And what the morning brought to light, We lost both WAGONER and WAIN! Accept, O Friend, for praise or blame, Of fancy which thereon was shed, I sing of these; — it makes my Nor is it I who play the part, But a shy spirit in my heart, bliss! That comes and goes, - will sometimes leap From hiding-places ten years deep; Or haunts me with familiar face, Returning, like a ghost unlaid, Forgive me, then; for I had been On friendly terms with this Machine : In him, while he was wont to trace Our roads, through many a long year's space A living almanac had we; We had a speaking diary, That in this uneventful place Gave to the days a mark and name By which we knew them when they came. ·Yes, I, and all about me here, Through all the changes of the year, Had seen him through the mountains go, Or, with a milder grace adorning The landscape of a summer's morning; And mighty Fairfield, with a chime Crag, lawn, and wood with rosy light. - But most of all, thou lordly Wain! I wish to have thee here again, When windows flap and chimney roars, And all is dismal out of doors; And, sitting by my fire, I see Eight sorry carts, no less a train ! Unworthy successors of thee, Come straggling through the wind and rain : And oft, as they pass slowly on, Thy shelter - and their mother's breast! Then most of all, then far the most, 1805. POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. I. THERE WAS A BOY. THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs shout And they would Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call, with quivering peals, And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of jocund din ! And when there came a pause Of silence such as baffled his best skill, Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received This boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. Preeminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs Upon a slope above the village school; And, thro' that churchyard when my way has led On summer evenings, I believe that there A long half-hour together I have stood O BLITHE New-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, At once far off, and near. |