Stories
OF THE
Craven Dales.
No. II.[470]
He had been in Yorkshire dales,
Amid the winding scars;
Where deep and low the hamlets lie
Beneath a little patch of sky,
And little patch of stars.—Wordsworth.
The Legend of the Troller’s Gill.
On the steep fell’s height shone the fair moonlight,
And its beams illum’d the dale,
And a silvery sheen cloth’d the forest green,
Which sigh’d to the moaning gale.
From Burnsal’s tower the midnight hour
Had toll’d, and its echo was still,
And the elfin band, from faërie land,
Was upon Elboton hill.
’Twas silent all, save the waters’ fall,
That with never ceasing din,
Roar and rush, and foam and gush,
In Loupscar’s troubled linn.
From his cot he stept, while the household slept,
And he carroll’d with boist’rous glee,
But he ne hied to the green hill’s side,
The faerie train to see.
He went not to roam with his own dear maid
Along by a pine-clad scar,
Nor sing a lay to his ladye love,
’Neath the light of the polar star.