Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/108

48 (A Tale told by the Fire-side.)

we are tired of boisterous joy,

We've romp'd enough, my little Boy!

Jane hangs her head upon my breast,

And you shall bring your stool and rest,

This corner is your own.

There! take your seat, and let me see

That you can listen quietly;

And, as I promised, I will tell

That strange adventure which befel

A poor blind Highland Boy.

A Highland Boy!—why call him so?

Because, my Darlings, ye must know,

In land where many a mountain towers,

Far higher hills than these of ours!

He from his birth had liv'd.