UPON the forest-side, in Grasmere vale,
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;
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
Make subterranean music, like the noise
Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills.

142

A pleasurable feeling of blind love,

The pleasure which there is in life itself.

His days had not been passed in singleness.
His helpmate was a comely matron, old-
Though younger than himself full twenty years.
She was a woman of a stirring life,

Whose heart was in her tongue: 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.

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. This only son,
With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm,-
The one of an inestimable worth,-

Made all their household. I may truly say,

That they were as a proverb in the vale
For endless industry. When day was gone,

And from their occupations out of doors
The son and father were come home, even then
Their labour did not cease; unless when all

Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and
there