And, while around it storm as fierce seemed troubling Strong as an eagle with my charge I glided round and earth and air, round

I saw, within, the Norman boy kneeling alone in prayer. The wide-spread boughs, for view of door, window, and stair that wound

The child, as if the thunder's voice spake with articu- Gracefully up the gnarled trunk; nor left we unsurveyed The pointed steeple peering forth from the centre of the shade.

late call,

Bowed meekly in submissive fear, before the Lord of All;

His lips were moving; and his eyes, upraised to sue for grace,

I lighted-opened with soft touch the chapel's iron door, With soft illumination cheered the dimness of that place. Past softly leading in the boy; and, while from roof to

On wings, from broad and steadfast poise let loose by "Then offer up thy heart to God in thankfulness and this reply,

praise,

busy days;

For Allonville, o'er down and dale, away then did Give to Him prayers, and many thoughts, in thy most we fly; O'er town and tower we flew, and fields in May's fresh And in His sight the fragile cross, on thy small hut, verdure drest; The wings they did not flag; the child, though grave, Holy as that which long hath crowned the chapel of was not deprest.

will be

this tree;

But who shall show, to waking sense, the gleam of light "Holy as that far seen which crowns the sumptuous

Church in Rome

that broke Forth from his eyes, when first the boy looked down on Where thousands meet to worship God under a mighty that huge oak,

dome;

For length of days so much revered, so famous where He sees the bending multitude, he hears the choral it stands

rites,

For twofold hallowing-Nature's care, and work of Yet not the less, in children's hymns and lonely prayer, delights.

human hands?

worthy of its lofty theme, and of him who wrote and The hand of man, however, has endeavoured to impress him who is addressed. In thus appending it, I cannot upon it a character still more interesting, by adding a but hope that I am rendering a grateful service to every religious feeling to the respect which its age naturally reflecting reader of this volume - -a service too, which inspires. a restraining modesty might prevent Mr. Wordsworth from rendering in his own edition.- H. R.

The poem by Coleridge, referred to in the above note, is transferred in this edition to what has become a more appropriate place, and will be found as an introduction to 'THE PRELUDE.' — H. R.]

Note 3, p. 82.

"The Norman Boy.'

"Among ancient trees there are few, I believe, at least in France, so worthy of attention as an oak which may be seen in the 'Pays de Caux,' about a league from Yvetot, close to the church, and in the burialground of Allonville.

The height of this tree does not answer to its girth; the trunk, from the roots to the summit, forms a complete cone; and the inside of this cone is hollow throughout the whole of its height.

Such is the Oak of Allonville, in its state of nature.

The lower part of its hollow trunk has been transformed into a chapel of six or seven feet in diameter, carefully wainscoted and paved, and an open iron gate guards the humble sanctuary.

Leading to it there is a staircase, which twists round the body of the tree. At certain seasons of the year divine service is performed in this chapel.

The summit has been broken off many years, but there is a surface at the top of the trunk, of the diameter of a very large tree, and from it rises a pointed roof, covered with slates, in the form of a steeple, which is surmounted with an iron cross, that rises in a picturesque manner from the middle of the leaves, like an ancient hermitage above the surrounding wood.

Over the entrance to the chapel an inscription appears, which informs us it was erected by the Abbé du Détroit, Curate of Allonville, in the year 1696; and over a door is another, dedicating it To Our Lady of Peace.""

Vide 14 No. Saturday Magazine.

POEMS

FOUNDED ON THE AFFECTIONS.

His expectations to the fickle winds

THE BROTHERS.*

And perilous waters, with the mariners

"THESE Tourists, Heaven preserve us! needs must A fellow-mariner, and so had fared
live

A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise,
Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Will look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.
But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why can he tarry yonder? — In our church-yard
Is neither epitaph nor monument,

Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread
And a few natural graves." To Jane, his wife,
Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale.
It was a July evening; and he sate
Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves
Of his old cottage,— as it chanced, that day,
Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone
His Wife sate near him, teasing matted wool,
While, from the twin cards toothed with glittering
wire,

He fed the spindle of his youngest Child,

Who turned her large round wheel in the open air
With back and forward steps. Towards the field
In which the Parish Chapel stood alone,
Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall,
While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent
Many a long look of wonder; and at last,
Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white ridge
Of carded wool which the old man had piled
He laid his implements with gentle care,
Each in the other locked; and, down the path
That from his cottage to the church-yard led,
He took his way, impatient to accost
The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there.
'T was one well known to him in former days,
A Shepherd-lad; - who ere his sixteenth year
Had left that calling, tempted to entrust

This Poem was intended to conclude a series of pastorals, the scene of which was laid among the mountains of Cumberand and Westmoreland. I mention this to apologise for the ab ruptness with which the poem begins

Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared
Among the mountains, and he in his heart
Was half a Shepherd on the stormy seas.
Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard
The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds

Of caves and trees: - and, when the regular wind
Between the tropics filled the steady sail,

And blew with the same breath through days and
weeks,

Lengthening invisibly its weary line

Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours
Of tiresome indolence, would often hang
Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze;

And, while the broad green wave and sparkling foam
Flashed round him images and hues that wrought
In union with the employment of his heart.
He, thus by feverish passion overcome,
Even with the organs of his bodily eye,
Below him, in the bosom of the deep,

Saw mountains,-saw the forms of sheep that grazed
On verdant hills-with dwellings among trees,
And shepherds clad in the same country gray
Which he himself had worn.t

And now, at last,
From perils manifold, with some small wealth
Acquired by traffic 'mid the Indian Isles,
To his paternal home he is returned,
With a determined purpose to resume
The life he had lived there; both for the sake
Of many darling pleasures, and the love
Which to an only brother he has borne
In all his hardships, since that happy time
When, whether it blew foul or fair, they two
Were brother Shepherds on their native hills.
-They were the last of all their race: and now,
When Leonard had approached his home, his heart
Failed in him; and, not venturing to enquire
Tidings of one whom he so dearly loved,
Towards the church-yard he had turned aside;
That, as he knew in what particular spot
His family were laid, he thence might learn

+ This description of the Calenture is sketched from an imperfect recollection of an admirable one in prose, by Mr. Gilbert, author of The Hurricane

87