Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/117

57 But now the passionate lament,

Which from the crowd on shore was sent,

The cries which broke from old and young

In Gaelic, or the English tongue,

Are stifled—all is still.

And quickly with a silent crew

A Boat is ready to pursue;

And from the shore their course they take,

And swiftly down the running Lake

They follow the blind Boy.

But soon they move with softer pace,

So have ye seen the fowler chase

On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast

A Youngling of the wild-duck's nest

With deftly-lifted oar.

Or as the wily Sailors crept

To seize (while on the Deep it slept)

The hapless Creature which did dwell

Erewhile within the dancing Shell,

They steal upon their prey.