FIDELITY
A barking sound the shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks;
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern,
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.
The dog is not of mountain breed,
Its motions, too, are wild and shy,
With something, as the shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry.
Nor is there anyone 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 cove, 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.
There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak
In symphony austere;
Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud,
And mists that spread the flying shroud,
And sunbeams, and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past,
But that enormous barrier binds it fast.
Not free from boding thoughts, a while
The shepherd stood; then makes his way
Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones,
As quickly as he may;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground;
The appalled discoverer, with a sigh,
Looks round, to learn the history
From whose abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:
He instantly recalled the name
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered, too, the very day
On which the traveller passed this way.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82