XVI.

And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy ;
Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye.
Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy,
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy.
Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;
And now his look was most demurely sad,
And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why.

The neighbours stared and sighed, yet blessed the lad: Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him

mad.

XVII.

But why should I his childish feats display?
Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled;
Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray
Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped,
Or roamed at large the lonely mountain's head;
Or, where the maze of some bewildered stream
To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led;
There would he wander wild, 'till Phoebus' beam,
Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team.

B

XVIII.

The exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.

His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed
To work the woe of any living thing,

By trap, or net; by arrow, or by sling;

These he detested, those he scorned to wield :
He wished to be the guardian, not the king,
Tyrant, far less, or traitor, of the field.

And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.

XIX.

Lo! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine;

And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves,
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine:
While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join,
And echo swells the chorus to the skies.
Would Edwin this majestic scene resign

For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies?

Ah! no he better knows great Nature's charms to prize.

XX.

And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,

When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey,
And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn;
Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn,
Where twilight loves to linger for a while ;

And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,
And villager abroad at early toil.

But, lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile.

XXI.

And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,
When all in mist the world below was lost.
What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime,
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast,
And view the enormous waste of vapour, tost

In billows, lengthening to the horizon round,
Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed!
And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound,

Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound!

XXII.

In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,
Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene.
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight:
Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene
The southern sun diffused his dazzling shene.
Even sad vicissitude amused his soul:
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,

A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wished not to controul.

XXIII.

"O ye wild groves! O, where is now your bloom!” (The Muse interprets thus his tender thought.) "Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom,

“Of late so grateful in the hour of drought!

66

Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought "To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake? "Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought? "For now the storm howls mournful through the brake, "And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.

XXIV.

"Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool, "And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty, crowned! "Ah! see, the unsightly slime, and sluggish pool,

“ Have all the solitary vale imbrowned ;

"Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound. "The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray :

66

And, hark! the river, bursting every mound,

"Down the vale thunders; and, with wasteful sway,

Uproots the grove, and rolls the shattered rocks away.

XXV.

"Yet such the destiny of all on earth :
"So flourishes and fades majestic man.
"Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth,
"And fostering gales awhile the nursling fan.

66

“O smile, ye heavens! serene; ye mildews wan, "Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime, "Nor lessen of his life the little span!

"Borne on the swift, though silent wings of Time, "Old age comes on apace, to ravage all the clime.