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Was passing by, and, down the vale
(The vale now silent, hushed I ween
As if a storm had never been)
Proceeding with a mind at ease;
While the old Familiar of the seas
Intent to use his utmost haste,

Gained ground upon the Waggon fast,
And gives another lusty cheer;
For spite of rumbling of the wheels,
A welcome greeting he can hear;-
It is a fiddle in its glee

Dinning from the CHERRY TREE!

Thence the sound-the light is there-
As Benjamin is now aware,
Who, to his inward thoughts confined,
Had almost reached the festive door,
When, startled by the Sailor's roar,
He hears a sound and sees the light,
And in a moment calls to mind
That 'tis the village MERRY-NIGHT!*
Although before in no dejection,
At this insidious recollection
His heart with sudden joy is filled,-
His ears are by the music thrilled,
His eyes take pleasure in the road
Glittering before him bright and broad;
And Benjamin is wet and cold,
And there are reasons manifold

That make the good tow'rds which he's yearning

Look fairly like a lawful earning.

Nor has thought time to come and go,
To vibrate between yes and no;
For, cries the Sailor, "Glorious chance
That blew us hither!-let him dance
Who can or will!-my honest soul,
Our treat shall be a friendly bowl!"
He draws him to the door-"Come in,
Come, come," cries he to Benjamin!
And Benjamin-ah, woe is me!
Gave the word- the horses heard
And halted, though reluctantly.

"Blithe souls and lightsome hearts have we,
Feasting at the CHERRY TREE!"
This was the outside proclamation,
This was the inside salutation;
What bustling-jostling-high and low!
A universal overflow!

What tankards foaming from the tap!
What store of cakes in every lap!
What thumping-stumping-overhead!
The thunder had not been more busy:
With such a stir you would have said,
This little place may well be dizzy!
'Tis who can dance with greatest vigour-
'Tis what can be most prompt and eager ;
As if it heard the fiddle's call,

The pewter clatters on the wall;
The very bacon shows its feeling,
Swinging from the smoky ceiling!

A steaming bowl, a blazing fire,
What greater good can heart desire?
'Twere worth a wise man's while to try
The utmost anger of the sky:

* A term well known in the North of England, and applied to rural Festivals where young persons meet in the evening for the purpose of dancing.

To seek for thoughts of a gloomy cast,
If such the bright amends at last.
Now should you say I judge amiss,
The CHERRY TREE shows proof of this;
For soon of all the happy there,

Our Travellers are the happiest pair;
All care with Benjamin is gone-

A Cæsar past the Rubicon!

He thinks not of his long, long, strife ;-
The Sailor, Man by nature gay,
Hath no resolves to throw away;
And he hath now forgot his Wife,
Hath quite forgotten her-or may be
Thinks her the luckiest soul on earth,
Within that warm and peaceful berth,
Under cover,

Terror over,

Sleeping by her sleeping baby.

With bowl that sped from hand to hand,
The gladdest of the gladsome band,
Amid their own delight and fun,
They hear-when every dance is done,
When every whirling bout is o'er-
The fiddle's squeak-that call to bliss,
Ever followed by a kiss;

They envy not the happy lot,
But enjoy their own the more!

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"This," cries the Sailor, "a Third-rate isStand back, and you shall see her gratis! This was the Flag-ship at the Nile,

The Vanguard-you may smirk and smile,
But, pretty Maid, if you look near,
You'll find you've much in little here!
A nobler ship did never swim,
And you shall see her in full trim:
I'll set, my friends, to do you honour,
Set every inch of sail upon her."

So said, so done; and masts, sails, yards,
He names them all; and interlards
His speech with uncouth terms of art,
Accomplished in the showman's part;
And then, as from a sudden check,
Cries out-""Tis there, the quarter-deck
On which brave Admiral Nelson stood-
A sight that would have roused your blood!
One eye he had, which, bright as ten,
Burned like a fire among his men ;
Let this be land, and that be sea,
Here lay the French-and thus came we!"
Hushed was by this the fiddle's sound,
The dancers all were gathered round,
And, such the stillness of the house,
You might have heard a nibbling mouse;

*At the close of each strathspey, or jig, a particular note from the fiddle summons the Rustic to the agreeable duty of saluting his partner.

