There Was a Boy

There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffsAnd islands of Winander!--many a time,At evening, when the earliest stars beganTo 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 handsPressed closely palm to palm and to his mouthUplifted, he, as through an instrument,Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,That they might answer him.--And they would shoutAcross the watery vale, and shout again,Responsive to his call,--with quivering peals,And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loudRedoubled and redoubled; concourse wildOf jocund din! And, when there came a pauseOf silence such as baffled his best skill:Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hungListening, a gentle shock of mild surpriseHas carried far into his heart the voiceOf mountain-torrents; or the visible sceneWould enter unawares into his mindWith all its solemn imagery, its rocks,Its woods, and that uncertain heaven receivedInto the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and diedIn childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.Pre-eminent in beauty is the valeWhere he was born and bred: the church-yard hangsUpon a slope above the village-school;And, through that church-yard when my way has ledOn summer-evenings, I believe, that thereA long half-hour together I have stoodMute--looking at the grave in which he lies!

'uncertain heaven receivedInto the bosom of the steady lake,'

I should have recognised anywhere; and had I met these lines, runningwild in the deserts of Arabia, I should have instantly screamed out'Wordsworth'!"