« السابقةمتابعة »
The boy muft part from Mofedale's groves,
"A recreant harp, that fings of fear
And tends a flock from hill to hill:
Hath he, a child of ftrength and state!
That learned of him fubmiffive ways,
To his fide the fallow-deer
The pair were fervants of his eye
In their immortality;
They moved about in open fight,
To and fro, for his delight.
He knew the rocks which angels haunt
On the mountains vifitant;
He hath kenned them taking wing:
And the caves where fairies fing
He hath entered; and been told
He hath thrown afide his crook,
On the blood of Clifford calls;
'Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance-Bear me to the heart of France,
Is the longing of the Shield
Tell thy name, thou trembling Field;
Field of death, where'er thou be,
Groan thou with our victory!
Happy day, and mighty hour,
When our shepherd, in his power,
Mailed and horfed, with lance and sword,
To his ancestors restored,
Like a re-appearing ftar,
Like a glory from afar,
Firft fhall head the flock of war!"
Alas! the fervent harper did not know
That for a tranquil foul the lay was framed, Who, long compelled in humble walks to go, Was foftened into feeling, foothed, and tamed.
Love had he found in huts where poor men lie, His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The filence that is in the ftarry sky,
The fleep that is among the lonely hills.