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While, borrowing helps where'er he may,
The Sailor through the story runs
Of ships to ships and guns to guns;
And does his utmost to display
The dismal conflict, and the might
And terror of that marvellous night!
A bowl, a bowl of double measure,'
Cries Benjamin, "a draught of length,
To Nelson, England's pride and treasure,
Her bulwark and her tower of strength!"
When Benjamin had seized the bowl,
The mastiff, from beneath the waggon,
Where he lay, watchful as a dragon,
Rattled his chain;-'twas all in vain,
For Benjamin, triumphant soul!
He heard the monitory growl;
Heard-and in opposition quaffed
A deep, determined, desperate draught!
Nor did the battered Tar forget,

Or flinch from what he deemed his debt:
Then, like a hero crowned with laurel,
Back to her place the ship he led ;
Wheeled her back in full apparel;
And so, flag flying at mast head,
Re-yoked her to the Ass :-anon,
Cries Benjamin, "We must be gone."
Thus, after two hours' hearty stay,
Again behold them on their way!

CANTO THIRD.

RIGHT gladly had the horses stirred,
When they the wished-for greeting heard,
The whip's loud notice from the door
That they were free to move once more.
You think, those doings must have bred
In them disheartening doubts and dread;
No, not a horse of all the eight,
Although it be a moonless night,
Fears either for himself or freight;
For this they know (and let it hide,
In part, the offences of their guide)
That Benjamin, with clouded brains,
Is worth the best with all their pains;
And, if they had a prayer to make,
The prayer would be that they may take
With him whatever comes in course,
The better fortune or the worse;

That no one else may have business near them,

And, drunk or sober, he may steer them.

So, forth in dauntless mood they fare,
And with them goes the guardian pair.

Now, heroes, for the true commotion,
The triumph of your late devotion!
Can aught on earth impede delight,
Still mounting to a higher height;
And higher still-a greedy flight!
Can any low-born care pursue her,
Can any mortal clog come to her?
No notion have they-not a thought,
That is from joyless regions brought!
And, while they coast the silent lake,
Their inspiration I partake;
Share their empyreal spirits-yea,
With their enraptured vision, see-
O fancy-what a jubilee!

What shifting pictures-clad in gleams
Of colour bright as feverish dreams!
Earth, spangled sky, and lake serene,
Involved and restless all-a scene

Pregnant with mutual exaltation,
Rich change, and multiplied creation!
This sight to me the Muse imparts:-
And then, what kindness in their hearts!
What tears of rapture, what vow-making,
Profound entreaties, and hand-shaking!
What solemn, vacant, interlacing,
As if they'd fall asleep embracing!
Then, in the turbulence of glee,
And in the excess of amity,

Says Benjamin, "That Ass of thine,
He spoils thy sport, and hinders mine:
If he were tethered to the waggon,
He'd drag as well what he is dragging;
And we, as brother should with brother,
Might trudge it alongside each other!"
Forthwith, obedient to command,
The horses made a quiet stand;
And to the waggon's skirts was tied
The Creature, by the Mastiff's side,
The Mastiff wondering, and perplext
With dread of what will happen next;
And thinking it but sorry cheer,
To have such company so near!

This new arrangement made, the Wain
Through the still night proceeds again;
No Moon hath risen her light to lend;
But indistinctly may be kenned
The VANGUARD, following close behind,
Sails spread, as if to catch the wind!

"Thy wife and child are snug and warm, Thy ship will travel without harm:

I like," said Benjamin, "her shape and

stature:

And this of mine-this bulky creature
Of which I have the steering-this,

Seen fairly, is not much amiss!

We want your streamers, friend, you know;
But, altogether as we go,

We make a kind of handsome show!
Among these hills, from first to last,
We've weathered many a furious blast;
Hard passage forcing on, with head
Against the storm, and canvas spread.

I hate a boaster; but to thee
Will say't, who know'st both land and sea,
The unluckiest hulk that stems the brine
Is hardly worse beset than mine,
When cross-winds on her quarter beat;
And, fairly lifted from my feet,

I stagger onward-heaven knows how;
But not so pleasantly as now:
Poor pilot I, by snows confounded,
And many a foundrous pit surrounded!
Yet here we are, by night and day
Grinding through rough and smooth our way;
Through foul and fair our task fulfilling;
And long shall be so yet-God willing!'
"Ay," said the Tar, " through fair and

foul

But save us from yon screeching owl!"
That instant was begun a fray
Which called their thoughts another way:
The mastiff, ill-conditioned carl!
What must he do but growl and snarl,
Still more and more dissatisfied
With the meek comrade at his side!
Till, not incensed though put to proof,
The Ass, uplifting a hind hoof,
Salutes the Mastiff on the head;

And so were better manners bred,
And all was calmed and quieted.

