9 THE OAK AND THE BROOM. A PASTORAL. [SUGGESTED upon the mountain pathway that leads from Upper Rydal to Grasmere. The ponderous block of stone, which is mentioned in the poem, remains, I believe, to this day, a good way up Nab-Scar. Broom grows under it, and in many places on the side of the precipice.] His simple truths did Andrew glean A careful student he had been Among the woods and hills. One winter's night, when through the trees II. “I saw a crag, a lofty stone As ever tempest beat! Out of its head an Oak had grown, A Broom out of its feet. The time was March, a cheerful noon— This Oak, a giant and a sage, His neighbour thus addressed : : Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay, Along this mountain's edge, The Frost hath wrought both night and day, Look up! and think, above your head IV. You are preparing as before, To deck your slender shape; And yet, just three years back-no more— You had a strange escape: Down from yon cliff a fragment broke ; It thundered down, with fire and smoke, This ponderous block was caught by me, V. If breeze or bird to this rough steep For you and your green twigs decoy Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon! VI. From me this friendly warning take’— The Broom began to doze, And thus, to keep herself awake, Did gently interpose : 'My thanks for your discourse are due; VII. Disasters, do the best we can, Will reach both great and small; Who is not wise at all. For me, why should I wish to roam ? This spot is my paternal home, It is my pleasant heritage; My father many a happy year, Spread here his careless blossoms, here VIII. Even such as his may be my lot. On me such bounty Summer pours, IX. The butterfly, all green and goiu, Here in my blossoms to behold When grass is chill with rain or dew, X. Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued Her speech, until the stars of night Their journey had renewed; But in the branches of the oak Two ravens now began to croak Their nuptial song, a gladsome air; XI. One night, my Children! from the north At break of day I ventured forth, The storm had fallen upon the Oak, And struck him with a mighty stroke, And whirled, and whirled him far away; The little careless Broom was left To live for many a day." VI. TO A SEXTON, [WRITTEN in Germany.j LET thy wheel-barrow alone— Wherefore, Sexton, piling still In thy bone-house bone on bone? Tis already like a hill In a field of battle made, Where three thousand skulls are laid; Father, sister, friend, and brother. 1800. |