There Was a Boy

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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 stars had just begun

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 mirth and jocund din! And, when it chanced

That pauses of deep silence mocked his 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 ten years old.

Fair are the woods, and beauteous is the spot,

The Vale where he was born: the Church-yard hangs

Upon a slope above the Village School,

And there, along that bank, when I have passed

At evening, I believe, that oftentimes

A full half-hour together I have stood

Mute⁠—looking at the grave in which he lies.