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To which requests were added that forthwith But 'tis a long time to look back, my son,
He might be sent to him. Ten times or more And see so little gain from sixty years.
The letter was read over; Isabel

These fields were burthened when they came to m2;
Went forth to shew it to the neighbours round; Till I was forty years of age, not more
Nor was there at that time on English land

Than half of my inheritance was mine. A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work, Had to her house returned, the old man said, And till these three weeks past the land was free. “ He shall depart to-morrow.” To this word -It looks as if it never could endure The housewife answered, talking much of things Another master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, Which, if at such short notice he should go, If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good Would surely be forgotten. But at length

That thou shouldst go.” At this the old man pu't: She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood,

Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, Thus, after a short silence, he resumed: In that deep valley, Michael had designed

“ This was a work for us; and now, my son, To build a sheep-fold; and, before he heard It is a work for me. But, lay one stoneThe tidings of his melancholy loss,

Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands

. For this same purpose he had gathered up

Nay, boy, be of good hope;—we both may live
A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge To see a better day. At eighty-four
Lay thrown together, ready for the work.

I still am strong and stout ;-do thou thy part

With Luke that evening thitherward he walked; I will do mine. I will begin again
And soon as they had reached the place he stopped, With many tasks that were resigned to thee;
And thus the old man spake to him:-“ My son, Up to the heights, and in among the storms,
To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart Will I without thee go again, and do
I look upon thee, for thou art the same

All works which I was wont to do alone,
That wert a promise to me ere thy birth,

Before I knew thy face.—Heaven bless thee, bor? And all thy life hast been my daily joy.

Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast I will relate to thee some little part

With many hopes It should be so—Yes-jen Of our two histories; 'twill do thee good

I knew that thou couldst never have a wish When thou art from me, even if I should speak To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound 10 me Of things thou canst not know of. After thou Only by links of love: when thou art gone, First cam'st into the world--as it befalls

What will be left to us !-But, I forget To new-born infants——thou didst sleep away

My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, Two days, and blessings from thy father's tongue As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on, When thou art gone away, should evil men And still I loved thee with increasing love.

Be thy companions, think of me, my son, Never to living ear came sweeter sounds

And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, Than when I heard thee by our own fire-side And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear First uttering, without words, a natural tune; And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou When thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy

Mayst bear in mind the life thy fathers lived, Sing at thy mother's breast. Month followed month, Who, being innocent, did for that cause And in the

my life was passed

Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee xelAnd on the mountains, else I think that thou

When thou return'st, thou in this place wille? Hadst been brought up upon thy father's knees. A work which is not here: a covenant But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills, 'Twill be between us—But, whatever fate As well thou know'st, in us the old and young

Befal thee, I shall love thee to the last, Have played together, nor with me didst thou And bear thy memory with me to the grave." Lack any pleasure which a boy can know."

The shepherd ended here; and Luke stoped Luke had a manly heart; but at these words And, as his father had requested, laid [dost He sobbed aloud. The old man grasped his hand, The first stone of the sheep-fold. At the sight And said, “ Nay, do not take it so I see

The old man's grief broke from him, to his heart That these are things of which I need not speak.

He pressed his son, he kissed him and wept;
-Even to the utmost I have been to thee

And to the house together they returned.
A kind and a good father: and herein
I but repay a gift which I myself

-Hushed was that house in peace, or seeming peace,

Ere the night sell:with morrow's dawn the bog Received at other's hands; for, though now old

Began his journey, and when he had reached Beyond the common life of


I still Remember them who loved me in my youth.

The public way, he put on a bold face; Both of them sleep together: here they lived,

And all the neighbours as he passed their doors

Came forth with wishes and with farewell prafers As all their forefathers had done; and when

That followed him till he was out of sight.
At length their time was come, they were not loth
To give their bodies to the family mold.

of Luke and his well-doing: and the boy I wished that thou shouldst live the life they lived.

Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news,

A good report did from their kinsman come,

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Which, as the housewife phrased it, were throughout When soothed awhile by milder airs,
“ The prettiest letters that were ever seen.'

Thee Winter in the garland wears
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.

That thinly shades his few

grey hairs; So, many months passed on: and once again

Spring cannot shun thee;
The shepherd went about his daily work

Whole Summer fields are thine by right;
With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now

And Autumn, melancholy wight!
Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour

Doth in thy crimson head delight
He to that valley took his way, and there

When rains are on thee.
Wrought at the sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began

In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
To slacken in his duty; and at length

Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane ; He in the dissolute city gave himself

If welcomed once thou count'st it gain;
To evil courses: ignominy and shame

Thou art not daunted,
Fell on him, so that he was driven at last

Nor car'st if thou be set at nought:
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.

And oft alone in pooks remote
There is a comfort in the strength of love;

We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else

When such are wanted.
Would overset the brain,-or break the heart:
I have conversed with more than one who well

Be Violets in their secret mews.
Remember the old man, and what he was

The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose ;
Years after he had heard this heavy news.

Proud be the Rose, with rains and dews
His bodily frame had been from youth to age

Her head'impearling;
Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks

Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
He went, and still looked up upon the sun,

Yet hast not gone without thy fame;
And listened to the wind; and as before

Thou art indeed by many a claim
Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep,

The Poet's darling.
And for the land his small inheritance.

