THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE. BENEATH a rock, upon the grass, On pipes of sycamore they play And thus, as happy as the day, Those Shepherds wear the time away. Along the river's stony marge A thousand lambs are on the rocks, That plaintive cry! which up the hill Said Walter, leaping from the ground, "Down to the stump of yon old yew We'll for our whistles run a race." --Away the Shepherds flew. They leapt--they ran-and when they came Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, Seeing that he should lose the prize, "Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries James stopped with no good will: "Now cross where I shall cross-come on, And follow me where I shall lead"The other took him at his word; But did not like the deed. It was a spot, which you may see If ever you to Langdale go: Into a chasm 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 staff in hand across the cleft The challenger began his march; And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained The middle of the arch. When list! he hears a piteous moan The lamb had slipped into the stream, His dam had seen him when he fell, She saw 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 sound. When he had learnt what thing it was That sent this rueful cry, I ween 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. WORDSWORTH. OUR baby lies under the snow, sweet wife, Our baby lies under the snow, Out in the dark with the night, While the winds so loudly blow. As a dead saint thou art pale, sweet wife, Oh, the snow no more can chill Shall we shut the baby out, sweet wife, Oh, the grave is now its bed, And its coverlid is snow. Oh, our merry bird is snared, sweet wife, That the rain of music gave, And the snow falls on our hearts, And our hearts are each a grave. Oh, it was the lamp of our life, sweet wife! Blown out in a night of gloom; A leaf from our flower of love, Nipped in its fresh Spring bloom. But the lamp will shine above, sweet wife, 235 SHELDON CHADWICK. |