No More Learning

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The first eight stanzas were composed
extempore one winter evening in the cottage, when, after having tired
myself with labouring at an awkward passage in 'The Brothers', I started
with a sudden impulse to this to get rid of the other, and finished it
in a day or two. My sister and I had passed the place a few weeks before
in our wild winter journey from Sockburn on the banks of the Tees to
Grasmere. A peasant whom we met near the spot told us the story so far
as concerned the name of the Well, and the Hart, and pointed out the
Stones. Both the stones and the well are objects that may easily be
missed. The tradition by this time may be extinct in the neighbourhood.
The man who related it to us was very old. --I. F. ]

Included among the "Poems of the Imagination,"--Ed.




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,
"Bring forth another horse! " he cried aloud. [1]

"Another horse! "--That shout the vassal heard 5
And saddled his best Steed, a comely grey;
Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third
Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes;
The horse and horseman are a happy pair; 10
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; 15
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, [2] Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind,
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain. 20

The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on [3]
With suppliant gestures [4] and upbraidings stern;
But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one,
The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? [5] 25
The bugles that so joyfully were blown?
--This chase it looks not like an earthly chase; [6]
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, 30
Nor will I mention by what death he died;
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 [7] his whip, nor blew his horn, 35
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; [8]
Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned;
And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet. [9] 40

Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched:
His nostril touched [10] 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, 45
(Never had living man such joyful lot! ) [11]
Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west,
And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot. [12]

And climbing [13] up the hill--(it was at least
Four [14] roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found 50
Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast [15]
Had left imprinted on the grassy [16] ground.

Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till now
Such sight was never seen by human [17] eyes:
Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow, 55
Down to the very fountain where he lies.

"I'll build a pleasure-house upon this spot,
And a small arbour, made for rural joy;
'Twill be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot,
A place of love for damsels that are coy. 60

"A cunning artist will I have to frame
A basin for that fountain in the dell!