O, might I roam with flocks and herds
In fellowship along!

O, were I one among the birds,
All wing, and life, and song!

Free with the fishes might I dwell,
Down in the quiet sea!
The snail in his cob-castle shell-
The snail's a king to me!

For out he glides in April showers,
Lies snug when storms prevail;
He feeds on fruit, he sleeps on flowers-
I wish I was a snail.

No, never; do the worst they can,

I may be happy still;

For I was born to be a man,
And if I live I will.

II.

THE DREAM.

I DREAMT; but what care I for dreams?
And yet I tremble too :

It look'd so like the truth, it seems
As if it would come true.

I dreamt that, long ere peep of day,
I left my cold straw bed,

And o'er a common far away,
As if I flew, I fled.

The tempest hurried me behind,

Like a mill-stream along;

I could have lean'd against the wind, It was so deadly strong.

The snow-I never saw such snow-
Raged like the sea all round,
Tossing and tumbling to and fro;
I thought I must be drown'd.

Now up, now down, with main and might
I plunged through drift and stour;
Nothing, no, nothing balk'd my flight,
I had a giant's power.

Till suddenly the storm stood still,
Flat lay the snow beneath;

I curdled to an icicle,

I could not stir-not breathe.

My master found me rooted there;
He flogg'd me back to sense,
Then pluck'd me up, and by the hair,
Sheer over ditch and fence,

He dragg'd, and dragg'd me on,

For many and many a mile : At a grand house he stopp'd anonIt was a famous pile.

Up to the moon it seem'd to rise,
Broad as the earth to stand;
The building darken'd half the skies,
Its shadow half the land.

All round was still-as still as death:
I, shivering, chattering, stood;
And felt the coming, going breath,
The tingling, freezing blood.

Soon, at my master's rap, rap, rap,
The door wide open flew :
In went we-with a thunder-clap
Again the door bang'd to.

I trembled, as I've felt a bird

Tremble within my fist;

For none I saw, and none I heard,

But all was lone and whist.

The moonshine through the windows show'd
Long stripes of light and gloom;
The carpet with all colors glow'd,-

Some men stood round the room:

Fair pictures in their golden frames,
And looking-glasses bright;
Fine things, I cannot tell their names,
Dazed and bewitch'd me quite.

Master soon thwack'd them out my head-
The chimney must be swept!

Yet in the grate the coals were red:

I stamp'd, and scream'd, and wept.

I kneel'd, I kiss'd his feet, I pray'd;
For then-which shows I dreamt-
Methought I ne'er before had made
The terrible attempt:

But, as a butcher lifts the lamb

That struggles for its life

(Far from the ramping, bleating dam) Beneath his desperate knife,

With his two iron hands he grasp'd

And hoisted me aloof;

His naked neck in vain I clasp'd,
The man was pity-proof.

So forth he swung me through the space
Above the smouldering fire;

I never can forget his face,

Nor his gruff growl, "Go higher!"

As if I climb'd a steep house-side,
Or scaled a dark draw-well,
The horrid opening was so wide,
I had no hold-I fell:

Fell on the embers, all my length,
But scarcely felt their heat,

When, with a madman's rage and strength,
I started on my feet.

And, ere I well knew what I did,

Had clear'd the broader vent; From his wild vengeance to be hid, I cared not where I went.

The passage narrow'd as I drew
Limb aner limb by force,
Working and worming, like a screw,
My hard, slow, up-hill course.

Rougher than harrow-teeth within,
Sharp lime and jagged stone
Stripp'd my few garments, gored the skin,
And grided to the bone.

Gall'd, wounded, bleeding. ill at ease,
Still I was stout at heart;

Head, shoulders, elbows, hands, feet, knees,
All play'd a surring part.

I climb'd, and climb'd, and climb'd in vainNo light at top appear'd;

No end to darkness, toil, and pain,

While worse and worse I fear'd.

I climb'd, and climb'd, and had to climb
Yet more and more astray;

A hundred years I thought the time,
A thousand miles the way.

Strength left me, and breath fail'd at last,-
Then had I headlong dropp'd,

But the strait funnel wedged me fast;
So there dead-lock'd I stopp'd.

I groan'd, I gasp'd, to shriek I tried,
No sound came from my breast;
There was a weight on every side,

As if a stone-delf press'd.

Yet still my brain kept beating on

Through night-mares of all shapes;
Foul fiends, no sooner come than gone,
Dragons, and wolves, and apes.

They gnash'd on me with bloody jaws,
Chatter'd, and howl'd, and hiss'd;
They clutch'd me with their cat-like claws,
While off they whirl'd in mist.

Till, like a lamp-flame, blown away,
My soul went out in gloom;
Thought ceased, and dead-alive I lay.
Shut up in that black tomb.

O sweetly on the mother's lap

Her pretty baby lies,

And breathes so freely in his nap,
She can't take off her eyes.

Ah! thinks she then-ah, thinks she not!
How soon the time may be.
When all her love will be forgot,
And he a wretch like me?

