Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 2

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800 Vol. 2, by William Wordsworth #5 in our seriesby William WordsworthCopyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloadingor redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do notchange or edit the header without written permission.Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of thisfile. Included is important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how the file may be used. You can alsofind out about how to make a donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts****eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971*******These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****Title: Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Vol. 2Author: William WordsworthRelease Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8912] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was firstposted on August 24, 2003]Edition: 10Language: English*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LYRICAL BALLADS, VOL. 2 ***Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Robert Prince and the DP TeamLYRICAL BALLADSWITH OTHER POEMS.1800IN TWO VOLUMES.By W. WORDSWORTH.Quam hihil ad genium, ...

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Publié par	chiwyang
Publié le	08 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	51
Langue	English

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Title: Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Vol.2Author: William WordsworthRelease Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8912][Yes, we are more than one year ahead ofschedule] [This file was first posted on August 24,2003]Edition: 10Language: English*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK LYRICAL BALLADS, VOL. 2 ***Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Robert Prince andthe DP Team

LYRICAL BALLADSWITH OTHER POEMS.1800IN TWO VOLUMES.By W. WORDSWORTH.Quam hihil ad genium, Papiniane, tuum!VOL. II.CONTENTS Hart-leap Well There was a Boy, &c The Brothers, a Pastoral Poem Ellen Irwin, or the Braes of Kirtle Strange fits of passion I have known, &c. Song A slumber did my spirit seal, &c The Waterfall and the Eglantine The Oak and the Broom, a Pastoral Lucy Gray The Idle Shepherd-Boys or Dungeon-Gill Force, aPastoral

'Tis said that some have died for love, &c. Poor Susan Inscription for the Spot where the Hermitagestood on St. Herbert's Island, Derwent-Water Inscription for the House (an Out-house) on theIsland at Grasmere To a Sexton Andrew Jones The two Thieves, or the last stage of Avarice A whirl-blast from behind the Hill, &c. Song for the wandering Jew Ruth Lines written with a Slate-Pencil upon a Stone,&c. Lines written on a Tablet in a School The two April Mornings The Fountain, a conversation Nutting Three years she grew in sun and shower, &c. The Pet-Lamb, a Pastoral Written in Germany on one of the coldest days ofthe century The Childless Father The Old Cumberland Beggar, a Description Rural Architecture A Poet's Epitaph A Character A Fragment Poems on the Naming of Places, Michael, a Pastoral Notes to the Poem of The Brothers Notes to the Poem of Michael

HART-LEAP WELLHart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, aboutfive miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and nearthe side of the road which leads from Richmond toAskrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkablechase, the memory of which is preserved by themonuments spoken of in the second Part of thefollowing Poem, which monuments do now exist asI have there described them. The Knight had ridden down from Wensley moor With the slow motion of a summer's cloud; He turn'd 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 Grey; Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third Which he had mounted on that glorious day. Joy sparkeled in the prancing Courser's eyes; The horse and horsemen 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 gallop'd made the echoes roar; But horse and man are vanish'd, 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: Brach, Swift and Music, noblest of their kind, Follow, and weary up the mountain strain. The Knight halloo'd, he chid and cheer'd them on With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern; But breath and eye-sight fail, and, one by one, The dogs are stretch'd among the mountain fern. Where is the throng, the tumult of the chace? The bugles that so joyfully were blown? —This race it looks not like an earthly race; 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 lean'd against a thorn; He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy: He neither smack'd his whip, nor blew his horn, But gaz'd upon the spoil with silent joy. Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter lean'd, Stood his dumb partner in this glorious act; Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yean'd, And foaming like a mountain cataract. Upon his side the Hart was lying stretch'd: His nose half-touch'd a spring beneath a hill, And with the last deep groan his breath hadfetch'd The waters of the spring were trembling still.

And now, too happy for repose or rest, Was never man in such a joyful case, Sir Walter walk'd all round, north, south and west, And gaz'd, and gaz'd upon that darling place. And turning up the hill, it was at least Nine roods of sheer ascent, Sir Walter found Three several marks which with his hoofs thebeast Had left imprinted on the verdant 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 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 bason 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 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 graz'd. 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 Ure. Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, With breathless nostrils stretch'd above thespring. And soon the Knight perform'd what he had said, The fame whereof through many a land did ring. Ere thrice the moon into her port had steer'd, A cup of stone receiv'd 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 With trailing plants and trees were intertwin'd, Which soon composed a little sylvan hall, A leafy shelter from the sun and wind. And thither, when the summer days were long, Sir Walter journey'd with his paramour; And with the dancers and the minstrel's song Made merriment within that pleasant bower. The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time, And his bones lie in his paternal vale.— But there is matter for a second rhyme, And I to this would add another tale.

PART SECOND. The moving accident is not my trade. To curl the blood I have no ready arts; 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song to thinking hearts, As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, It chanc'd that I saw standing in a dell Three aspins at three corners of a square, And one, not four yards distant, near a well. What this imported I could ill divine, And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop, I saw three pillars standing in a line, The last stone pillar on a dark hill-top. 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; More doleful place did never eye survey; It seem'd as if the spring-time came not here, And Nature here were willing to decay. I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost, When one who was in Shepherd's garb attir'd, Came up the hollow. Him did I accost, And what this place might be I then inquir'd. The Shepherd stopp'd, and that same story told Which in my former rhyme I have rehears'd. "A jolly place," said he, "in times of old,