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;

Nay," said I, "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."

XIII.

THE

IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS;

OR,

DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE.*

A PASTORAL.

I.

THE valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the Echoes play
A never, never ending song,
To welcome in the May:

The Magpie chatters with delight;
The mountain Raven's youngling Brood

Have left the Mother and the Nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;

Or through the glittering Vapours dart

Ghyll in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland is a short, and for the most part, a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for Waterfall.

II.

Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two Boys are sitting in the sun;
It seems they have no work to do
Or that their work is done.

On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas Hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call Stag-horn, or Fox's Tail,
Their rusty Hats they trim:

And thus, as happy as the Day,

Those Shepherds wear the time away.

III.

Along the river's stony marge

The Sand-lark chaunts a joyous song;
The Thrush is busy in the wood,
And carols loud and strong.

A thousand Lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky
Keep jubilee; and more than all,

Those Boys with their green Coronal;
They never hear the

cry,

That plaintive cry! which up the hill

Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.

IV.

Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
"Down to the stump of yon old yew
We'll for our Whistles run a race."
-Away the Shepherds flew.

They leapt they ran-and when they came Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,

Seeing that he should lose the prize,

66

Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries James stopped with no good will:

Said Walter then, "Your task is here, 'Twill keep you working half a year.

And follow me where I shall lead".

The other took him at his word;

But did not like the deed.

It was a spot, which you may see
If ever you to Langdale go:

Into a chasm a mighty Block

Hath fallen, and made a Bridge of rock:

The gulph is deep below;

And in a basin black and small

Receives a lofty Waterfall.

VI.

With staff in hand across the cleft

The Challenger began his march;

And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained
The middle of the arch.

When list! he hears a piteous moan
Again! his heart within him dies
His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost,
He totters, pale as any ghost,
And, looking down, he spies

A Lamb, that in the pool is pent

Within that black and frightful Rent.

VII.

The Lamb had slipped into the stream,

And safe without a bruise or wound

The Cataract had borne him down
Into the gulph profound.

His Dam had seen him when he fell,
She saw him down the torrent borne ;

And, while with all a mother's love

She from the lofty rocks above

Sent forth a cry forlorn,

The Lamb, still swimming round and round,

Made answer to that plaintive sound.