Beneath a rock, upon the grafs,
Two boys are fitting in the fun;
It seems they have no work to do
Or that their work is done.
On pipes of fycamore 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 rufty hats they trim:
And thus as happy as the day,
Thofe fhepherds wear the time away.
Along the river's stony merge
The fand-lark chaunts a joyous fong;
The thrush is bufy in the wood
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,
They never hear the cry,
That plaintive cry! which up the hill
Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Gill.
Said Walter, leaping from the ground, "Down to the stumpt of yon old yew
I'll run with you a race.'
They leapt, they ran, and when they came
Right oppofite to Dungeon-Gill,
Seeing, that he should lofe the prize,
tr Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries-
James stopp'd with no good will:
Said Walter then, " your task is here,
'Twill keep you working half a year.
have crofs'd where I fhall cross,
Say that you'll neither fleep nor eat.”
James proudly took him at his word,
But did not like the feat.
It was a fpot, which you may fee
If ever you to Langdale go:
Into a chafm a mighty block
Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock; The gulph is deep below,
And in a bason black and small
Receives a lofty waterfall.
With staff in hand across the cleft
The challenger began his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gain'd
The middle of the arch.
When lift! he hears a piteous moan-
Again! his heart within him dies--
His pulfe is stopp'd, his breath is loft,
He totters, pale as any ghost,
And, looking down, he spies
A lamb, that in the pool is pent
Within that black and frightful rent.
The lamb had flipp'd into the stream,
And fafe without a bruife or wound
The cataract had borne him down
Into the gulph profound.
His dam had feen him when he fell,
She faw him down the torrent borne ;
And while with all a mother's love
She from the lofty rocks above
Sent forth a cry forlorn,
The lamb ftill fwimming round and round Made answer to that plaintive found.
When he had learnt, what thing it was,
That fent this rueful cry; I ween,
The boy recover'd heart, and told
The fight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferr'd their tafk;
Nor was there wanting other aid—
A poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the fages' books,
By chance had thither stray'd;
And there the helpless lamb he found
By thofe huge rocks encompafs'd round.
He drew it gently from the pool,
And brought it forth into the light:
The fhepherds met him with his charge
An unexpected fight!
Into their arms the lamb they took,
Said they, "He's neither maim'd nor fcarr'd"
Then up the steep afcent they hied
And plac'd him at his mother's fide;
And gently did the bard
Those idle fhepherd-boys upbraid,
And bade them better mind their trade.
I hate that Andrew Jones: he'll breed
His children up to wafte and pillage.
I wish the prefs-gang or the drum
With its tantara found would come,
And sweep him from the village!
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