Limps (for I might have told before
That he was lame) across the floor-
Is gone-returns-and with a prize!
With what? a ship of lusty size;
A gallant stately man of war,
Fixed on a smoothly-sliding car.
Surprise to all, but most surprise
To Benjamin, who rubs his eyes,
Not knowing that he had befriended
A man so gloriously attended!

"This," cries the sailor, "a third-rate is,
Stand back, and you shall see her gratis!
This was the flag-ship at the Nile,
The Vanguard you may smirk and smile,
But, pretty maid, if you look near,
You'll find you've much in little here!
A nobler ship did never swim,
And you shall see her in full trim:
I'll set, my friends, to do you honour,
Set every inch of sail upon her."

So said, so done; and masts, sails, yards,
He names them all; and interlards
His speech with uncouth terms of art,
Accomplished in the showman's part;
And then, as from a sudden check,
Cries out-"'Tis there, the quarter-deck
On which brave Admiral Nelson stood-
A sight that would have roused your blood!
One eye he had, which, bright as ten,
Burnt like a fire among his men ;
Let this be land, and that be sea,
Here lay the French-and thus came we!"

Hushed was by this the fiddle's sound,
The dancers all were gathered round,
And, such the stillness of the house,
You might have heard a nibbling mouse;
While, borrowing helps where'er he may,
The sailor through the story runs
Of ships to ships and guns to guns;
And does his utmost to display
The dismal conflict, and the might
And terror of that wondrous night!
"A bowl, a bowl of double measure,"
Cries Benjamin, "a draught of length,
To Nelson, England's pride and treasure,
Her bulwark and her tower of strength!"
When Benjamin had seized the bowl,
The mastift from beneath the waggon,
Where he lay, watchful as a dragon,
Rattled his chain-'twas all in vain,'
For Benjamin, triumphant soul!
He heard the monitory growl;
Heard-and in opposition quaffed
A deep, determined, desperate draught!
Nor did the battered tar forget.

Or flinch from what he deemed his debt.

Then, like a hero crowned with laurel,
Back to her place the ship he led ;
Wheeled her back in full apparel;
And so, flag flying at mast-head,
Re-yoked her to the ass-anon,
Cries Benjamin, "We must be gone."
Thus, after two hours' hearty stay,
Again behold them on their way!

CANTO III.

RIGHT gladly had the horses stirred,
When they the wished-for greeting heard,
That they were free to move once more.
The whip's loud notice from the door,
You think these doings must have bred
In them disheartening doubts and dread;
No, not a horse of all the eight,
Although it be a moonless night,
Fears either for himself or freight;
For this they know, (and let it hide,
In part, the offences of their guide,)
That Benjamin, with clouded brains,
Is worth the best with all their pains;
And, if they had a prayer to make,
The prayer would be that they may take
With him whatever comes in course,
The better fortune or the worse;
That no one else may have business near
[them
And, drunk or sober, he may steer them.

So, forth in dauntless mood they fare,
And with them goes the guardian pair.

Now, heroes, for the true commotion,
The triumph of your late devotion !
Can aught on earth impede delight,
Still mounting to a higher height;
And higher still-a greedy flight!
Can a low-born care pursue her,
Can any mortal clog come to her?
No notion have they-not a thought,
That is from joyless regions brought!
And, while they coast the silent lake,
Their inspiration 1 partake;
Share their empyreal spirits-yea,
With their enraptured vision, see-
O fancy-what a jubilee!

What shifting pictures-clad in gleam
Of colour bright as feverish dreams!
Earth, spangled sky, and lake serene,
Involved and restless all-a scene
Pregnant with mutual exaltation,
Rich change, and multiplied creation!
This sight to me the muse imparts ;-
And then, what kindness in their hearts!
What tears of rapture, what vow-making,
Profound entreaties, and hand-shaking'

What solemn, vacant interlacing,
As if they'd fall asleep embracing!
Then, in the turbulence of glee,
And in the excess of amity,
Savs Benjamin, "That ass of thine,
He spoils thy sport, and hinders mine;
If he were tethered to the waggon,
He'd drag as well what he is dragging;
And we, as brother should with brother,
Might trudge it alongside each other?"

