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1806
A Tale told by the
Fire-side,
after
returning to the Vale of
Grasmere
Now 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.
He ne'er had seen one
earthly sight;
The sun, the day; the
stars, the night;
Or tree, or butterfly,
or flower,
Or fish in stream, or
bird in bower,
Or woman, man, or child.
And yet he neither
drooped nor pined,
Nor had a melancholy
mind;
For God took pity on the
Boy,
And was his friend; and
gave him joy
Of which we nothing know.
His Mother, too, no
doubt, above
Her other Children him
did love:
For, was she here, or
was she there,
She thought of him with
constant care,
And more than Mother's
love.
And proud she was of
heart, when clad
In crimson stockings,
tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a
feather gay,
To Kirk he on the
sabbath day
Went hand in hand with
her.
A Dog, too, had he; not
for need,
But one to play with and
to feed;
Which would have led him,
if bereft
Of company or friends,
and left
Without a better guide.
And then the bagpipes he
could blow;
And thus from house to
house would go,
And all were pleas'd to
hear and see;
For none made sweeter
melody
Than did the poor blind
Boy.
Yet he had many a
restless dream;
Both when he heard the
Eagles scream,
And when he heard the
torrents roar,
And heard the water beat
the shore
Near which their Cottage
stood.
Beside a lake their
Cottage stood,
Not small like ours, a
peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size,
and strange;
That, rough or smooth,
is full of change,
And stirring in its bed.
For to this Lake, by
night and day,
The great Sea-water
finds its way
Through long, long
windings of the hills;
And drinks up all the
pretty rills
And rivers large and
strong:
Then hurries back the road it came ―
Returns, on errand still
the same;
This did it when the
earth was new;
And this for evermore
will do,
As long as earth shall
last.
And, with the coming of
the Tide,
Come Boats and Ships,
that sweetly ride,
Between the woods and
lofty rocks;
And to the Shepherds
with their Flocks
Bring tales of distant
Lands.
And of those tales,
whate'er they were,
The blind Boy always had
his share;
Whether of mighty Towns,
or Vales
With warmer suns and
softer gales,
Or wonders of the Deep.
Yet more it pleased him,
more it stirr'd,
When from the water-side
he heard
The shouting, and the
jolly cheers,
The bustle of the
mariners
In stillness or in storm.
But what do his desires
avail?
For He must never handle
sail;
Nor mount the mast, nor
row, nor float
In Sailor's ship or
Fisher's boat
Upon the rocking waves.
His Mother often thought,
and said,
What sin would be upon
her head
If she should suffer
this: "My Son,
Whate'er you do, leave
this undone;
The danger is so great."
Thus lived he by Loch
Levin's side
Still sounding with the
sounding tide,
And heard the billows
leap and dance,
Without a shadow of
mischance,
Till he was ten years
old.
When one day (and now
mark me well,
You soon shall know how
this befel)
He's in a vessel of his
own,
On the swift water
hurrying down
Towards the mighty Sea.
In such a vessel ne'er
before
Did human Creature leave
the shore:
If this or that way he
should stir,
Woe to the poor blind
Mariner!
For death will be his
doom.
Strong is the current;
but be mild,
Ye waves, and spare the
helpless Child!
If ye in anger fret or
chafe,
A Bee-hive would be ship
as safe
As that in which he
sails.
But say, what was it?
Thought of fear!
Well may ye tremble when
ye hear!
― A Household Tub, like
one of those
Which women use to wash
their clothes,
This carried the blind
Boy.
Close to the water he
had found
This Vessel, push'd it
from dry ground,
Went into it; and,
without dread,
Following the fancies in
his head,
He paddled up and down.
A while he stood upon
his feet;
He felt the motion ― took
his seat;
And dallied thus, till
from the shore
The tide retreating more
and more
Had suck'd, and suck'd
him in.
And there he is in face
of Heaven!
How rapidly the Child is
driven!
The fourth part of a
mile I ween
He thus had gone, ere he
was seen
By any human eye.
But when he was first
seen, oh me!
What shrieking and what
misery!
For many saw; among the
rest
His Mother, she who
loved him best,
She saw her poor blind
Boy.
But for the Child, the
sightless Boy,
It is the triumph of his
joy!
The bravest Traveller in
balloon,
Mounting as if to reach
the moon,
Was never half so
bless'd.
And let him, let him go
his way,
Alone, and innocent, and
gay!
For, if good Angels love
to wait
On the forlorn
unfortunate,
This Child will take no
harm.
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.
With sound the least
that can be made
They follow, more and
more afraid,
More cautious as they
draw more near;
But in his darkness he
can hear,
And guesses their intent.
"Lei-gha ― Lei-gha" ― then
did he cry
"Lei-gha ― Lei-gha" ― most
eagerly;
Thus did he cry, and
thus did pray,
And what he meant was, "Keep
away,
And leave me to myself!"
Alas! and when he felt their hands ―
You've often heard of
magic Wands,
That with a motion
overthrow
A palace of the proudest
shew,
Or melt it into air.
So all his dreams, that
inward light
With which his soul had
shone so bright,
All vanish'd; ― 'twas a
heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter
loss,
As he had ever known.
But hark! a gratulating
voice
With which the very
hills rejoice:
'Tis from the crowd, who
tremblingly
Had watch'd the event,
and now can see
That he is safe at last.
And then, when he was
brought to land,
Full sure they were a
happy band,
Which gathering round
did on the banks
Of that great Water give
God thanks,
And welcom'd the poor
Child.
And in the general joy
of heart
The blind Boy's little
Dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft
did kiss
His master's hands in
sign of bliss,
With sound like
lamentation.
But most of all, his
Mother dear,
She who had fainted with
her fear,
Rejoiced when waking she
espies
The Child; when she can
trust her eyes,
And touches the blind
Boy.
She led him home, and
wept amain,
When he was in the house
again:
Tears flow'd in torrents
from her eyes,
She could not blame him,
or chastise:
She was too happy far.
Thus, after he had
fondly braved
The perilous Deep, the
Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies
had been wild,
Yet he was pleased, and
reconciled
To live in peace on
shore.
And in the lonely
Highland dell
Still do they keep the
Turtle-shell;
And long the story will
repeat
Of the blind Boy’s
adventurous feat,
And how he was preserved.
THE END
ϟ
NOTE ― It is recorded in
Dampier's "Voyages,"
that a boy, son of the
captain of a Man-of-War,
seated himself in a
Turtle-shell, and
floated in it from the
shore to his father's
ship, which lay at
anchor at the distance
of half a mile. In
deference to the opinion
of a Friend, I have
substituted such a shell
for the less elegant
vessel in which my blind
Voyager did actually
entrust himself to the
dangerous current of
Loch Leven, as was
related to me by an
eye-witness.
The
Blind Highland Boy
by William Wordsworth
[1770-1850]
Writen in December, 1806
Memorials of a Tour in
Scotland, 1803
16.Set.2012
Publicado por
MJA
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