Of melancholy, not unnoticed while the stars, Not seldom from the uproar I retired Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed And all the shadowy banks on either side even as if the earth had rolled With visible motion her diurnal round! Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, THERE WAS A BOY 1799 1800 Written in Germany. This is an extract from the poem on my own poetical education. This practice of making an instrument of their own fingers is known to most boys, though some are more skilful at it than others. William Raincock of Rayrigg, a fine spirited lad, took the lead of all my schoolfellows in this art. THERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him. And they would shout Responsive to his call, — with quivering peals, Of silence such as baffled his best skill: Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received This boy was taken from his mates, and died Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs Upon a slope above the village-school; And, through that church-yard when my way has led On summer-evenings, I believe, that there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute looking at the grave in which he lies! NUTTING 1799 1800 Written in Germany; intended as part of a poem on my own life, but struck out as not being wanted there. Like most of my schoolfellows I was an impassioned nutter. For this pleasure, the vale of Esthwaite, abounding in coppice-wood, furnished a very wide range. These verses arose out of the remembrance of feelings I had often had when a boy, and particularly in the extensive woods that still stretch from the side of Esthwaite Lake towards Graythwaite, the seat of the ancient family of Sandys. It seems a day (I speak of one from many singled out) I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth Motley accoutrement, of power to smile At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, and, in truth, More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks, Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets, Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook Unvisited, where not a broken bough Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung, The banquet; or beneath the trees I sate Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played; And fade, unseen by any human eye; |