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Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, Till now • Such sight was never seen by living eyes ! • Three leaps have borne him from this lofty
brow, • Down to the
fountain where he lies !
• I'll build a Pleasure-house upon this spot, * And a small Arbour, made for rural joy; « 'Twill be the Traveller's shed, the Pilgrim's
cot, • A place of Love for damsels that are coy.
A cunning artist will I have to frame
A Basan for that fountain in the dell; . And they, who do make mention of the same, From this day forth, shall call it Hart-leap
And gallant brute! to make thy praises known, • Another monument shall here be rais'd: • Three several Pillars, each a rough hewn
stone, . And planted where thy hoofs the turf have
* And in the summer-time, when days are long, . I will come hither with my paramour, • And with the dancers, and the minstrel's song, * We will make merry in that pleasant bower.
Till the foundations of the mountains fail • My Mansion with its Arbour shall endure; .-The joy of them who till the fields of
Swale, * And them who dwell among the woods of
Then home he went, and left the Hart, stono
dead, With breathless nostrils stretch'd above the
spring And soon the Knight performed what he had
said, The fame whereof thro' many a land did ring.
Ere thrice the moon into her port had steer'a, A Cup of stone received the living Well; Three Pillars of rude stone Sir Walter rear'd, And built a House of Pleasure in the dell,
And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall
And thither, when the summer days werelong,
song Made merriment within that pleasant bower.
The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time,
The moving accident is not my trade,
As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair,
What this imported I could ill divine,
The trees were grey, with neither arms nor
head; Half-wasted the square mound of tawny green; So that you just might say, as then I said, “ Here in old time the hand of man has been.'
I'look'd upon the hills both far and near;
I'stood in various thoughts and fancies lost,
The Shepherd 'stop'd, and that same story told Which in my former rhyme I have rehears’d:
Ajolly place (said he) in times of old! * But something ails it now; the spot is curs'd!
You see these lifeless stumps of Aspin 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.
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.
• There's neither dog nor heifer, horse not
sheep, 17, 1 Will wet his lips within that cup of stone; • And; oftentimes, when all are fasťasleep, • This water doth send forth a dolorous groan.
Some say that here á Murder has been done, • And Blood cries out for Blood! But for my
• I've guess’d, 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 pass'd !cielis • To this place from the stone upon the steep • Are but thrée bounds, and look, Sir, at this
last?.... « O Master! it has been a cruel leap!.
• For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; * 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
• Here on the grass, perhaps, asleep he sank, • Lullid by this fountain, in the summer-tide; • This water was, perhaps, the first he drank • When he had wander'd from his mother's side.