Читать книгу Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 2 - William Wordsworth - Страница 3

There was a Boy, ye knew him well, ye Cliffs

  And Islands of Winander! many a time,

  At evening, when the stars had just begun

  To move along the edges of the hills,

  Rising or setting, would he stand alone,

  Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake,

  And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands

  Press'd closely palm to palm and to his mouth

  Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,

  Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls

  That they might answer him. And they would shout

  Across the wat'ry vale and shout again

  Responsive to his call, with quivering peals,

  And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud

  Redoubled and redoubled, a wild scene

  Of mirth and jocund din. And, when it chanced

  That pauses of deep silence mock'd his skill,

  Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung

  Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprize

  Has carried far into his heart the voice

  Of mountain torrents, or the visible scene

  Would enter unawares into his mind

  With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,

  Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, receiv'd

  Into the bosom of the steady lake.

  Fair are the woods, and beauteous is the spot,

  The vale where he was born: the Church-yard hangs

  Upon a slope above the village school,

  And there along that bank when I have pass'd

  At evening, I believe, that near his grave

  A full half-hour together I have stood,

  Mute – for he died when he was ten years old.