THERE WAS A BOY

                There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
                And islands of Winander! — many a time,
                At evening, when the earliest stars began
                To move along the edges of the hills,
                Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
                Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
                And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
                Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
                Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
                Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,
                That they might answer him. - And they would shout
                Across the watery vale, and shout again,
                Responsive to his call, — with quivering peals;
                And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
                Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
                Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause
                Of silence such as baffled his best skill:
                Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
                Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
                Has carried far into his heart the voice
                Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
                Would enter unawares into his mind
                With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
                Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
                Into the bosom of the steady lake.

                     This boy was taken from his mates, and died
                In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
                Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
                Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs
                Upon a slope above the village-school;
                And, through that church-yard when my way has led
                On summer-evenings, I believe, that there
                A long half-hour together I have stood
                Mute-looking at the grave in which he lies!

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