Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
  Two boys are sitting in the sun;
  Their work, if any work they have,
  Is out of mind—­or done. [2] 15
  On pipes of sycamore they play
  The fragments of a Christmas hymn;
  Or with that plant which in our dale
  We call stag-horn, or fox’s tail,
  Their rusty hats they trim:  20
  And thus, as happy as the day,
  Those Shepherds wear the time away.

  Along the river’s stony marge
  The sand-lark chants a joyous song;
  The thrush is busy in the wood, 25
  And carols loud and strong. 
  A thousand lambs are on the rocks,
  All newly born! both earth and sky
  Keep jubilee, [B] and more than all,
  Those boys with their green coronal; 30
  They never hear the cry,
  That plaintive cry! which up the hill
  Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.

  Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
  “Down to the stump of yon old yew 35
  We’ll for our whistles run a race.” [3]
—­Away the shepherds flew;
  They leapt—­they ran—­and when they came
  Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,
  Seeing that he should lose the prize, 40
  “Stop!” to his comrade Walter cries—­
  James stopped with no good will: 
  Said Walter then, exulting; “Here
  You’ll find a task for half a year. [4]

  “Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross—­45
  Come on, and tread where I shall tread.” [5]
  The other took him at his word,
  And followed as he led. [6]
  It was a spot which you may see
  If ever you to Langdale go; 50
  Into a chasm a mighty block
  Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock: 
  The gulf is deep below;
  And, in a basin black and small,
  Receives a lofty waterfall. 55

  With staff in hand across the cleft
  The challenger pursued [7] his march;
  And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained
  The middle of the arch. 
  When list! he hears a piteous moan—­60
  Again!—­his heart within him dies—­
  His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost,
  He totters, pallid as a ghost, [8]
  And, looking down, espies [9]
  A lamb, that in the pool is pent 65
  Within that black and frightful rent.

  The lamb had slipped into the stream,
  And safe without a bruise or wound
  The cataract had borne him down
  Into the gulf profound. 70
  His dam had seen him when he fell,
  She saw him down the torrent borne;
  And, while with all a mother’s love
  She from the lofty rocks above
  Sent forth a cry forlorn, 75
  The lamb, still swimming round and round,
  Made answer to that plaintive sound.