57
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.
But soon they move with softer pace,
So have ye seen the fowler chase
On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
A Youngling of the wild-duck's nest
With deftly-lifted oar.
Or as the wily Sailors crept
To seize (while on the Deep it slept)
The hapless Creature which did dwell
Erewhile within the dancing Shell,
They steal upon their prey.
