[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.]

I.

His simple truths did Andrew glean

Beside the babbling rills;

A careful student he had been

Among the woods and hills.

One winter's night, when through the trees

The wind was roaring,1 on his knees
His youngest born did Andrew hold:
And while the rest, a ruddy quire,
Were seated round their blazing fire,

This Tale the Shepherd told.

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

The thaw-wind, with the breath of June,
Breathed gently from the warm south-west;
When, in a voice sedate with age,

This Oak, a giant and a sage,2
His neighbour thus addressed :-

The wind was thundering,

1800.

a giant and half-sage,

1800.

III.

'Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay,
Along this mountain's edge,

The Frost hath wrought both night and day,
Wedge driving after wedge.

Look up and think, above your head
What trouble, surely, will be bred;
Last night I heard a crash-'tis true,
The splinters took another road—
I see them yonder—what a load
For such a Thing as you!

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,
And hitherward pursued its way;1

This ponderous block was caught by me,
And o'er your head, as you may see,
'Tis hanging to this day!

The bird caught in a snare:1
For you and your green twigs decoy
The little witless shepherd-boy

To come and slumber in your bower;
And trust me, on some sultry noon,

Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon
Will perish in one hour.

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;
That more than what you say is true,2
I know, and I have known it long;
Frail is the bond by which we hold
Our being, whether young or old,
Wise, foolish, weak or strong.

It is my pleasant heritage;

My father many a happy year

Spread here his careless blossoms, here

Attained a good old age.

On me such bounty Summer pours,
That I am covered o'er with flowers;1
And, when the Frost is in the sky,
My branches are so fresh and gay
That you might look at me and say,
This Plant can never die.

IX.

The butterfly, all green and gold,

To me hath often flown,

Here in my blossoms to behold
Wings lovely as his own.

When grass is chill with rain or dew,
Beneath my shade, the mother-ewe
Lies with her infant lamb; I see

The love they to each other make,

And the sweet joy which they partake,
It is a joy to me.'

X.

Her voice was blithe, her heart was light;
The Broom might have pursued

The Spring for me a garland weaves
Of yellow flowers and verdant leaves.

1800.

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;
And to her own green bower the breeze
That instant brought two stripling bees
To rest, or murmur there.

XI.

One night, my Children! from the north
There came a furious blast;1

At break of day I ventured forth,
And near the cliff I passed.

The storm had fallen upon the Oak,

And struck him with a mighty stroke,

And whirled, and whirled him far away;
And, in one hospitable cleft,

The little careless Broom was left

To live for many a day."

The spot is fixed within narrow limits by the Fenwick note. It is, beyond doubt, on the wooded part of Nab-Scar, through which the upper path from Grasmere to Rydal passes. There is one hugh block of stone high above the path, which answers well to the description in the

second stanza.-ED.

HART-LEAP WELL.

Comp. 1800.

Pub. 1800.

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The first eight stanzas were composed extempore one winter evening in the cottage, when, after having tired myself with labouring at an awkward passage in "The Brothers," I started with a sudden impulse to this to get rid of the other, and finished it in a day or two. My sister and I had passed the

1

1815.

One night the wind came from the north
And blew a furious blast.

1800.