Imagens das páginas

And now the topmost ridge appeared ;
We raised a shout -the ridge was cleared-

Upright on level ground we sprung.

“ With hats in hand we paused for breath;

Whilst o'er our cheeks and hair, With visitation fresh and sweet, For mountaineering roamers meet,

Ran liquid lapse of healthy air.

“ There woods, and hedgerows, parks, and fields

Lay smiling at our feet;
And we thought of the song you sang us aloud

Of Nymphs, and Oreads fleet,
As the shadow of many an island cloud

Flew o'er the waving wheat.

“ We likened oldest things to new,

And each with each did vie In scope and penetrating power,

And fantasy of eye.

“ Who Shoreham gap? Who Shankenbury ring ?

Who yonder refuse burning ?
Who Deep-dene stable clock? or who

Sees Ewhurst windmill turning?

“ We saw the wild-hawk wheel and wheel

Pursued by felon crows, Freebooter of the feathered race

Begirt by feathered foes.

“ Far down, there rushed a gateway through,

With hurry and affright,
A crowded flock of gallant sheep,

A thousand fleeces bright;
And we likened them to a troubled stream,

A mill-race foaming white

“ Then slowly pacing on the road,

They raised a dusty cloud,
O'er sheep and shepherd hanging low;

A sun-illumined shroud.

“ We turned our eyes towards Dorking spire

Reared high above the town;
From forth the steeple went a chime

Upon the south wind blown ;
We heard—but nothing recked of time,

So gaily had he flown.

“ There rose the Danish camp; beyond,

Old Evelyn's sylvan bower;


And, further yet, the heathery heights

By Leith-hill's lonely tower.

“ And from the chalky pinnacle

Whereon we took our stand,
Save where a purple summer shower

Sloped graceful o'er the land,

“ And where the limekiln's milk-white reek

Did creepingly appear,
The sky was like a sapphire sea,
Glassing its own profundity,

The very sky-line sharp and clear.

" Then, homeward turned, we took our way

Through young-cut oak, and stunted box, And caught a momentary glimpse

Of roaming wild cub-fox;

“ By Birchen-grove, and terraced wild

Of stony-hearted Bramble-haugh, And Middle-hill with thorn-brakes set,

And fern-grown Bullen-shaw.

“ The peewit cried, the partridge called

Her half-fledged scattered brood;

The curlew on the reverberant hill
Halloed out her summons shrill;

Loud crew the pheasant in the wood :

“ But nearing now the orchard homestead,

Never a word we spoke,
Foredone with sport; but soon as we
Above the mossy apple-tree

Beheld the chimney smoke,
A gentle sigh of silent glee

From every bosom broke.”

“ Thanks for your tale; and now, good-night!

Enough for all of work and play: Alike the evil and the joy

Suffice unto the day.

“ But I must keep the word I gave

To-morrow afternoon,
If not a breeze disturb the trees,

We'll fly the fire-balloon.”



HILST with your dear love, and your

flowers, Luxuriously you linger, Turn once to view the creeping hours

Tracked by my shadowy finger.

But if in idleness you pore

Till day-light runs to waste,
Take heed, impute not to each hour

The blame of over haste.

I own no regulating force

Of pendulum or springs;
The glorious sun's diurnal course

Inspires my chroniclings.

Though gayer dials may go true,

And be accounted treasures; Put faith in me, ye happy two,

Whose days are spent in pleasures ;

« AnteriorContinuar »