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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540002" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hart-Leap Well</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor <br>With the slow motion of a summer's cloud, <br>And now, as he approached a vassal's door, <br>"Bring forth another horse!" he cried aloud. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Another horse!"--That shout the vassal heard <br>And saddled his best Steed, a comely grey; <br>Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third <br>Which he had mounted on that glorious day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes; <br>The horse and horseman are a happy pair; <br>But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies, <br>There is a doleful silence in the air. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, <br>That as they galloped made the echoes roar; <br>But horse and man are vanished, one and all; <br>Such race, I think, was never seen before. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, <br>Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain: <br>Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind, <br>Follow, and up the weary mountain strain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on <br>With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern; <br>But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one, <br>The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? <br>The bugles that so joyfully were blown? <br>--This chase it looks not like an earthly chase; <br>Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The poor Hart toils along the mountainside; <br>I will not stop to tell how far he fled, <br>Nor will I mention by what death he died; <br>But now the Knight beholds him lying dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dismounting, then, he leaned against a thorn; <br>He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy: <br>He neither cracked his whip, nor blew his horn, <br>But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned, <br>Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat; <br>Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned; <br>And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon his side the Hart was lying stretched: <br>His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill, <br>And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched <br>The waters of the spring were trembling still. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now, too happy for repose or rest, <br>(Never had living man such joyful lot!) <br>Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west, <br>And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And climbing up the hill--(it was at least <br>Four roods of sheer ascent) Sir Walter found <br>Three several hoof-marks which the hunted Beast <br>Had left imprinted on the grassy ground. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir Walter wiped his face, and cried, "Till now <br>Such sight was never seen by human eyes: <br>Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow, <br>Down to the very fountain where he lies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I'll build a pleasure-house upon this spot, <br>And a small arbour, made for rural joy; <br>'Twill be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot, <br>A place of love for damsels that are coy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"A cunning artist will I have to frame <br>A basin for that fountain in the dell! <br>And they who do make mention of the same, <br>From this day forth, shall call it HART-LEAP WELL. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And, gallant Stag! to make thy praises known, <br>Another monument shall here be raised; <br>Three several pillars, each a rough-hewn stone, <br>And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And, in the summer-time when days are long, <br>I will come hither with my Paramour; <br>And with the dancers and the minstrel's song <br>We will make merry in that pleasant bower. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Till the foundations of the mountains fail <br>My mansion with its arbour shall endure;-- <br>The joy of them who till the fields of Swale, <br>And them who dwell among the woods of Ure!" </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead, <br>With breathless nostrils stretched above the spring. <br>--Soon did the Knight perform what he had said; <br>And far and wide the fame thereof did ring. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ere thrice the Moon into her port had steered, <br>A cup of stone received the living well; <br>Three pillars of rude stone Sir Walter reared, <br>And built a house of pleasure in the dell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall <br>With trailing plants and trees were intertwined,-- <br>Which soon composed a little sylvan hall, <br>A leafy shelter from the sun and wind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thither, when the summer days were long, <br>Sir Walter led his wondering Paramour; <br>And with the dancers and the minstrel's song <br>Made merriment within that pleasant bower. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time, <br>And his bones lie in his paternal vale.-- <br>But there is matter for a second rhyme, <br>And I to this would add another tale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">PART SECOND </div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE moving accident is not my trade; <br>To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: <br>'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, <br>To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts. 0 </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, <br>It chanced that I saw standing in a dell <br>Three aspens at three corners of a square; <br>And one, not four yards distant, near a well. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What this imported I could ill divine: <br>And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop, <br>I saw three pillars standing in a line,-- <br>The last stone-pillar on a dark hill-top. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The trees were grey, with neither arms nor head; <br>Half wasted the square mound of tawny green; <br>So that you just might say, as then I said, <br>"Here in old time the hand of man hath been." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I looked upon the hill both far and near, <br>More doleful place did never eye survey; <br>It seemed as if the spring-time came not here, <br>And Nature here were willing to decay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost, <br>When one, who was in shepherd's garb attired, <br>Came up the hollow:--him did I accost, <br>And what this place might be I then inquired. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told <br>Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed. <br>"A jolly place," said he, "in times of old! <br>But something ails it now: the spot is curst. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"You see these lifeless stumps of aspen wood-- <br>Some say that they are beeches, others elms-- <br>These were the bower; and here a mansion stood, <br>The finest palace of a hundred realms! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The arbour does its own condition tell; <br>You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream; <br>But as to the great Lodge! you might as well <br>Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep, <br>Will wet his lips within that cup of stone; <br>And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep, <br>This water doth send forth a dolorous groan. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Some say that here a murder has been done, <br>And blood cries out for blood: but, for my part, <br>I've guessed, when I've been sitting in the sun, <br>That it was all for that unhappy Hart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"What thoughts must through the creature's brain have past! <br>Even from the topmost stone, upon the steep, <br>Are but three bounds--and look, Sir, at this last-- <br>O Master! it has been a cruel leap. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; <br>And in my simple mind we cannot tell <br>What cause the Hart might have to love this place, <br>And come and make his deathbed near the well. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, <br>Lulled by the fountain in the summer-tide; <br>This water was perhaps the first he drank <br>When he had wandered from his mother's side. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"In April here beneath the flowering thorn <br>He heard the birds their morning carols sing; <br>And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born <br>Not half a furlong from that self-same spring. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade; <br>The sun on drearier hollow never shone; <br>So will it be, as I have often said, <br>Till trees, and stones, and fountain, all are gone." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Grey-headed Shepherd, thou hast spoken well; <br>Small difference lies between thy creed and mine: <br>This Beast not unobserved by Nature fell; <br>His death was mourned by sympathy divine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The Being, that is in the clouds and air, <br>That is in the green leaves among the groves, <br>Maintains a deep and reverential care <br>For the unoffending creatures whom he loves. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The pleasure-house is dust:--behind, before, <br>This is no common waste, no common gloom; <br>But Nature, in due course of time, once more <br>Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"She leaves these objects to a slow decay, <br>That what we are, and have been, may be known; <br>But at the coming of the milder day, <br>These monuments shall all be overgrown. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, <br>Taught both by what she shows, and what conceals; <br>Never to blend our pleasure or our pride <br>With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540002" data-title="Hart-Leap Well de William Wordsworth" data-description="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. "Another horse!"--That shout the vassal heard ..."></div> </div> </div>
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