Forthwith, obedient to command,
The horses made a quiet stand;
And to the waggon's skirts was tied
The creature, by the mastiff's side
(The mastiff not well pleased to be
So very near such company)."
This new arrangement made, the wain
Through the still night proceeds again :
No moon had risen her light to lend;
But indistinctly may be kenned
The VANGUARD, following close behind,
Sails spread, as if to catch the wind!

"Thy wife and child are snug and warm, Thy ship will travel without harm; I like," said Benjamin, "her shape and

stature;

And this of mine-this bulky creature
Of which I have the steering-this,
Seen fairly, is not much amiss!

We want your streamers, friend, you know;
But altogether, as we go,

We make a kind of handsome show!
Among these hills from first to last,
We've weathered many a furious blast;
Hard passage forcing on, with head
Against the storm, and canvas spread.
I hate a boaster-but to thee

Will say't, who know'st both land and sea,
The unluckiest hulk that sails the brine
Is hardly worse beset than mine,
When cross winds on her quarter beat;
And, fairly lifted from my feet,
I stagger onward-Heaven knows how-
But not so pleasantly as now-
Poor pilot I, by snows confounded,
And many a foundrous pit surrounded!
Yet here we are, by night and day
Grinding through rough and smooth our
Through foul and fair our task fulfilling;
And long shall be so yet-God willing !"

[way,

"Ay," said the tar, "through fair and foul

But save us from yon screeching owl!"
That instant was begun a fray
Which called their thoughts another way;

The mastiff, ill-conditioned carl!
What must he do but growl and snar!,
Still more and more dissatisfied
With the meek comrade at his side?
Till, not incensed, though put to proof,
The ass, uplifting a hind hoof.
Salutes the mastiff on the head;
And so were better manners bred,
And all was calmed and quieted.

"Yon screech-owl," says the sailor,
turning

Back to his former cause of mourning.
Yon owl!-pray God that all be well!
"Tis worse than any funeral bell;
As sure as I've the gift of sight,
We shall be meeting ghosts to-night !"
Said Benjamin, "This whip shall lay
A thousand if they cross our way.
I know that wanton's noisy station,
I know him and his occupation ;
The jolly bird hath learned his cheer
On the banks of Windermere ;
Where a tribe of them make merry,
Mocking the man that keeps the ferry:
Halloing from an open throat,
Like travellers shouting for a boat.

The tricks he learned at Windermere
This vagrant owl is playing here-
That is the worst of his employment;
He's in the height of his enjoyment !"

This explanation stilled the alarm,
Cured the foreboder like a charm,
This and the manner, and the voice,
Summoned the sailor to rejoice;
His heart is up-he fears no evil
From life or death, from man or devil.
He wheeled-and, making many stops.
Brandished his crutch against the moun-
tain tops;

And, while he talked of blows and scars,
Benjamin, among the stars,

Beheld a dancing-and a glancing;
Such retreating and advancing

As, I ween, was never seen

In bloodiest battle since the days of Mars'

CANTO IV.

THUS they, with freaks of proud delight,
Beguile the remnant of the night;
And many a snatch of jovial song
Regales them as they wind along:
While to the music from on high,
The echoes make a glad reply.
But the sage muse the revel heeds
No farther than her story needs:

Nor will she servilely attend
The loitering journey to its end.
Blithe spirits of her own impel
The muse who scents the morning air,
To take of this transported pair
A brief and unreproved farewell;
To quit the slow-paced waggon's side,
And wander down yon hawthorn dell,
With murmuring Greta for her guide.
There doth she ken the awful form
Of Raven-crag-black as a storm-
Glimmering through the twilight pale;
And Gimmer-crag, his tall twin-brother,
Each peering forth to meet the other ;-
And, while she roves through St. John's
Vale,

