Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/69

9 Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock,

Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock;

—Yet seek him,—and what shall you find in the place?

Nothing but silence and empty space,

Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves,

That he's left for a bed for beggars or thieves!

As soon as 'tis daylight, to-morrow, with me

You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see

That he has been there, and made a great rout,

And cracked the branches, and strewn them about;

Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig

That looked up at the sky so proud and big

All last summer, as well you know,

Studded with apples, a beautiful show!

Hark! over the roof he makes a pause,

And growls as if he would fix his claws

Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle

Drive them down, like men in a battle:

—But let him range round; be does us no harm

We build up the fire, we're snug and warm;

Untouch'd by his breath see the candle shines bright,

And burns with a clear and steady light;