Puslapio vaizdai
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"Thou knowest that twice a day I brought thee in

this Can

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;

And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with

dew,

I bring thee draughts of mild

new.

warm milk it is and

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they

are now;

Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony in the

plough:

My Playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is

cold

Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not rest! Poor Creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?

Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas! the mountain tops that look so green and

fair!

I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come

there:

The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like Lions for their prey.

"Here thou needest not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe, our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep and at break of day I will come to thee again!"

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,

This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;

66

Nay," said I, 66 more than half to the Damsel must belong,

For she looked with such a look, and she spake with

such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

HART-LEAP WELL.

Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.

THE Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor
With the slow motion of a summer's cloud;
He turned aside towards a Vassal's door,
And "Bring another horse!" he cried aloud.

"Another horse!" That shout the Vassal heard
And saddled his best Steed, a comely gray;
Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third
Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the prancing Courser's eyes;
The Horse and Horseman are a happy pair;
But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies,
There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall,
That as they galloped made the echoes roar;
But Horse and Man are vanished, one and all;
Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind,
Calls to the few tired Dogs that yet remain;
Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind,
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.

The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on
With suppliant gestures and upbraiding stern;
But breath and eye-sight fail; and, one by one,
The Dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race?
The bugles that so joyfully were blown?
This Chase it looks not like an earthly Chase;
Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.

The poor Hart toils along the mountain side;
I will not stop to tell how far he fled,
Nor will I mention by what death he died:
But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.

Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn;
He had no follower, Dog, nor Man, nor Boy:
He neither cracked his whip, nor blew his horn,
But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy.

Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned,
Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat;
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned,
And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet.

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched;
His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill;

And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched The waters of the spring were trembling still.

And now, too happy for repose or rest,

(Never had living man such joyful lot!)

Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west, And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot.

And climbing up the hill (it was at least

Nine roods of sheer ascent)-Sir Walter found
Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast
Had left imprinted on the grassy ground.

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 very fountain where he lies.

I'll build a Pleasure-house upon this spot,
And a small Arbor, 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 basin for that fountain in the dell!

And they who do make mention of the same
From this day forth, shall call it HART-LEAP WELL.

And, gallant Stag! to make thy praises known,
Another monument shall here be raised;
Three several Pillars, each a rough-hewn Stone,
And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed.

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 Arbor shall endure;
The joy of them who till the fields of Swale,
And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!"

Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead,
With breathless nostrils stretched above the spring.
- Soon did the Knight perform what he had said,
And far and wide the fame thereof did ring.

Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steered,
A Cup of stone received the living Well;
Three Pillars of rude stone Sir Walter reared,
And built a house of Pleasure in the dell.

And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall
With trailing plants and trees were intertwined, -
Which soon composed a little sylvan Hall,
A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.

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