THE IDLE SHEPHERD BOYS; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL

FORCE.

BENEATH a rock, upon the grass,
Two Boys are sitting in the sun;
It seems they have no work to do,
Or that their work is done.

On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas hymn;
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 stony marge
The sand-lark chaunts a joyous song;
The 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 coronal;
They never hear the cry

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

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:
Said Walter then, "Your task is here,
"Twill keep you working half a year.

"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,
And safe without a bruise or wound
The cataract had borne him down
Into the gulf profound.

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 Boy recovered heart, and told
The sight 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 sages' books,
By chance had hither stray'd;
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.

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,
And the cross is on thy breast;

Oh, the snow no more can chill
That little dove in its nest!

Shall we shut the baby out, sweet wife,
While the chilling winds do blow?

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,
And the leaf again shall grow,
Where there are no bitter winds,
And no dreary, dreary snow.

235

SHELDON CHADWICK.