MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1803
XV. THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY
A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE, AFTER RETURNING TO THE VALE OF GRASMERE

          Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
          Have romped enough, my little Boy!
          Jane hangs her head upon my breast,
          And you shall bring your stool and rest;
              This corner is your own.

          There! take your seat, and let me see
          That you can listen quietly:
          And, as I promised, I will tell
          That strange adventure which befell
              A poor blind Highland Boy.                              10

          A 'Highland' Boy!--why call him so?
          Because, my Darlings, ye must know
          That, under hills which rise like towers,
          Far higher hills than these of ours!
              He from his birth had lived.

          He ne'er had seen one earthly sight
          The sun, the day; the stars, the night;
          Or tree, or butterfly, or flower,
          Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,
              Or woman, man, or child.                                20

          And yet he neither drooped nor pined,
          Nor had a melancholy mind;
          For God took pity on the Boy,
          And was his friend; and gave him joy
              Of which we nothing know.

          His Mother, too, no doubt, above
          Her other children him did love:
          For, was she here, or was she there,
          She thought of him with constant care,
              And more than mother's love.                            30

          And proud she was of heart, when, clad
          In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
          And bonnet with a feather gay,
          To Kirk he on the Sabbath day
              Went hand in hand with her.

          A dog too, had he; not for need,
          But one to play with and to feed;
          Which would have led him, if bereft
          Of company or friends, and left
              Without a better guide.                                 40

          And then the bagpipes he could blow--
          And thus from house to house would go;
          And all were pleased to hear and see,
          For none made sweeter melody
              Than did the poor blind Boy.

          Yet he had many a restless dream;
          Both when he heard the eagles scream,
          And when he heard the torrents roar,
          And heard the water beat the shore
              Near which their cottage stood.                         50

          Beside a lake their cottage stood,
          Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;
          But one of mighty size, and strange;
          That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
              And stirring in its bed.

          For to this lake, by night and day,
          The great Sea-water finds its way
          Through long, long windings of the hills
          And drinks up all the pretty rills
              And rivers large and strong:                            60

          Then hurries back the road it came--
          Returns, on errand still the same;
          This did it when the earth was new;
          And this for evermore will do
              As long as earth shall last.

          And, with the coming of the tide,
          Come boats and ships that safely ride
          Between the woods and lofty rocks;
          And to the shepherds with their flocks
              Bring tales of distant lands.                           70

          And of those tales, whate'er they were,
          The blind Boy always had his share;
          Whether of mighty towns, or vales
          With warmer suns and softer gales,
              Or wonders of the Deep.

          Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred,
          When from the water-side he heard
          The shouting, and the jolly cheers;
          The bustle of the mariners
              In stillness or in storm.                               80

          But what do his desires avail?
          For He must never handle sail;
          Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float
          Ill sailor's ship, or fisher's boat,
              Upon the rocking waves.

          His Mother often thought, and said,
          What sin would be upon her head
          If she should suffer this: "My Son,
          Whate'er you do, leave this undone;
              The danger is so great."                                90

          Thus lived he by Loch Leven's side
          Still sounding with the sounding tide,
          And heard the billows leap and dance,
          Without a shadow of mischance,
              Till he was ten years old.

          When one day (and now mark me well,
          Ye soon shall know how this befell)
          He in a vessel of his own,
          On the swift flood is hurrying down,
              Down to the mighty Sea.                                100

          In such a vessel never more
          May human creature leave the shore!
          If this or that way he should stir,
          Woe to the poor blind Mariner!
              For death will be his doom.

          But say what bears him?--Ye have seen
          The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
          Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright;
          Gifts which, for wonder or delight,
              Are brought in ships from far.                         110

          Such gifts had those seafaring men
          Spread round that haven in the glen;
          Each hut, perchance, might have its own;
          And to the Boy they all were known--
              He knew and prized them all.

          The rarest was a Turtle-shell
          Which he, poor Child, had studied well;
          A shell of ample size, and light
          As the pearly car of Amphitrite,
              That sportive dolphins drew.                           120

          And, as a Coracle that braves
          On Vaga's breast the fretful waves,
          This shell upon the deep would swim,
          And gaily lift its fearless brim
              Above the tossing surge.

          And this the little blind Boy knew:
          And he a story strange yet true
          Had heard, how in a shell like this
          An English Boy, O thought of bliss!
              Had stoutly launched from shore;                       130

          Launched from the margin of a bay
          Among the Indian isles, where lay
          His father's ship, and had sailed far--
          To join that gallant ship of war,
              In his delightful shell.

