A taste of this great pleasure, viewing Oh! it was a time forlorn When the Fatherless was born- Swords that are with slaughter wild Hunt the Mother and the Child.. Who will take them from the light? Yonder is a House-but where? To the Caves, and to the Brooks, She is speechless, but her eyes Blissful Mary, Mother mild, Maid and Mother undefiled, Save a Mother and her Child! Now Who is he that bounds with joy Can this be He who hither came In secret, like a smothered flame? O'er whom such thankful tears were shed I My own, my own, thy Fellow-guest may not be; but rest thee, rest, For lowly Shepherd's life is best!” Alas! when evil men are strong No life is good, no pleasure long. The Boy must part from Mosedale's Groves, And leave Blencathara's rugged Coves, And quit the Flowers that Summer brings To Glenderamakin's lofty springs; Must vanish, and his careless cheer - Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise! Hear it, good Man, old in days! Thou Tree of covert and of rest For this young Bird that is distrest, A recreant Harp, that sings of fear That brought him up to manhood's prime.. —Again he wanders forth at will, That learn'd of him submissive ways; To his side the Fallow-deer Came, and rested without fear; And both the undying Fish that swim The pair were Servants of his eye In their immortality, |