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HERE was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye Cliffs And islands of Winander !
many a time, At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone, Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake ; And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him. - And they would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call, - with quivering peals, And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of mirth and jocund din! And, when it chanced That pauses of deep silence mocked his skill, Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received Into the bosom of the steady lake.
This Boy was taken from his Mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. Fair is the spot, most beautiful the Vale
Where he was born : the grassy Church-yard hangs
ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN.
INMATE of a mountain Dwelling,
Potent was the spell that bound thee
Lo! the dwindled woods and meadows !
And a record of commotion