          Our Highland Boy oft visited
          The house that held this prize; and, led
          By choice or chance, did thither come
          One day when no one was at home,
              And found the door unbarred.                           140

          While there he sate, alone and blind,
          That story flashed upon his mind;--
          A bold thought roused him, and he took
          The shell from out its secret nook,
              And bore it on his head.

          He launched his vessel,--and in pride
          Of spirit, from Loch Leven's side,
          Stepped into it--his thoughts all free
          As the light breezes that with glee
              Sang through the adventurer's hair.                    150

          A while he stood upon his feet;
          He felt the motion--took his seat;
          Still better pleased as more and more
          The tide retreated from the shore,
              And sucked, and sucked him in.

          And there he is in face of Heaven.
          How rapidly the Child is driven!
          The fourth part of a mile, I ween,
          He thus had gone, ere he was seen
              By any human eye.                                      160

          But when he was first seen, oh me
          What shrieking and what misery!
          For many saw; among the rest
          His Mother, she who loved him best,
              She saw her poor blind Boy.

          But for the child, the sightless Boy,
          It is the triumph of his joy!
          The bravest traveller in balloon,
          Mounting as if to reach the moon,
              Was never half so blessed.                             170

          And let him, let him go his way,
          Alone, and innocent, and gay!
          For, if good Angels love to wait
          On the forlorn unfortunate,
              This Child will take no harm.

          But now the passionate lament,
          Which from the crowd on shore was sent,
          The cries which broke from old and young
          In Gaelic, or the English tongue,
              Are stifled--all is still.                             180

          And quickly with a silent crew
          A boat is ready to pursue;
          And from the shore their course they take,
          And swiftly down the running lake
              They follow the blind Boy.

          But soon they move with softer pace;
          So have ye seen the fowler chase
          On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
          A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
              With deftly-lifted oar;                                190

          Or as the wily sailors crept
          To seize (while on the Deep it slept)
          The hapless creature which did dwell
          Erewhile within the dancing shell,
              They steal upon their prey.

          With sound the least that can be made,
          They follow, more and more afraid,
          More cautious as they draw more near;
          But in his darkness he can hear,
              And guesses their intent.                              200

          "Lei-gha--Lei-gha"--he then cried out,
          "Lei-gha--Lei-gha"--with eager shout;
          Thus did he cry, and thus did pray,
          And what he meant was, "Keep away,
              And leave me to myself!"

          Alas! and when he felt their hands----
          You've often heard of magic wands,
          That with a motion overthrow
          A palace of the proudest show,
              Or melt it into air:                                   210

          So all his dreams--that inward light
          With which his soul had shone so bright--
          All vanished;--'twas a heartfelt cross
          To him, a heavy, bitter loss,
              As he had ever known.

          But hark! a gratulating voice,
          With which the very hills rejoice:
          'Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly
          Have watched the event, and now can see
              That he is safe at last.                               220

          And then, when he was brought to land,
          Full sure they were a happy band,
          Which, gathering round, did on the banks
          Of that great Water give God thanks,
              And welcomed the poor Child.

          And in the general joy of heart
          The blind Boy's little dog took part;
          He leapt about, and oft did kiss
          His master's hands in sign of bliss,
              With sound like lamentation.                           230

          But most of all, his Mother dear,
          She who had fainted with her fear,
          Rejoiced when waking she espies
          The Child; when she can trust her eyes,
              And touches the blind Boy.

          She led him home, and wept amain,
          When he was in the house again:
          Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes;
          She kissed him--how could she chastise?
              She was too happy far.                                 240

          Thus, after he had fondly braved
          The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved;
          And, though his fancies had been wild,
          Yet he was pleased and reconciled
              To live in peace on shore.

          And in the lonely Highland dell
          Still do they keep the Turtle-shell
          And long the story will repeat
          Of the blind Boy's adventurous feat,
              And how he was preserved.                              250

OCTOBER 1803

          One might believe that natural miseries
          Had blasted France, and made of it a land
          Unfit for men; and that in one great band
          Her sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.
          But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze
          Shed gentle favours: rural works are there,
          And ordinary business without care;
          Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!
          How piteous then that there should be such dearth
          Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite               10
          To work against themselves such fell despite:
          Should come in phrensy and in drunken mirth,
          Impatient to put out the only light
          Of Liberty that yet remains on earth!

