Lyrical Ballads, With a Few Other Poems (1798). William Wordsworth

a baby wrapt in mosses, lined

      With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool

      As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,

      And reared him at the then Lord Velez' cost.

      And so the babe grew up a pretty boy,

      A pretty boy, but most unteachable —

      And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead,

      But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes,

      And whistled, as he were a bird himself:

      And all the autumn 'twas his only play

      To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them

      With earth and water, on the stumps of trees.

      A Friar, who gathered simples in the wood,

      A grey-haired man – he loved this little boy,

      The boy loved him – and, when the Friar taught him,

      He soon could write with the pen: and from that time,

      Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle.

      So he became a very learned youth.

      But Oh! poor wretch! – he read, and read, and read,

      'Till his brain turned – and ere his twentieth year,

      He had unlawful thoughts of many things:

      And though he prayed, he never loved to pray

      With holy men, nor in a holy place —

      But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,

      The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him.

      And once, as by the north side of the Chapel

      They stood together, chained in deep discourse,

      The earth heaved under them with such a groan,

      That the wall tottered, and had well-nigh fallen

      Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened;

      A fever seized him, and he made confession

      Of all the heretical and lawless talk

      Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized

      And cast into that hole. My husband's father

      Sobbed like a child – it almost broke his heart:

      And once as he was working in the cellar,

      He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,

      Who sung a doleful song about green fields,

      How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah,

      To hunt for food, and be a naked man,

      And wander up and down at liberty.

      He always doted on the youth, and now

      His love grew desperate; and defying death,

      He made that cunning entrance I described:

      And the young man escaped.

MARIA

                                 'Tis a sweet tale:

      Such as would lull a listening child to sleep,

      His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears. —

      And what became of him?

FOSTER-MOTHER

                              He went on ship-board

      With those bold voyagers, who made discovery

      Of golden lands. Leoni's younger brother

      Went likewise, and when he returned to Spain,

      He told Leoni, that the poor mad youth,

      Soon after they arrived in that new world,

      In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat,

      And all alone, set sail by silent moonlight

      Up a great river, great as any sea,

      And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed,

      He lived and died among the savage men.

      LINES LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF ESTHWAITE, ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, YET COMMANDING A BEAUTIFUL PROSPECT

      – Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands