell,
She faw him down the torrent borne ;

And, while with all a mother's love

She from the lofty rocks above

Sent forth a cry forlorn,

The lamb, still swimming round and round,

Made answer to that plaintive found.

When he had learnt what thing it was
That fent this rueful cry; I ween,
The boy recovered heart, and told
The fight which he had seen.

Both gladly now deferred their task;
Nor was there wanting other aid,-
A Poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the fages' books,
By chance had thither strayed;
And there the helpless lamb he found,
By thofe huge rocks encompaffed round.

He drew it gently from the pool,

And brought it forth into the light :

The fhepherds met him with his charge,

An unexpected fight!

Into their arms the lamb they took,

Said they, "He's neither maimed nor fcarred."

Then up the steep afcent they hied,

And placed him at his mother's fide;
And gently did the Bard

Those idle fhepherd-boys upbraid,

And bade them better mind their trade.

The Rotha.

TO JOANNA.

MID the fmoke of cities did you pafs

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

The living beings by your own fire-fide,

With fuch a ftrong devotion, that your heart

Is flow towards the fympathies of them

Who look upon the hills with tenderness,

And make dear friendships with the ftreams and

groves.

Yet we, who are tranfgreffors in this kind,

Dwelling retired in our fimplicity

Among the woods and fields, we love you well,

Joanna! and I guess, fince you have been
So diftant from us now for two long years,
That you will gladly liften 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 feated, now fome ten days past, Beneath those lofty firs that overtop Their ancient neighbour, the old fteeple-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 fhe return to us?" he paufed; And, after fhort exchange of village news, He with grave looks demanded, for what caufe, Reviving obfolete idolatry,

I, like a Runic priest, in characters

Of formidable fize had chifelled out

Some uncouth name upon the native rock,
Above the Rotha, by the forest side.
--Now, by thofe dear immunities of heart.
Engendered betwixt malice and true love,
I was not loth to be fo catechifed,

દ

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 feafon when the broom,

Full-flowered, and visible on every steep,

Along the copfes runs in veins of gold.