1

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed

The spring beneath the tree;

And thus the dear old Man replied,

The grey-haired man of glee:

"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears: 1

1

Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.

The blackbird amid leafy trees,

1

The lark above the hill,1

Let loose their carols when they please,

Are quiet when they will.

With Nature never do they wage

A foolish strife; they see

A happy youth, and their old age

Is beautiful and free:

But we are pressed by heavy laws;

And often, glad no more,

We wear a face of joy, because

1836.

We have been glad of yore.

If there be one who need bemoan

His kindred laid in earth,

The household hearts that were his own;

It is the man of mirth.

My days, my Friend, are almost gone,

My life has been approved,

And many love me; but by none
Am I enough beloved."

"Now both himself and me he wrongs,

The man who thus complains!

I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains;

The blackbird in the summer trees,
The lark upon the hill,

1800.

And, Matthew, for thy children dead
I'll be a son to thee!"

At this he grasped my hand,' and said,
"Alas! that cannot be."

We rose up from the fountain-side;
And down the smooth descent

Of the green sheep-track did we glide;
And through the wood we went;

And, ere we came to Leonard's rock,
He sang those witty rhymes
About the crazy old church-clock,

And the bewildered chimes.

1815.

[Written in Germany, 1799.]

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;

These died in peace each with the other,

Father, sister, friend, and brother.

Mark the spot to which I point!
From this platform, eight feet square,
Take not even a finger-joint:

Andrew's whole fireside is there.

Here, alone, before thine eyes,

Simon's sickly daughter lies,

From weakness now, and pain defended,

Whom he twenty winters tended.

Look but at the gardener's pride-
How he glories, when he sees
Roses, lilies, side by side,
Violets in families!

By the heart of Man, his tears,

By his hopes and by his fears,

Thou, too heedless, art the Warden 1
Of a far superior garden.

Thus then, each to other dear,

Let them all in quiet lie,

Andrew there, and Susan here,

Neighbours in mortality.

And, should I live through sun and rain.
Seven widowed years without my Jane,
O Sexton, do not then remove her,
Let one grave hold the Loved and Lover!

[Written in Germany, 1799. It was entirely a fancy; but intended

as a prelude to a ballad poem never written.]

In edd. 1800 to 1832 this poem is called “A Fragment." From 1836 onwards it received the name "The Danish Boy."-ED.

1

1845.

Thou, old Grey-beard! art the Warden

1800.

I.

BETWEEN two sister moorland rills

There is a spot that seems to lie
Sacred to flowerets of the hills,
And sacred to the sky.
And in this smooth and open dell
There is a tempest-stricken tree;
A corner-stone by lightning cut,
The last stone of a lonely hut ;1
And in this dell you see

A thing no storm can e'er destroy,
The shadow of a Danish Boy.

II.

In clouds above, the lark is heard,
But drops not here to earth for rest;2
Within this lonesome nook the bird 3

Did never build her nest.4

No beast, no bird hath here his home;
Bees, wafted on the breezy air,5

Pass high above those fragrant bells