Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/14

6 Till the foundations of the mountains fail

My mansion with its arbour shall endure;

—The joy of them who till the fields of Swale,

And them who dwell among the woods of Ure."

Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead,

With breathless nostrils stretch'd above the spring.

And soon the Knight perform'd what he had said,

The fame whereof through many a land did ring.

Ere thrice the moon into her port bad steer'd,

A cup of stone receiv'd the living well;

Three pillars of rude stone Sir Walter rear'd,

Asd built a house of pleasure in the dell.

And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall

With trailing plants and trees were intertwin'd,

Which soon composed a little sylvan hall,

A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.