Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/100

40 VI.

With staff in hand across the cleft

The Challenger began 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, pale as any ghost,

And, looking down, he spies

A Lamb, that in the pool is pent

Within that black and frightful Rent.

VII.

The Lamb had slipped into the stream,

And safe without a bruise or wound

The Cataract had borne him down

Into the gulph 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.