But for the child, the sightless boy, Was never half so bless'd. And let him, let him go his way, This child will take no harm. But now the passionate lament, Which from the crowd on shore was sent, The cries which broke from old and young Are stifled-all is still. And quickly with a silent crew A boat is ready to pursue; And from the shore their course they take, And swiftly down the running lake They follow the blind boy. 170 175 180 185 But soon they move with softer pace; A youngling of the wild-duck's nest, 190 Or as the wily sailors crept To seize (while on the deep it slept) The hapless creature which did dwell, Erewhile within the dancing shell, They steal upon their prey. 195 With sound the least that can be made, More cautious as they draw more near; But in his darkness he can hear, And guesses their intent. 1 The language of the Highlanders. 200 "Lei-gha-Lei-gha!" he then cried out, Alas! and when he felt their hands- Or melt it into air : So all his dreams—that inward light With which his soul had shone so bright, All vanish'd ;—'twas a heartfelt cross To him, a heavy, bitter loss, As he had ever known. But hark! a gratulating voice, With which the very hills rejoice : That he is safe at last. And then, when he was brought to land, Which, gathering round, did on the banks 205 210 215 220 Of the great water give God thanks, 225 Rejoiced when waking she espies, The child; when she can trust her eyes, And touches the blind boy. 235 She led him home, and wept amain, When he was in the house again : Thus, after he had fondly braved 240 The perilous deep, the boy was saved : 245 Yet he was pleased and reconciled And in the lonely Highland dell 250 WORDSWORTH. POEM OF THE FANCY. A WHIRL-BLAST from behind the hill And showers of hailstones patter'd round. Of tallest hollies, tall and green; C The leaves in myriads jump and spring, WORDSWORTH. A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. GIRT round with rugged mountains Shine back the starry skies; Float silently and slow, You think a piece of heaven Midnight is there and Silence, Enthroned in heaven, looks down Upon her own calm mirror, Upon a sleeping town; For Bregenz,2 that quaint city Upon the Tyrol shore, 20 8 Has stood above Lake Constance A thousand years and more. Her battlements and towers Upon their rocky steep Have cast their trembling shadow For ages on the deep; Mountain and lake and valley A sacred legend know, Of how the town was saved one night, 1 A lake to the north-east of Switzerland. 16 24 2 A town in that part of Austria called the Tyrol, bordering on the south-eastern end of Lake Constance. Nor asked for rest or change; Her friends seemed no more new ones, Her speech seemed no more strange ; And when she led her cattle To pasture every day, She ceased to look and wonder She spoke no more of Bregenz In a deep mist of years. Yet, when her master's children Would clustering round her stand, She sang them the old ballads Of her own native land; And when at morn and evening She knelt before God's throne, The accents of her childhood Rose to her lips alone. And so she dwelt: the valley More peaceful year by year; 40 48 56 |