I may truly say That they were as a proverb in the vale For endless industry. This only Son, 90 With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm The one of an inestimable worth Made all their household. 85 The Pair had but one inmate in their house An only Child, who had been born to them When Michael, telling o’er his years, began To deem that he was old, -in shepherd’s phrase With one foot in the grave. 80 She was a woman of a stirring life Whose heart was in her house two wheels she had Of antique form this large, for spinning wool That small, for flax and if one wheel had rest It was because the other was at work. His days had not been passed in singleness His Helpmate was a comely matron, old- Though younger than himself full twenty years. 60 So lived he till his eightieth year was past And grossly that man errs, who should suppose That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks Were things indifferent to the Shepherd’s thoughts Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed 65 The common air hills, which with vigorous step He had so often climbed which had impressed So many incidents upon his mind Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear Which, like a book, preserved the memory 70 Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts The certainty of honourable gain Those fields, those hills-what could they less? had laid Strong hold on his affections, were to him 75 A pleasurable feeling of blind love The pleasure which there is in life itself Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale 40 There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs, 45 And in his shepherd’s calling he was prompt And watchful more than ordinary men Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds Of blasts of every tone and, oftentimes When others heeded not, he heard the South 50 Make subterraneous music, like the noise Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock Bethought him, and he to himself would say ‘The winds are now devising work for me!’ 55 And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives The traveller to a shelter, summoned him Up to the mountains: he had been alone Amid the heart of many thousand mists That came to him, and left him, on the heights. It was the first Of those domestic tales that spake to me Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men Whom I already loved -not verily For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills 25 Where was their occupation and abode And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel 30 For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life Therefore, although it be a history Homely and rude, I will relate the same 35 For the delight of a few natural hearts And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake Of youthful Poets, who among these hills Will be my second self when I am gone Beside the brook Appears a struggling heap of unhewn stones! And to that simple object appertains A story-unenriched with strange events Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 20 Or for the summer shade. 5 But, courage! for around that boisterous brook The mountains have all opened out themselves And made a hidden valley of their own No habitation can be seen but they Who journey thither find themselves alone 10 With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites That overhead are sailing in the sky It is in truth an utter solitude Nor should I have made mention of this Dell But for one object which you might pass by, 15 Might see and notice not. If from the public way you turn your steps Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll You will suppose that with an upright path Your feet must struggle in such bold ascent The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
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