Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/181

173 His helmet has a vernal grace,

Fresh as the bloom upon his face.

A harp is from his shoulder slung;

He rests the harp upon his knee,

And there in a forgotten tongue

He warbles melody.

Of flocks and herds both far and near

He is the darling and the joy,

And often, when no cause appears,

The mountain ponies prick their ears,

They hear the Danish Boy,

While in the dell he sits alone

Beside the tree and corner-stone.

When near this blasted tree you pass,

Two sods are plainly to be seen

Close at its root, and each with grass

Is cover'd fresh and green.