[from Collected Works, T.E.Brown]



IT was in pleasant Derbyshire,
Upon a bright spring day,
From a valley to a valley
I sought to find a way;
And I met a little lad,
A lad both blithe and bold;
And his eyes were of the blue,
And his hair was of the gold.
" Ho ! little lad, of yonder point
The name come quickly tell !"
Then, prompt as any echo,
Came the answer :—" Tap o’ th’ hill."
" But has it any other name
That a man may say—as thus—
Kinderscout, or Fairbrook Naze ?"
Then said the child, with constant gaze :—
" Tap o’ th’ hill it gets with us."


" Yes, yes ! " I said, " but has it not
Some other name as well?
Its own, you know ? " " Aye, aye ! " he said,
" Tap o’ th’ hill ! tap o’ th’ hill !
" But your father, now ? how calls it he ?"
Then clear as is a bell
Rang out the merry laugh :—
" Of course, He calls it Tap o’ th’ hill!"
So I saw it was no use;
But I said within myself:—
" He has a wholesome doctrine,
This cheerful little elf."
And O, the weary knowledge!
And O, the hearts that swell!
And O, the blessed limit—
" Tap o’ th’ hill ! tap o’ th’ hill ! "


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