Along the smooth unpathwayed plain,

By sheep-track, or through cottage lane,
Where no disturbance comes to intrude
Upon the pensive solitude,

Her unsuspecting eye, perchance,
With the rude shepherd's favoured glance,
Beholds the faeries in array,

Whose party-coloured garments gay
The silent company betray;

Red, green, and blue; a moment's sight!
For Skiddaw-top with rosy light

Is touched-and all the band take flight.
Fly also, muse! and from the dell
Mount to the ridge of Nathdale Fell;
Thence look thou forth o'er wood and
lawn,

Hoar with the frost-like dews of dawn;
Across yon meadowy bottom look,
Where close fogs hide their parent brook;
And see, beyond that hamlet small,
The ruined towers of Threlkeld Hall,
Lurking in a double shade,

By trees and lingering twilight made!
There, at Blencathara's rugged feet,
r Lancelot gave a safe retreat
To noble Clifford; from annoy
Concealed the persecuted boy,
Well pleased in rustic garb to feed
His flock, and pipe on shepherd's reed;
Among this multitude of hills,

Crags, woodlands, waterfalls, and rills;
Which soon the morning shall infold,
From east to west, in ample vest
Of massy gloom and radiance bold.

The mists, that o'er the streamlet's bed Hung low, begin to rise and spread ; Even while I speak, their skirts of gray Are smitten by a silver ray;

The crag of the ewe-lamb.

And lo!-up Castrigg's naked steep
(Where, smoothly urged, the vapours sweep
Along-and scatter and divide
Like fleecy clouds self-multiplied)
The stately waggon is ascending
With faithful Benjamin attending,
Apparent now beside his team-
Now lost amid a glittering steam.
And with him goes his sailor friend,
By this time near their journey's end,
And, after their high-minded riot,
Sickening into thoughtful quiet;
As if the morning's pleasant hour
Had for their joys a killing power.

They are drooping, weak, and dull;
But the horses stretch and pull;
With increasing vigour climb,
Eager to repair lost time;
Whether by their own desert,
Knowing there is cause for shame,
They are labouring to avert
At least a portion of the blame,
Which full surely will alight
Upon his head, whom, in despite
Of all his faults they love the best,
Whether for him they are distressed;
Or, by length of fasting roused,
Are impatient to be housed;
Up against the hill they strain-
Tugging at the iron chain-
Tugging all with might and main-
Last and foremost, every horse
To the utmost of his force!

And the smoke and respiration
Rising like an exhalation,

Blends with the mist,-a moving shroud
To form-an undissolving cloud;
Which, with slant ray, the merry sun
Takes delight to play upon.
Never surely old Apollo
He, or other god as old,
Of whom in story we are told,
Who had a favourite to follow
Through a battle or elsewhere,
Round the object of his care,
In a time of peril, threw,
Veil of such celestial hue;
Interposed so bright a screen
Him and his enemies between!

Alas, what boots it ?-who can hide When the malicious fates are bent On working out an ill intent? Can destiny be turned aside? No-sad progress of my story! Benjamin, this outward glory

[flight

Cannot shield thee from thy master,
Who from Keswick has pricked forth,
Sour and surly as the north;
And, in fear of some disaster,
Comes to give what help he may,
Or to hear what thou canst say;
If, as needs he must forebode,
Thou hast loitered on the road!
His doubts-his fears may now take
The wished-for object is in sight;
Yet, trust the muse, it rather hath
Stirred him up to livelier wrath;
Which he stifles, moody man!
With all the patience that he can!
To the end that at your meeting
He may give thee decent greeting.

There he is-resolved to stop,
Till the waggon gains the top;
But stop he cannot-must advance :
Him Benjamin, with lucky glance,
Espies, and instantly is ready,
Self-collected, poised, and steady;
And, to be the better seen,
Issues from his radiant shroud,
From his close attending cloud,

With careless air and open mien.

