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Child of the Year! that round dost run

Thy course, bold lover of the sun,

And chearful when the day's begun

As morning Leveret,

Thou long the Poet's praise shalt gain;
Thou wilt be more belov'd by men

In times to come; thou not in vain
Art Nature's Favorite..


I met Louisa in the shade;

And, having seen that lovely Maid,

Why should I fear to say

That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong;

And down the rocks can leap along,
Like rivulets in May?

And she hath smiles to earth unknown; Smiles, that with motion of their own

Do spread, and sink, and rise;

That come and go with endless play,
And ever, as they pass away,

Are hidden in her eyes.

She loves her fire, her Cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;

And when against the wind she strains,

Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek.

Take all that's mine "beneath the moon,"

If I with her but half a noon

May sit beneath the walls

Of some old cave, or mossy nook,

When up she winds along the brook,
To hunt the waterfalls.


A barking sound the Shepherd hears,

A cry as of a Dog or Fox;

He halts, and searches with his eyes Among the scatter'd rocks:

And now at distance can discern

A stirring in a brake of fern;
From which immediately leaps out
A Dog, and yelping runs about.

The Dog is not of mountain breed;

It's motions, too, are wild and shy;

With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
Unusual in it's cry:

Nor is there any one in sight

All round, in Hollow or on Height;

Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;

What is the Creature doing here?

It was a Cové, a huge Recess,

That keeps till June December's snow;

A lofty Precipice in front,

A silent Tarn * below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

Remote from public Road or Dwelling,

Pathway, or cultivated land;

From trace of human foot or hand.

Tarn is a small Mere or Lake mostly high up in the


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