"Yon screech-owl," says the Sailor, turning
Back to his former cause of mourning,
"Yon owl!-pray God that all be well!
'Tis worse than any funeral bell;
As sure as I've the gift of sight,
We shall be meeting ghosts to-night!"
This whip shall lay
-Said Benjamin,
A thousand, if they cross our way.
I know that Wanton's noisy station,
I know him and his occupation;
The jolly bird hath learned his cheer
Upon the banks of Windermere ;
Where a tribe of them make merry,
Mocking the Man that keeps the ferry;
Hallooing from an open throat,
Like travellers shouting for a boat.
-The tricks he learned at Windermere
This vagrant owl is playing here-
That is the worst of his employment:
He's at the top of his enjoyment!"

This explanation stilled the alarm,
Cured the foreboder like a charm;
This, and the manner, and the voice,
Summoned the Sailor to rejoice;
His heart is up-he fears no evil
From life or death, from man or devil;
He wheels-and, making many stops,
Brandished his crutch against the mountain

tops;

And, while he talked of blows and scars,
Benjamin, among the stars,

Beheld a dancing-and a glancing;
Such retreating and advancing

As, I ween, was never seen

In bloodiest battle since the days of Mars!

CANTO FOURTH.

THUS they, with freaks of proud delight,
Beguile the remnant of the night;
And many a snatch of jovial song
Regales them as they wind along;
While to the music, from on high,
The echoes make a glad reply.-
But the sage Muse the revel heeds
No farther than her story needs;
Nor will she servilely attend
The loitering journey to its end.

Blithe spirits of her own impel
The Muse, who scents the morning air,
To take of this transported pair
A brief and unreproved farewell;
To quit the slow-paced waggon's side,
And wander down yon hawthorn dell,
With murmuring Greta for her guide.
-There doth she ken the awful form
Of Raven-crag-black as a storm-
Glimmering through the twilight pale;
And Ghimmer-crag, his tall twin brother,
Each peering forth to meet the other:-
And, while she roves through St John's Vale,
Along the smooth unpathwayed plain,
By sheep-track or through cottage lane,
Where no disturbance comes to intrude
Upon the pensive solitude,

Her unsuspecting eye, perchance,
With the rude shepherd's favoured glance,

* The crag of the ewe lamb.

Beholds the faeries in array,
Whose party-coloured garments gay
The silent company betray:

Red, green, and blue; a moment's sight!
For Skiddaw-top with rosy light

Is touched-and all the band take flight.
-Fly also, Muse! and from the dell'
Mount to the ridge of Nathdale Fell;
Thence, look thou forth o'er wood and lawn
Hoar with the frost-like dews of dawn;
Across yon meadowy bottom look,
Where close fogs hide their parent brook;
And see, beyond that hamlet small,
The ruined towers of Threlkeld-hall,
Lurking in a double shade,

By trees and lingering twilight made!
There, at Blencathara's rugged feet,
Sir Lancelot gave a safe retreat
To noble Clifford; from annoy
Concealed the persecuted boy,
Well pleased in rustic garb to feed
His flock, and pipe on shepherd's reed
Among this multitude of hills,
Crags, woodlands, waterfalls, and rills;
Which soon the morning shall enfold,
From east to west, in ample vest
Of massy gloom and radiance bold.

The mists, that o'er the streamlet's bed
Hung low, begin to rise and spread;
Even while I speak, their skirts of grey
Are smitten by a silver ray;

And lo!-up Castrigg's naked steep
(Where, smoothly urged, the vapours sweep
Along-and scatter and divide,
Like fleecy clouds self-multiplied)
The stately waggon is ascending,
With faithful Benjamin attending,
Apparent now beside his team-
Now lost amid a glittering steam:
And with him goes his Sailor-friend,
By this time near their journey's end;
And, after their high-minded riot,
Sickening into thoughtful quiet;
As if the morning's pleasant hour,
Had for their joys a killing power.
And, sooth, for Benjamin a vein
Is opened of still deeper pain
As if his heart by notes were stung
From out the lowly hedge-rows flung;
As if the warbler lost in light
Reproved his soarings of the night,
In strains of rapture pure and holy
Upbraided his distempered folly.

