The nearest in affection or in blood;
Yea, by the very Mourners who had knelt
Beside the Coffin, resting on its lid
In silent grief their unuplifted heads,
And heard meanwhile the Psalmist's mournful plaint, And that most awful scripture which declares
We shall not sleep, but we shall all be changed!
And Son and Father also side by side,
and in concert move,
Rise from that posture: —
On the green turf following the vested Priest,
Four dear Supporters of one senseless Weight,
From which they do not shrink, and under which
They faint not, but advance towards the grave
Step after step-together, with their firm
Unhidden faces; he that suffers most
He outwardly, and inwardly perhaps,
The most serene, with most undaunted eye!
Oh! blest are they who live and die like these,
Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourn'd!"
"That poor Man taken hence to-day," replied
The Solitary, with a faint sarcastic smile
Which did not please me, "must be deemed, I fear,
Of the unblest; for he will surely sink
Into his mother earth without such pomp
Of grief, depart without occasion given
By him for such array of fortitude.
Full seventy winters hath he lived, and mark!
This simple Child will mourn his one short hour,
And I shall miss him; scanty tribute! yet,
This wanting, he would leave the sight of men,
If love were his sole claim upon their care,
Like a ripe date which in the desert falls
Without a hand to gather it." At this
I interposed, though loth to speak, and said,
"Can it be thus among so small a band
As ye must needs be here? in such a place
I would not willingly, methinks, lose sight
Of a departing cloud." ""Twas not for love"-
Answered the sick man with a careless voice-
"That I came hither; neither have I found
Among Associates who have power of speech,
Nor in such other converse as is here,
Temptation so prevailing as to change
That mood, or undermine my first resolve."
Then, speaking in like careless sort, he said
To my benign Companion,
That fortune did not guide you to this house
A few days earlier; then would you have seen
What stuff the Dwellers in a Solitude,
That seems by Nature hollow'd out to be
The seat and bosom of pure innocence,
Are made of; an ungracious matter this!
Which for truth's sake, yet in remembrance too
Of past discussions with this zealous Friend
And Advocate of humble life, I now
Will force upon his notice; undeterr'd
By the example of his own pure course,
And that respect and deference which a Soul
May fairly claim, by niggard age enrich'd
In what she values most.
And his frail creature Man; but ye shall hear.
and ye are standing in the sun
Without refreshment!"
Towards the Cottage; - homely was the spot;
And, to my feeling, ere we reach'd the door,
Had almost a forbidding nakedness;
Less fair, I grant, even painfully less fair,
Than it appear'd when from the beetling rock
We had look'd down upon it. All within,
As left by the departed company,
Was silent; and the solitary clock
Tick'd, as I thought, with melancholy sound. -
Following our Guide, we clomb the cottage stairs
And reach'd a small apartment dark and low,
Which was no sooner enter'd, than our Host
Said gaily, "This is my domain, my cell,
My hermitage, my cabin, what you will —
I love it better than a snail his house.
But now Ye shall be feasted with our best."
So, with more ardour than an unripe girl
Left one day mistress of her mother's stores,
He went about his hospitable task.
My eyes were busy, and my thoughts no less,
And pleased I look'd upon my grey-haired Friend
As if to thank him; he return'd that look,
Cheer'd plainly, and yet serious. What a wreck
Had we around us! scatter'd was the floor,
And, in like sort, chair, window-seat, and shelf,
With books, maps, fossils, wither'd plants and flowers,
And tufts of mountain moss; mechanic tools
Lay intermix'd with scraps of paper,
Scribbled with verse: a broken angling-rod
And shatter'd telescope, together link'd
By cobwebs, stood within a dusty nook;
And instruments of music, some half-made,
Some in disgrace, hung dangling from the walls.
- But speedily the promise was fulfill'd; A feast before us, and a courteous Host Inviting us in glee to sit and eat.
A napkin, white as foam of that rough brook
By which it had been bleach'd, o'erspread the board; And was itself half-cover'd with a load
oaten bread, curd, cheese, and cream,
And cakes of butter curiously emboss'd,
Butter that had imbibed a golden tinge
From meadow flowers, hue delicate as theirs
Faintly reflected in a lingering stream;
Nor lack'd, for more delight on that warm day,
Our Table, small parade of garden fruits,
And whortle-berries from the mountain-side.
The Child, who long ere this had still'd his sobs,
Was now a help to his late Comforter,
And moved a willing Page, as he was bid,
Ministering to our need.
While at our pastoral banquet thus we sate
Fronting the window of that little Cell,
I could not, ever and anon, forbear
To glance an upward look on two huge Peaks,
That from some other Vale peer'd into this.
"Those lusty Twins," exclaim'd our host, "if here
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