Erect his port, and firm his going;

So struts yon cock that now is crowing;
And the morning light in grace
Strikes upon his lifted face,"
Hurrying the pallid hue away
That might his trespasses betray.

But what can all avail to clear him,
Or what need of explanation,
Parley, or interrogation?
For the master sees, alas!
That unhappy figure near him,
Limping o'er the dewy grass,
Where the road it fringes, sweet,
Soft and cool to way-worn feet;
And, oh, indignity! an ass,
By his noble mastiff's side,
Tethered to the waggon's tail:
And the ship, in all her pride,
Following after in full sail!

Not to speak of babe and mother;
Who, contented with each other,
And, snug as birds in leafy arbour,
Find, within, a blessed harbour!

With eager eyes the master pries: Looks in and out-and through and through;

Says nothing-till at last he spies
A wound upon the mastiff's head,
A wound-where plainly might be read
What feats an ass's hoof can do!

But drop the rest :-this aggravation,
This complicated provocation,

A hoard of grievances unsealed;
All past forgiveness it repealed :-

And thus, and through distempered blood
On both sides, Benjamin the good.
The patient, and the tender-hearted,
Was from his team and waggon parted,
When duty of that day was o'er,

Laid down his whip-and served no more.
Nor could the waggon long survive
Which Benjamin had ceased to drive :
It lingered on ;-guide after guide
Ambitiously the office tried;
But each unmanageable hill

Called for his patience and his skill
And sure it is, that through this night,
And what the morning brought to light,
Two losses had we to sustain,

We lost both WAGGONER and WAIN !

Accept, O friend, for praise or blame,
The gift of this adventurous song;
A record which I dared to frame,
Though timid scruples checked me long;
They checked me-and I left the theme
Untouched-in spite of many a gleam
Of fancy which thereon was shed,
Like pleasant sunbeams shifting still
Upon the side of a distant hill:
But nature might not be gainsaid ;
For what I have and what I miss
I sing of these-it makes my bliss!
Nor is it I who play the part,

But a shy spirit in my heart,

That comes and goes-will sometimes leap
From hiding-places ten years deep;
Or haunts me with familiar face-
Returning, like a ghost unlaid,
Until the debt I owe be paid.
Forgive me, then; for I had been

On friendly terms with this machine:

In him, while he was wont to trace

Our roads, through many a long year's A living almanack had we:

We had a speaking diary,

That, in this uneventful place,

Gave to the days a mark and name

[space,

By which we knew them when they came.
Yes, I, and all about me here,

Through all the changes of the year,
Had seen him through the mountains go,
In pomp of mist or pomp of snow,
Majestically huge and slow:

Or, with a milder grace adorning
The landscape of a summer's morning;

The moving image to detain ;
And mighty Fairfield, with a chime
Of echoes, to his march kept time;
When little other business stirred,
And little other sound was heard ;
In that delicious hour of balm,
Stillness, solitude, and calm,
While yet the valley is arrayed,
On this side with a sober shade;
On that is prodigally bright-
Crag, lawn, and wood-with rosy light.
But most of all, thou lordly wain!
I wish to have thee here again,
When windows flap and chimney roars,
And all is dismal out of doors;
And sitting by my fire, I see
Eight sorry carts, no less a train !
Unworthy successors of thee,

[rain

And oft, as they pass slowly on,
Beneath my window-one by one-
See, perched upon the naked neight
The summit of a cumbrous freight,
A single traveller-and there
Another-then perhaps a pair--
The lame, the sickly, and the old ;
Men, women, heartless with the cold;
And babes in wet and starveling plight;
Which once, be weather as it might,
Had still a nest within a nest,
Thy shelter-and their mother's breast!
Then most of all, then far the most,
Do I regret what we have lost;
Am grieved for that unhappy sin
Which robbed us of good Benjamin ;-
And of his stately charge, which none
Could keep alive when he was gone!