Drooping is he, his step is dull;
But the horses stretch and pull;
With increasing vigour climb,
Eager to repair lost time;
Whether, by their own desert,
Knowing what cause there is for sname,
They are labouring to avert

As much as may be of the blame,
Which, they foresee, must soon alight
Upon his head, whom, in despite
Of all his failings, they love best;
Whether for him they are distrest,
Or, by length of fasting roused,
Are impatient to be housed:
Up against the hill they strain
Tugging at the iron chain,
Tugging all with might and main,

Last and foremost, every horse

To the utmost of his force!
And the smoke and respiration,
Rising like an exhalation,

Blend with the mist--a moving shroud
To form, an undissolving cloud;
Which, with slant ray, the merry sun
Takes delight to play upon.
Never golden-haired Apollo,

Pleased some favourite chief to follow
Through accidents of peace or war,
In a perilous moment threw
Around the object of his care
Veil of such celestial hue;
Interposed so bright a screen
Him and his enemies between!

Alas! what boots it?-who can hide,
When the malicious Fates are bent
On working out an ill intent?
Can destiny be turned aside?
No-sad progress of my story!
Benjamin, this outward glory
Cannot shield thee from thy Master,
Who from Keswick has pricked forth,
Sour and surly as the north;
And, in fear of some disaster,
Comes to give what help he may,

And to hear what thou canst say;

If, as needs he must forbode,

Thou hast been loitering on the road!

His fears, his doubts, may now take flight

The wished-for object is in sight;
Yet, trust the Muse, it rather hath
Stirred him up to livelier wrath ;
Which he stifles, moody man!
With all the patience that he can;
To the end that, at your meeting,
He may give thee decent greeting.

There he is-resolved to stop,
Till the waggon gains the top;
But stop he cannot -must advance:
Him Benjamin, with lucky glance,
Espies-and instantly is ready,
Self-collected, poised, and steady:
And, to be the better seen,
Issues from his radiant shroud,
From his close-attending cloud,
With careless air and open mien.
Erect his port, and firm his going;

So struts yon cock that now is crowing;
And the morning light in grace
Strikes upon his lifted face,
Hurrying the pallid hue away
That might his trespasses betray.
But what can all avail to clear him,
Or what need of explanation,
Parley or interrogation?
For the Master sees, alas!
That unhappy Figure near him,
Limping o'er the dewy grass,
Where the road it fringes, sweet,
Soft and cool to way-worn feet;
And, O indignity! an Ass,
By his noble Mastiff's side,
Tethered to the waggon's tail:
And the ship, in all her pride,
Following after in full sail!

Not to speak of babe and mother;
Who, contented with each other,

And snug as birds in leafy arbour,
Find, within, a blessed harbour!

With eager eyes the Master pries:
Looks in and out, and through and through;
Says nothing-till at last he spies

A wound upon the Mastiff's head,

A wound, where plainly might be read
What feats an Ass's hoof can do!
But drop the rest :-this aggravation,
This complicated provocation,

A hoard of grievances unsealed;
All past forgiveness it repealed;

And thus, and through distempered blood
On both sides, Benjamin the good,
The patient, and the tender-hearted,
Was from his team and waggon parted;
When duty of that day was o'er,

Laid down his whip-and served no more.-
Nor could the waggon long survive,
Which Benjamin had ceased to drive:
It lingered on-guide after guide
Ambitiously the office tried;
But each unmanageable hill
Called for his patience and his skill;-
And sure it is, that through this night,
And what the morning brought to light,
Two losses had we to sustain,

We lost both WAGGONER and WAIN

Accept, O Friend, for praise or blame,
The gift of this adventurous song;
A record which I dared to frame,
Though timid scruples checked me long;
They checked me-and I left the theme
Untouched-in spite of many a gleam
Of fancy which thereon was shed,
Like pleasant sunbeams shifting still
Upon the side of a distant hill:
But Nature might not be gainsaid;
For what I have and what I miss

I sing of these-it makes my bliss!
Nor is it I who play the part,

But a shy spirit in my heart,

That comes and goes-will sometimes leap
From hiding-places ten years deep;
Or haunts me with familiar face,
Returning, like a ghost unlaid,
Until the debt I owe be paid.
Forgive me, then; for I had been

On friendly terms with this Machine:

In him, while he was wont to trace

Our roads, through many a long year's space,

A living almanack had we;

We had a speaking diary,

That in this uneventful place,

Gave to the days a mark and name

By which we knew them when they came.

-Yes, I, and all about me here,

Through all the changes of the year,
Had seen him through the mountains go,
In pomp of mist or pomp of snow,
Majestically huge and slow:

Or, with a milder grace adorning
The landscape of a summer's morning;
While Grasmere smoothed her liquid plain
The moving image to detain;
And mighty Fairfield, with a chime
Of echoes, to his march kept time;
When little other business stirred,
And little other sound was heard;

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