She in her grave at rest may lie,
And daisies speck the sod,
Nor see him bleed, nor hear him cry
Beneath a ruffian's rod.

No mother's lap was then my bed,
O'er me no mother smiled;

No mother's arm went round my head,
-Am I no mother's child?

Life, on a sudden, ran me through!
Light, light, all round me blazed,
Red flames rush'd roaring up the flue-
Flames by my master raised.

I heard his voice, and tenfold might
Bolted through every limb;
I saw his face, and shot upright;
Brick walls made way from him.

Swift as a squirrel seeks the bough
Where he may turn and look
Down on the schoolboy, chap-fallen now,
My ready flight I took.

The fire was quickly quench'd beneath,
Blue light above me glanced;
And air, sweet air, I'gan to breathe,
The blood within me danced.

I climb'd, and climb'd, and climb'd away,

Till on the top I stood,

And saw the glorious dawn of day
Come down on field and flood.

O me! a moment of such joy

I never knew before;

Right happy was the climbing-boy, One moment-but no more.

Sick, sick, I turn'd,-the world ran round,
The stone I stood on broke,
And plumb I toppled to the ground,
-Like a scared owl, I woke.

I woke, but slept again, and dream'd
The self-same things anew:

The storm, the snow, the building, scem'd
All true, as day-light's true.

But, when I tumbled from the top,
The world itself had flown;
There was no ground on which to drop,
'T was emptiness alone.

On winter nights I've seen a star
Leap headlong from the sky;
I've watch'd the lightning from afar
Flash out of heaven, and die.

So-but in darkness-so I fell

Through nothing to no place, Until I saw the flames of hell

Shoot upward to my face.

Down, down, as with a mill-stone weight, I plunged right through their smoke: To cry for mercy 't was too late

They seized me--I awoke :

Woke, slept, and dream'd the like again
The third time, through and through,
Except the winding up;-ah! then
I wish it had been true.

For when I climb'd into the air,

Spring-breezes flapt me round;

Green hills, and dales, and woods were there, And May-flowers on the ground.

The moon was waning in the west,

The clouds were golden red; The lark, a mile above his nest,

Was cheering o'er my head.

The stars had vanish'd, all but one,
The darling of the sky,
That glitter'd like a tiny sun,
No bigger than my eye.

I look'd at this-I thought it smiled,
Which made me feel so glad,
That I became another child,
And not the climbing-lad:

A child as fair as you may see,
Whom soot hath never soil'd;
As rosy-cheek'd as I might be,
If I had not been spoil'd.

Wings, of themselves, about me grew,

And, free as morning-light,

Up to that single star I flew,
So beautiful and bright.

Through the blue heaven I stretch'd my hand
To touch its beams-it broke

Like a sea-bubble on the sand;
Then all fell dark.-I woke.

III.

EASTER MONDAY AT SHEFFIELD. YES, there are some that think of me; The blessing on their heads! I say; May all their lives as happy be

As mine has been with them to-day!

When I was sold from Lincolnshire

To this good town, I heard a noise What merry-making would be here,

At Easter-tide, for climbing-boys.

"T was strange, because where I had been The better people cared no more

For such as me, than had they seen
A young crab crawling on their shore.

Well, Easter came;-in all the land
Was e'er a 'prentice lad so fine!
A bran-new suit, at second-hand,
Caps, shoes, and stockings, all were mine.

The coat was green, the waistcoat red,
The breeches leather, white and clean;

I thought I must go off my head,
I could have jump'd out of my skin.

All Sunday through the streets I stroll'd,
Fierce as a turkey-cock, to see
How all the people, young and old,

At least I thought so, look'd at me.

1 There are some local allusions in this part, sufficiently intelligible on the spot, but not worth explaining here.

At night, upon my truss of straw,

Those gaudy clothes hung round the room, By moon-glimpse oft their shapes I saw,

Like bits of rainbow in the gloom.

Yet scarce I heeded them at all,

Although I never slept a wink; The feast, next day, at Cutlers' Hall, Of that I could not help but think.

Wearily trail'd the night away;

Between the watchmen and the clock, I thought it never would be day :

At length outcrew the earliest cock;

A second answer'd, then a third,

At a long distance-one, two, three: A dozen more in turn were heardI crew among the rest for glee.

Up gat we, I and little Bill,

And donn'd our newest and our best: Nay, let the proud say what they will,

As grand as fiddlers we were drest.

We left our litter in the nook,

And wash'd ourselves as white as snow; On brush and bag we scorn'd to look, -It was a holiday, you know.

What ail'd me then I could not tell,

I yawn'd the whole forenoon away; And hearken'd while the vicar's bell

Went ding dong, ding dong, pay, pay, pay! The clock struck twelve-I love the twelves Of all the hours 'twixt sun and moon; For then poor lads enjoy themselves, -We sleep at midnight, rest at noon.

This noon was not a resting time!

At the first stroke we started all,

And, while the tune rang through the chime, Muster'd, like soldiers, at the Hall.

Not much like soldiers in our gait;

Yet never soldier, in his life, Tried, as he march'd, to look more straight Than Bill and I-to drum and fife.

