THE FOUNTAIN.

A CONVERSATION.

We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,

A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.

We lay beneath a spreading oak,

Beside a mossy seat ;

And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.

"Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match
This water's pleasant tune

With some old border-song, or catch

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That suits a summer's noon;

"Or of the church-clock and the chimes

Sing here beneath the shade,

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes

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Which you last April made!"

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed

The spring beneath the tree;

And thus the dear old Man replied,

The grey-haired man of glee :

"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears ; How merrily it goes!

'T will murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.

"And here, on this delightful day,

I cannot choose but think

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay

Beside this fountain's brink.

Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.

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"My days, my Friend, are almost gone,

My life has been approved,

And many love me; but by none

Am I enough beloved."

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"Now both himself and me he wrongs,
The man who thus complains;

I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains;

"And, Matthew, for thy children dead
I'll be a son to thee!

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At this he grasped my hand, and said,
"Alas! that cannot be."

We rose up from the fountain-side;
And down the smooth descent

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Of the green sheep-track did we glide;
And through the wood we went ;

And, ere we came to Leonard's rock,
He sang those witty rhymes.
About the crazy old church-clock,
And the bewildered chimes.

1799.

HART-LEAP WELL.

Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.

THE Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor
With the slow motion of a summer's cloud,

And now, as he approached a vassal's door,

ee

Bring forth another horse!" he cried aloud.

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ee Another horse!"
And saddled his best Steed, a comely grey;
Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third
Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

That shout the vassal heard

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes;
The horse and horseman are a happy pair;
But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies,
There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall,
That as they galloped made the echoes roar;
But horse and man are vanished, one and all ;
Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind,
Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain :
Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind,
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.

The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on
With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern;
But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one,

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The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race?

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The bugles that so joyfully were blown?

This chase it looks not like an earthly chase;

Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.

The poor Hart toils along the mountain-side;

I will not stop to tell how far he fled,
Nor will I mention by what death he died;

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But now the Knight beholds him lying dead.

Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn;
He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy:
He neither cracked his whip, nor blew his horn,
But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy.

Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned,
Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat ;
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned;
And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet.

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched :
His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill,
And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched
The waters of the spring were trembling still.

And now, too happy for repose or rest,
(Never had living man such joyful lot!)

Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west,

And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot.

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And climbing up the hill (it was at least
Four roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found
Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast

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Had left imprinted on the grassy ground.

Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till now
Such sight was never seen by human eyes:
Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow,
Down to the very fountain where he lies.

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"I'll build a pleasure-house upon this spot,
And a small arbour, made for rural joy;
'T will be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot,
A place of love for damsels that are coy.

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