"THERE IS A BONDAGE WORSE, FAR WORSE, TO BEAR"

          There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear
          Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall,
          Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
          'Tis his who walks about in the open air,
          One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear
          Their fetters in their souls. For who could be,
          Who, even the best, in such condition, free
          From self-reproach, reproach that he must share
          With Human-nature? Never be it ours
          To see the sun how brightly it will shine,                  10
          And know that noble feelings, manly powers,
          Instead of gathering strength, must droop and pine;
          And earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers
          Fade, and participate in man's decline.

OCTOBER 1803

          These times strike monied worldlings with dismay:
          Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
          With words of apprehension and despair:
          While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
          Men unto whom sufficient for the day
          And minds not stinted or untilled are given,
          Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven,
          Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.
          What do we gather hence but firmer faith
          That every gift of noble origin                             10
          Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath;
          That virtue and the faculties within
          Are vital,--and that riches are akin
          To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?

"ENGLAND! THE TIME IS COME WHEN THOU SHOULD'ST WEAN"

          England! the time is come when thou should'st wean
          Thy heart from its emasculating food;
          The truth should now be better understood;
          Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
          Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been
          But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,
          If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,
          Aught good were destined, thou would'st step between.
          England! all nations in this charge agree:
          But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,                  10
          Far--far more abject, is thine Enemy:
          Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight
          Of thy offences be a heavy weight:
          Oh grief that Earth's best hopes rest all with Thee!

OCTOBER 1803

          When, looking on the present face of things,
          I see one Man, of men the meanest too!
          Raised up to sway the world, to do, undo,
          With mighty Nations for his underlings,
          The great events with which old story rings
          Seem vain and hollow; I find nothing great:
          Nothing is left which I can venerate;
          So that a doubt almost within me springs
          Of Providence, such emptiness at length
          Seems at the heart of all things. But, great God!           10
          I measure back the steps which I have trod:
          And tremble, seeing whence proceeds the strength
          Of such poor Instruments, with thoughts sublime
          I tremble at the sorrow of the time.

TO THE MEN OF KENT
OCTOBER 1803

          Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent,
          Ye children of a Soil that doth advance
          Her haughty brow against the coast of France,
          Now is the time to prove your hardiment!
          To France be words of invitation sent!
          They from their fields can see the countenance
          Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance
          And hear you shouting forth your brave intent.
          Left single, in bold parley, ye, of yore,
          Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath;                   10
          Confirmed the charters that were yours before;--
          No parleying now! In Britain is one breath;
          We all are with you now from shore to shore:--
          Ye men of Kent, 'tis victory or death!

IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKY

          Six thousand veterans practised in war's game,
          Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed
          Against an equal host that wore the plaid,
          Shepherds and herdsmen.--Like a whirlwind came
          The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
          And Garry, thundering down his mountain-road,
          Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load
          Of the dead bodies.--'Twas a day of shame
          For them whom precept and the pedantry
          Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.                         10
          O for a single hour of that Dundee,
          Who on that day the word of onset gave!
          Like conquest would the Men of England see;
          And her Foes find a like inglorious grave.

ANTICIPATION, OCTOBER 1803

          Shout, for a mighty Victory is won!
          On British ground the Invaders are laid low;
          The breath of Heaven has drifted them like snow,
          And left them lying in the silent sun,
          Never to rise again!--the work is done.
          Come forth, ye old men, now in peaceful show
          And greet your sons! drums beat and trumpets blow!
          Make merry, wives! ye little children, stun
          Your grandame's ears with pleasure of your noise!
          Clap, infants, clap your hands! Divine must be              10
          That triumph, when the very worst, the pain,
          And even the prospect of our brethren slain,
          Hath something in it which the heart enjoys:--
          In glory will they sleep and endless sanctity.

LINES ON THE EXPECTED INVASION, 1803

          Come ye--who, if (which Heaven avert!) the Land
          Were with herself at strife, would take your stand,
          Like gallant Falkland, by the Monarch's side,
          And, like Montrose, make Loyalty your pride--
          Come ye--who, not less zealous, might display
          Banners at enmity with regal sway,
          And, like the Pyms and Miltons of that day,
          Think that a State would live in sounder health
          If Kingship bowed its head to Commonwealth--
          Ye too--whom no discreditable fear                          10
          Would keep, perhaps with many a fruitless tear,
          Uncertain what to choose and how to steer--
          And ye--who might mistake for sober sense
          And wise reserve the plea of indolence--
          Come ye--whate'er your creed--O waken all,
          Whate'er your temper, at your Country's call;
          Resolving (this a free-born Nation can)
          To have one Soul, and perish to a man,
          Or save this honoured Land from every Lord
          But British reason and the British sword.                   20