THE VALLEY rings with mirth and joy; | |
| Among the hills the echoes play | |
| A never, never ending song, | |
| To welcome in the May. | |
| The magpie chatters with delight; | 5 |
| The mountain raven’s youngling brood | |
| Have left the mother and the nest, | |
| And they go rambling east and west | |
| In search of their own food, | |
| Or through the glittering vapors dart | 10 |
| In very wantonness of heart. | |
| |
| Beneath a rock, upon the grass, | |
| Two boys are sitting in the sun; | |
| Their work, if any work they have, | |
| Is out of mind, or done. | 15 |
| On pipes of sycamore they play | |
| The fragments of a Christmas hymn; | |
| Or with that plant which in our dale | |
| We call stag-horn, or fox’s tail, | |
| Their rusty hats they trim: | 20 |
| And thus, as happy as the day, | |
| Those shepherds wear the time away. | |
| |
| Along the river’s stony marge | |
| The sand-lark chants a joyous song; | |
| The thrush is busy in the wood, | 25 |
| And carols loud and strong. | |
| A thousand lambs are on the rocks, | |
| All newly born! both earth and sky | |
| Keep jubilee, and more than all, | |
| Those boys with their green coronal; | 30 |
| They never hear the cry, | |
| That plaintive cry! which up the hill | |
| Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll. | |
| |
| Said Walter, leaping from the ground, | |
| “Down to the stump of yon old yew | 35 |
| We ’ll for our whistles run a race.” | |
| Away the shepherds flew; | |
| They leapt, they ran; and when they came | |
| Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, | |
| Seeing that he should lose the prize, | 40 |
| “Stop!” to his comrade Walter cries. | |
| James stopped with no good-will: | |
| Said Walter then, exulting, “Here | |
| You ’ll find a task for half a year. | |
| |
| “Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross,— | 45 |
| Come on, and tread where I shall tread.” | |
| The other took him at his word, | |
| And followed as he led. | |
| It was a spot which you may see | |
| If ever you to Langdale go; | 50 |
| Into the chasm a mighty block | |
| Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock: | |
| The gulf is deep below, | |
| And in a basin black and small | |
| Receives a lofty waterfall. | 55 |
| |
| With staff in hand across the cleft | |
| The challenger pursued his march; | |
| And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained | |
| The middle of the arch. | |
| When list! he hears a piteous moan. | 60 |
| Again!—his heart within him dies; | |
| His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost, | |
| He totters, pallid as a ghost, | |
| And, looking down, espies | |
| A lamb, that in the pool is pent | 65 |
| Within that black and frightful rent. | |
| |
| The lamb had slipped into the stream, | |
| And safe without a bruise or wound | |
| The cataract had borne him down | |
| Into the gulf profound. | 70 |
| His dam had seen him when he fell, | |
| She saw him down the torrent borne; | |
| And, while with all a mother’s love | |
| She from the lofty rocks above | |
| Sent forth a cry forlorn, | 75 |
| The lamb, still swimming round and round, | |
| Made answer in that plaintive sound. | |
| |
| When he had learnt what thing it was | |
| That sent this rueful cry, I ween | |
| The boy recovered heart, and told | 80 |
| The sight which he had seen. | |
| Both gladly now deferred their task; | |
| Nor was there wanting other aid: | |
| A poet, one who loves the brooks | |
| Far better than the sages’ books, | 85 |
| By chance had hither strayed; | |
| And there the helpless lamb he found | |
| By those huge rocks encompassed round. | |
| |
| He drew it from the troubled pool, | |
| And brought it forth into the light; | 90 |
| The shepherds met him with his charge, | |
| An unexpected sight! | |
| Into their arms the lamb they took, | |
| Whose life and limbs the flood had spared; | |
| Then up the steep ascent they hied, | 95 |
| And placed him at his mother’s side; | |
| And gently did the bard | |
| Those idle shepherd-boys upbraid, | |
| And bade them better mind their trade. | |
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