But now I think on 't, what with scars,
Lank bony limbs, and spavin'd feet,
Like broken soldiers from the wars,

We limp'd yet strutted, through the street.

Then, while our meagre motley crew

Came from all quarters of the town, Folks to their doors and windows flew; I thought the world turn'd upside-down.

For now, instead of oaths and jeers,

The sauce that I have found elsewhere, Kind words, and smiles, and hearty cheers Met us with halfpence here and there. The mothers held their babies high,

To chuckle at our hobbling train, But clipt them close while we went by; -I heard their kisses fall like rain

And wiped my cheek, that never felt
The sweetness of a mother's kiss;
For heart and eyes began to melt,

And I was sad, yet pleased, with this

At Cutlers' Hall we found the crowd
That shout the gentry to their feast;
They made us way, and bawl'd so loud,
We might have been young lords at least.

We enter'd, twenty lads and more,
While gentlemen, and ladies too,
All bade us welcome at the door,
And kindly ask'd us-"How d'ye do!"
"Bravely," I answer'd; but my eye
Prickled, and leak'd, and twinkled still;
I long'd to be alone, to cry,

-To be alone, and cry my fill.

Our other lads were blithe and bold,
And nestling, nodding as they sat,
Till dinner came, their tales they told,
And talk'd of this, and laugh'd at that.

I pluck'd up courage, gaped, and gazed On the fine room, fine folks, fine things, Chairs, tables, knives and forks, amazed, With pots and platters fit for kings.

Roast-beef, plum-pudding, and what not,

Soon smoked before us-such a size! Giants their dinners might have got;

We open'd all our mouths and eyes. Anon, upon the board, a stroke

Warn'd each to stand up in his place; One of our generous friends then spoke

Three or four words-they call'd it Grace.

I think he said—“God bless our food!"
-Oft had I heard that name, in tones
Which ran like ice, cold through my blood,
And made the flesh creep on my bones.

But now, and with a power so sweet,
The name of GOD went through my heart,
That my lips trembled to repeat

Those words, and tears were fain to start.

Tears, words, were in a twinkle gone,
Like sparrows whirring through the street,
When, at a sign, we all fell on,

As geese in stubble, to our meat.

The large plum-puddings first were carved,
And well we yonkers plied them o'er;
You would have thought we had been starved,
Or were to be a month and more.
Next the roast-beef flew reeking round
In glorious slices, mark ye that!
The dishes were with gravy drown'd!
A sight to make a weazel fat.

A great meat-pie, a good meat-pie.
Baked in a cradle length of tin,
Was open'd, emptied, scoop'd so dry,
You might have seen your face within.

Such feasting I had never seen:

Some presently had got enough; The rest, like fox-hounds, staunch and keen, Were made of more devouring stuff.

They cramm'd, like cormorants, their craws, As though they never would have done; It was a feast to watch their jaws

Grind, and grow weary, one by one.

But there's an end to everything;

And this grand dinner pass'd away. I wonder if great George our king Has such a dinner every day.

Grace after meat again was said,

And my good feelings sprang anew;

But, at the sight of gingerbread,

Wine, nuts, and oranges, they flew.

Gay as young goldfinches in spring,
They chirp'd and peck'd, top-full of joy,
As if it was some mighty thing
To be a chimney-sweeper's boy.

And so it is, on such a day

As welcome Easter brings us here:
In London, too, the first of May-
But O, what is it all the year!

Close at a Quaker lady's side

Sat a young girl;-I know not how I felt when me askance she eyed,

And a quick blush flew o'er her brow.

For then, just then, I caught a face Fair-but I oft had seen it black, And mark'd the owner's tottering pace Beneath a vile two-bushel sack.

Oh! had I known it was a lass,

Could I have scorn'd her with her load? -Next time we meet, she shall not pass Without a lift along the road.

Her mother-mother but in name!

Brought her to-day to dine with us: Her father-she's his 'prentice :-shame On both, to use their daughter thus. Well, I shall grow, and she will grow

Older-it may be, taller-yet;

And if she 'll smile on me, I know

Poor Poll shall be poor Reuben's pet. Time, on his two unequal legs,

Kept crawling round the church-clock's face, Though none could see him shift his pegs, Each was for ever changing place.

O, why are pleasant hours so short?
And why are wretched ones so long?
They fly like swallows while we sport,
They stand like mules when all goes wrong.

Before we parted, one kind friend,

And then another, talk'd so free; They went from table-end to end,

And spoke to each, and spoke to me.

Books, pretty books, with pictures in,

Were given to those who learn to read, Which show'd them how to flee from sin, And to be happy boys indeed.

These climbers go to Sunday schools,

And hear what things to do or shin, Get good advice, and golden rules For all their lives-but I'm not one.

Nathless I'll go next Sabbath-day,

Where masters, without thrashing, teach Lost children how to read and pray, And sing, and hear the parsons preach.

For I'm this day determined-not
With bad companions to grow old,
But, weal or woe, whate'er my lot,

To mind what our good friends have told