THE DEAF. THERE, beneath A plain blue stone, a gentle dalesman lies, From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn The precious gift of hearing. He grew up From year to year in loneliness of soul; And this deep mountain valley was to him Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn Did never rouse this cottager from sleep With startling summons; not for his delight The vernal cuckoo shouted; not for him Murmured the laboring bee. 'Mid stormy winds, The agitated scene before his eye Was silent as a picture; evermore Were all things silent, wheresoe'er he moved. Among the jocund reapers. His books Were ready comrades whom he could not tire; Of whose society the blameless man Was never satiate. Their familiar voice, Beguiled his leisure hours, and bestowed Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night, The powers of nature: and a few short steps His name, and unambitiously relates How long, and by what kindly outward aids, And, at the touch of every wandering breeze, WORDSWORTH. ON A GIRL, LEADING HER BLIND MOTHER THROUGH THE WOOD.* THE green leaves, as we pass, Lay their light fingers on thee unaware, Grows green and silken where the wood-paths wind; The moon's new silver shell Trembles above thee, and the stars float up And the swift birds on glorious pinions flee ;- And the kind looks of friends Low to thine ear with duty unforgot ;- But thou canst hear; and love May richly on a human tone be poured, A daughter's love may prove ; And while I speak thou knowest if I smile, Albeit thou canst not see my face the while. Yes! thou canst hear, and He, Who on thy sightless eye its darkness hung, And 'tis a lesson to our hearts to know WILLIS WE ARE SEVEN.* I MET a little cottage girl; She was eight years old, she said; She had a rustic; woodland air, Her eyes were fair, and very fair; Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be? "How many? Seven in all," she said, And where are they? I pray you tell. "Two of us in the churchyard lie, You say that two at Conway dwell, Yet ye are seven? I pray you tell, Then did the little maid reply, You run about, my little maid, "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied; "Twelve steps or more from mother's door, And they are side by side. My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; |