If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,--
This beech is standing by,--its covert thou canst gain.
For rain and mountain storms, the like thou need'st not fear;
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

"Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first, in places far away.
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side forevermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home,--
A blessed day for thee!--Then whither would'st thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.

"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground was wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk,--warm milk it is, and new.

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now;
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart, like a pony to the plough,
My playmate thou shalt be, and when the wind is cold,
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not rest! Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there.
The little brooks, that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry roar like lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe--our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep,--and at break of day I will come to thee again!"

As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers and one half of it was mine.

Again and once again did I repeat the song:
"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong;
For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,
That I almost received her heart into my own."

William Wordsworth.

_The Kitten, and Falling Leaves_

See the kitten on the wall,