Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/89

Rh (Her own sweet errands all foregone)

The too imperious traveller on.

These, Fausta, ask not this; nor thou,

Time's chafing prisoner, ask it now!

We left just ten years since, you say,

That wayside inn we left to-day.4

Our jovial host, as forth we fare,

Shouts greeting from his easy-chair.

High on a bank our leader stands,

Reviews and ranks his motley bands,

Makes clear our goal to every eye,—

The valley's western boundary.

A gate swings to! our tide hath flowed

Already from the silent road.

The valley-pastures, one by one,

Are threaded, quiet in the sun;

And now, beyond the rude stone bridge,

Slopes gracious up the western ridge.

Its woody border, and the last

Of its dark upland farms, is past;

Cool farms, with open-lying stores,

Under their burnished sycamores,—

All past! and through the trees we glide

Emerging on the green hillside.

There climbing hangs, a far-seen sign,

Our wavering, many-colored line;

There winds, up-streaming slowly still

Over the summit of the hill.

And now, in front, behold outspread

Those upper regions we must tread,—

Mild hollows, and clear heathy swells,

The cheerful silence of the fells.