When I sent you, a few weeks ago, the Tale of 'Peter Bell', you asked "why THE WAGGONER was not added?"--To say the truth,--from the higher tone of imagination, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in the former, I apprehended, this little Piece could not accompany it without disadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, THE WAGGONER was read to you in manuscript; and, as you have remembered it for so long a time, I am the more encouraged to hope, that, since the localities on which it partly depends did not prevent its being interesting to you, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measure the cause of its present appearance, you must allow me the gratification of inscribing it to you; in acknowledgment of the pleasure I have derived from your Writings, and of the high esteem with which I am Very truly yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. RYDAL MOUNT, _May 20th_, 1819. CANTO FIRST 'Tis spent--this burning day of June! Soft darkness o'er its latest gleams is stealing; The buzzing dor-hawk, round and round, is wheeling,-- That solitary bird Is all that can be heard [1] 5 In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon! Confiding Glow-worms, 'tis a night Propitious to your earth-born light! But, where the scattered stars are seen In hazy straits the clouds between, 10 Each, in his station twinkling not, Seems changed into a pallid spot. [2] The mountains against heaven's grave weight Rise up, and grow to wondrous height. [3] The air, as in a lion's den, 15 Is close and hot;--and now and then Comes a tired [4] and sultry breeze With a haunting and a panting, Like the stifling of disease; But the dews [5] allay the heat, 20 And the silence makes it sweet. Hush, there is some one on the stir! 'Tis Benjamin the Waggoner; Who long hath trod this toilsome way, Companion of the night and [6] day. 25 That far-off tinkling's drowsy cheer, Mix'd with a faint yet grating sound In a moment lost and found, The Wain announces--by whose side Along the banks of Rydal Mere 30 He paces on, a trusty Guide,-- Listen! you can scarcely hear! Hither he his course is bending;-- Now he leaves the lower ground, And up the craggy hill ascending 35 Many a stop and stay he makes, Many a breathing-fit he takes;--[7] Steep the way and wearisome, Yet all the while his whip is dumb!