No More Learning

115
Yes, let my master fume and fret,
Here am I--with my horses yet!
My jolly team, he finds that ye
Will work for nobody but me!
Full proof of this the Country gained; 120
It knows how ye were vexed and strained,
And forced unworthy stripes to bear,
When trusted to another's care. [18]
Here was it--on this rugged slope,
Which now ye climb with heart and hope, 125
I saw you, between rage and fear,
Plunge, and fling back a spiteful ear,
And ever more and more confused,
As ye were more and more abused: [19]
As chance would have it, passing by 130
I saw you in that [20] jeopardy:
A word from me was like a charm; [D]
Ye pulled together with one mind; [21]
And your huge burthen, safe from harm,
Moved like a vessel in the wind! 135
--Yes, without me, up hills so high
'Tis vain to strive for mastery.
Then grieve not, jolly team! though tough
The road we travel, steep, and rough; [22]
Though Rydal-heights and Dunmail-raise, 140
And all their fellow banks and braes,
Full often make you stretch and strain,
And halt for breath and halt again,
Yet to their sturdiness 'tis owing
That side by side we still are going! 145

While Benjamin in earnest mood
His meditations thus pursued,
A storm, which had been smothered long,
Was growing inwardly more strong;
And, in its struggles to get free, 150
Was busily employed as he.
The thunder had begun to growl--
He heard not, too intent of soul;
The air was now without a breath--
He marked not that 'twas still as death. 155
But soon large rain-drops on his head [23]
Fell with the weight of drops of lead;--
He starts--and takes, at the admonition,
A sage survey of his condition. [24]
The road is black before his eyes, 160
Glimmering faintly where it lies;
Black is the sky--and every hill,
Up to the sky, is blacker still--
Sky, hill, and dale, one dismal room, [25]
Hung round and overhung with gloom; 165
Save that above a single height
Is to be seen a lurid light,
Above Helm-crag [E]--a streak half dead,
A burning of portentous red;
And near that lurid light, full well 170
The ASTROLOGER, sage Sidrophel,
Where at his desk and book he sits,
Puzzling aloft [26] his curious wits;
He whose domain is held in common
With no one but the ANCIENT WOMAN, 175
Cowering beside her rifted cell,
As if intent on magic spell;-
Dread pair, that, spite of wind and weather,
Still sit upon Helm-crag together!

The ASTROLOGER was not unseen 180
By solitary Benjamin;
But total darkness came anon,
And he and every thing was gone:
And suddenly a ruffling breeze,
(That would have rocked the sounding trees 185
Had aught of sylvan growth been there)
Swept through the Hollow long and bare: [27]
The rain rushed down--the road was battered,
As with the force of billows shattered;
The horses are dismayed, nor know 190
Whether they should stand or go;
And Benjamin is groping near them,
Sees nothing, and can scarcely hear them.
He is astounded,--wonder not,--
With such a charge in such a spot; 195
Astounded in the mountain gap
With thunder-peals, clap after clap,
Close-treading on the silent flashes--
And somewhere, as he thinks, by crashes [28]
Among the rocks; with weight of rain, 200
And sullen [29] motions long and slow,
That to a dreary distance go--
Till, breaking in upon the dying strain,
A rending o'er his head begins the fray again.

Meanwhile, uncertain what to do, 205
And oftentimes compelled to halt,
The horses cautiously pursue
Their way, without mishap or fault;
And now have reached that pile of stones,
Heaped over brave King Dunmail's bones; 210
He who had once supreme command,
Last king of rocky Cumberland;
His bones, and those of all his Power,
Slain here in a disastrous hour!

When, passing through this narrow strait, 215
Stony, and dark, and desolate,
Benjamin can faintly hear
A voice that comes from some one near,
A female voice:--"Whoe'er you be,
Stop," it exclaimed, "and pity me!
" 220
And, less in pity than in wonder,
Amid the darkness and the thunder,
The Waggoner, with prompt command,
Summons his horses to a stand.

While, with increasing agitation, 225
The Woman urged her supplication,
In rueful words, with sobs between--
The voice of tears that fell unseen; [30]
There came a flash--a startling glare,
And all Seat-Sandal was laid bare! 230
'Tis not a time for nice suggestion,
And Benjamin, without a question,
Taking her for some way-worn rover, [31]
Said, "Mount, and get you under cover! "
Another voice, in tone as hoarse 235
As a swoln brook with rugged course,
Cried out, "Good brother, why so fast?
I've had a glimpse of you--'avast! '
Or, since it suits you to be civil,
Take her at once--for good and evil! " 240

"It is my Husband," softly said
The Woman, as if half afraid:
By this time she was snug within,
Through help of honest Benjamin;
She and her Babe, which to her breast 245
With thankfulness the Mother pressed;
And now the same strong voice more near
Said cordially, "My Friend, what cheer?
Rough doings these! as God's my judge,
The sky owes somebody a grudge! 250
We've had in half an hour or less
A twelvemonth's terror [32] and distress! "

Then Benjamin entreats the Man
Would mount, too, quickly as he can:
The Sailor--Sailor now no more, 255
But such he had been heretofore--
To courteous Benjamin replied,
"Go you your way, and mind not me;
For I must have, whate'er betide,
My Ass and fifty things beside,--260
Go, and I'll follow speedily! "

The Waggon moves--and with its load
Descends along the sloping road;
And the rough Sailor instantly
Turns to a little tent hard by: [33] 265
For when, at closing-in of day,
The family had come that way,
Green pasture and the soft warm air
Tempted [34] them to settle there. --
Green is the grass for beast to graze, 270
Around the stones of Dunmail-raise!

The Sailor gathers up his bed,
Takes down the canvass overhead;
And, after farewell to the place,
A parting word--though not of grace, 275
Pursues, with Ass and all his store,
The way the Waggon went before.



CANTO SECOND


If Wytheburn's modest House of prayer,
As lowly as the lowliest dwelling,
Had, with its belfry's humble stock, 280
A little pair that hang in air,
Been mistress also of a clock,
(And one, too, not in crazy plight)
Twelve strokes that clock would have been telling
Under the brow of old Helvellyn--285
Its bead-roll of midnight,
Then, when the Hero of my tale
Was passing by, and, down the vale
(The vale now silent, hushed I ween
As if a storm had never been) 290
Proceeding with a mind at ease;
While the old Familiar of the seas [35]
Intent to use his utmost haste,
Gained ground upon the Waggon fast,
And gives another lusty cheer; 295
For spite of rumbling of the wheels,
A welcome greeting he can hear;--
It is a fiddle in its glee
Dinning from the CHERRY TREE!

Thence the sound--the light is there--300
As Benjamin is now aware,
Who, to his inward thoughts confined,
Had almost reached the festive door,
When, startled by the Sailor's roar, [36]
He hears a sound and sees the light, 305
And in a moment calls to mind
That 'tis the village MERRY-NIGHT!