The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told
Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed.
"A jolly place," said he, "in times of old!
But something ails it now: the spot is curst.

"You see these lifeless stumps of aspen wood-
Some say that they are beeches, others elms-
These were the bower; and here a mansion stood,
The finest palace of a hundred realms !

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"The arbour does its own condition tell;

You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream;
But as to the great Lodge! you might as well
Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.

180

"There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep,
Will wet his lips within that cup of stone;
And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep,
This water doth send forth a dolorous groan.

"Some say that here a murder has been done,
And blood cries out for blood; but, for my part,
I've guessed, when I've been sitting in the sun,
That it was all for that unhappy Hart.

"What thoughts must through the creature's brain
have past!

Even from the topmost stone, upon the steep,
Are but three bounds—and look, Sir, at this last-
O Master! it has been a cruel leap.

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140

"For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race;

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And in my simple mind we cannot tell

What cause the Hart might have to love this place,

And come and make his death-bed near the well.

"Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank,
Lulled by the fountain in the summer-tide :
This water was perhaps the first he drank
When had he wandered from his mother's side.

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"In April here beneath the flowering thorn
He heard the birds their morning carols sing
And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born
Not half a furlong from that self-same spring.

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"Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade;
The sun on drearier hollow never shone;
So will it be, as have often said,

Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are gone."

Grey-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well:
Small difference lies between thy creed and mine:
This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell;
His death was mourned by sympathy divine.

"The Being that is in the clouds and air,
That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep and reverential care
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.

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165

"The pleasure-house is dust:-behind, before,
This is no common waste, no common gloom;
But Nature, in due course of time, once more
Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom.

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"She leaves these objects to a slow decay,

That what we are, and have been, may be known;

But at the coming of the milder day,

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These monuments shall all be overgrown.

"One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,

Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals;
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride

With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.”

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HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW: 1807

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree

The village smithy stands;

The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;

And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

5

His hair is crisp, and black, and long ;
His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat;

He earns whate'er he can ;

10

And looks the whole world in the face,

For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;

You can hear him sling his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,

15

Like a sexton ringing the village bell,

When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;

20

They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach;
He hears his daughter's voice
Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,-
How in her grave she lies;

And with his hard rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling-rejoicing-sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close:

Something attempted, something done,
Has earn'd a night's repose.

WILLIAM COWPER: 1731-1800.

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN.

SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN.

"I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know,

And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go."

Quoth Mistress Gilpin, "That's well said
And for that wine is dear,

We will be furnished with our own

Which is both bright and clear."

So three doors off the chaise was stayed,

Where they did all get in;

Six precious souls, and all agog

To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,

Were never folk so glad,

The stones did rattle underneath,

As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again;

For saddletree scarce reached had he,
His journey to begin,

When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.

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So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore,

Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.

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'Twas long before the customers

Were suited to their mind,

When Betty screaming, came down-stairs,

"The wine is left behind!"

"Good lack!" quoth he-" yet bring it me,

My leathern belt likewise,

In which I bear my trusty sword

When I do exercise."

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415

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