The Valley Rings With Mirth And Joy; Among The Hills The Echoes Play A Never Never Ending Song, To Welcome In The May. The Magpie Chatters With Delight; The Mountain Raven'S Youngling Brood Have Left The Mother And The Nest; And They Go Rambling East And West In Search Of Their Own Food; Or Through The Glittering Vapors Dart In Very Wantonness Of Heart. Beneath A Rock, Upon The Grass, Two Boys Are Sitting In The Sun; Their Work, If Any Work They Have, Is Out Of Mind, Or Done. On Pipes Of Sycamore They Play The Fragments Of A Christmas Hymn; Or With That Plant Which In Our Dale We Call Stag-Horn, Or Fox'S Tail, Their Rusty Hats They Trim: And Thus, As Happy As The Day, Those Shepherds Wear The Time Away. Along The River'S Stony Marge The Sand-Lark Chants A Joyous Song; The Thrush Is Busy In The Wood, And Carols Loud And Strong. A Thousand Lambs Are On The Rocks, All Newly Born! Both Earth And Sky Keep Jubilee, And More Than All, Those Boys With Their Green Coronal; They Never Hear The Cry, That Plaintive Cry! Which Up The Hill Comes From The Depth Of Dungeon-Ghyll. Said Walter, Leaping From The Ground, "Down To The Stump Of Yon Old Yew We'll For Our Whistles Run A Race." Away The Shepherds Flew; They Leapt, They Ran, And When They Came Right Opposite To Dungeon-Ghyll, Seeing That He Should Lose The Prize, "Stop! " To His Comrade Walter Cries James Stopped With No Good Will: Said Walter Then, Exulting; "Here You'll Find A Task For Half A Year. Cross, If You Dare, Where I Shall Cross Come On, And Tread Where I Shall Tread." The Other Took Him At His Word, And Followed As He Led. It Was A Spot Which You May See If Ever You To Langdale Go; Into A Chasm A Mighty Block Hath Fallen, And Made A Bridge Of Rock: The Gulf Is Deep Below; And, In A Basin Black And Small, Receives A Lofty Waterfall. With Staff In Hand Across The Cleft The Challenger Pursued His March; And Now, All Eyes And Feet, Hath Gained The Middle Of The Arch. When List! He Hears A Piteous Moan Again! His Heart Within Him Dies His Pulse Is Stopped, His Breath Is Lost, He Totters, Pallid As A Ghost, And, Looking Down, Espies A Lamb, That In The Pool Is Pent Within That Black And Frightful Rent. The Lamb Had Slipped Into The Stream, And Safe Without A Bruise Or Wound The Cataract Had Borne Him Down Into The Gulf Profound. His Dam Had Seen Him When He Fell, She Saw Him Down The Torrent Borne; And, While With All A Mother'S Love She From The Lofty Rocks Above Sent Forth A Cry Forlorn, The Lamb, Still Swimming Round And Round, Made Answer To That Plaintive Sound. When He Had Learnt What Thing It Was, That Sent This Rueful Cry; I Ween The Boy Recovered Heart, And Told The Sight Which He Had Seen. Both Gladly Now Deferred Their Task; Nor Was There Wanting Other Aid A Poet, One Who Loves The Brooks Far Better Than The Sages' Books, By Chance Had Thither Strayed; And There The Helpless Lamb He Found By Those Huge Rocks Encompassed Round. He Drew It From The Troubled Pool, And Brought It Forth Into The Light: The Shepherds Met Him With His Charge, An Unexpected Sight! Into Their Arms The Lamb They Took, Whose Life And Limbs The Flood Had Spared; Then Up The Steep Ascent They Hied, And Placed Him At His Mother'S Side; And Gently Did The Bard Those Idle Shepherd-Boys Upbraid, And Bade Them Better Mind Their Trade.