If to a rock from rains he fly,
And to that hollow dell from time to time

Or, some bright day of April sky,
Did he repair, to build the fold of which

Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie
His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet

Near the green holly,
The pity which was then in every heart

And wearily at length should fare;
For the old man-and 'tis believed by all

He needs but look about, and there That many and many a day he thither went,

Thou art! a friend at hand, to scare
And never lifted up a single stone.

His melancholy.
There, by the sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen
Sitting alone, with that his faithful dog,

A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.

Ere thus I have lain couched an hour, The length of full seven years from time to time

Have I derived from thy sweet power
He at the building of this sheep-fold wrought,

Some apprehension;
And left the work unfinished when he died.

Some steady love; some brief delight;
Three years, or little more, did Isabel

Some memory that had taken flight; Survive her husband: at her death the estate

Some chime of fancy wrong or right;
Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand,

Or stray invention,
The cottage which was named The Evening Star If stately passions in me burn,
Is gone-the ploughshare has been through the

And one chance look to thee should turn, ground

I drink out of an humbler urn
On which it stood; great changes have been wrought

A lowlier pleasure ;
In all the neighbourhood :-yet the oak is left
That grew beside their door; and the remains

The homely sympathy that heeds
Of the unfinished sheep-fold may be seen

The common life our nature breeds ;

A wisdom fitted to the needs
Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll..

Of hearts at leisure.

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Which I, wherever thou art met,

“ But now proud thoughts are in your breatTo thee am owing;

What grief is mine you see. An instinct call it, a blind sense;

Ah! would you think, even yet how blest A happy, genial influence,

Together we might be! Coming one knows not how, nor whence,

Though of both leaf and flower bereft, Nor whither going.

Some ornaments to me are left

Rich store of scarlet hips is mine, Child of the Year! that round dost run

With which I, in my humble way, Thy course, bold lover of the sun,

Would deck you many a winter's day, And cheerful when the day's begun

A happy Eglantine !"
As morning leveret,
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain ;

What more he said I cannot tell.
Dear thou shalt be to future men

The Torrent thundered down the dell As in old time ;-thou not in vain,

With unabating haste;
Art Nature's favourite.

I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked - and much I fear

Those accents were his last.

THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING “ Begone, thou fond presumptuous elf,"

LEAVES. Exclaimed a thundering voice, “ Nor dare to trust thy foolish self

That way look, my infant, lo! Between me and my choice!”.

What a pretty baby-show! A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows

See the kitten on the wall, Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose,

Sporting with the leaves that fall, That, all bespattered with his foam,

Withered leaves-one-two-and threeAnd dancing high, and dancing low,

From the lofty elder-tree! Was living, as a child might know,

Through the calm and frosty air In an unhappy home.

Of this morning bright and fair “ Dost thou presume my course to block:

Eddying round and round they sink Off, off! or, puny thing!

Softly, slowly, one night think,

From the motions that are made,
I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock
To which thy fibres cling."

Every little leaf conveyed
The Flood was tyrannous and strong;

Sylph or fairy hither tending,

To this lower world descending, The patient Briar suffered long,

Each invisible and mute, Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

In his wavering parachute. Hoping the danger would be past;

- But the kitten, how she starts, But, seeing no relief, at last He ventured to reply.

Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!

First at one, and then its fellow “ Ah!” said the Briar,“ blame me not;

Just as light and just as yellow; Why should we dwell in strife?

There are many now — now one — We who in this sequestered spot

Now they stop; and there are none – Once lived a happy life!

What intenseness of desire You stirred me on my rocky bed.

In her upward eye of fire! What pleasure through my veins you spread!

With a tiger-leap, half way, The summer long, from day to day,

Now she meets the coming prey, My leaves you freshened and bedewed;

Lets it go as fast, and then Nor was it common gratitude

Has it in her power again: That did your cares repay.

Now she works with three or four,

Like an Indian conjuror; “ When spring came on with bud and bell,

Quick as he in feats of art, Among these rocks did I

Far beyond in joy of heart. Before you hang my wreaths, to tell

Were hier antics played in the eye That gentle days were nigh!

Of a thousand standers-by, And in the sultry summer hours,

Clapping hands with shout and stare, I sheltered you with leaves and flowers ;

What would little Tabby care And in my leaves- now shed and gone,

For the plaudits of the crowd ?
The linnet lodged, and for us two

Over happy to be proud,
Chaunted his pretty songs, when you
Had little voice or none.

Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure !

645 'Tis a pretty baby-treat;

Spreads with such a living grace Nor, I deem, for me unmeet;

O'er my little Laura's face ; Here, for neither babe nor me,

Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Other playmate can I see.

Thee, baby, laughing in my arms, of the countless living things,

That almost I could repine That with stir of feet and wings,

That your transports are not mine, (In the sun or under shade,

That I do not wholly far: Upon bough or grassy blade)

Even as ye do, thoughtless pair! And with busy revellings,

And I will have my careless season Chirp and song, and murmurings,

Spite of melancholy reason, Made this orchard's narrow space,

Will walk through life in such a way And this vale so blithe a place;

That, when time brings on decay, Multitudes are swept away

Now and then I may possess Never more to breathe the day:

Hours of perfect gladsomeness. Some are sleeping; some in bands

- Pleased by any random toy ; Travelled into distant lands;

By a kitten's busy joy, Others slunk to moor and wood,

Or an infant's laughing eye Far from human neighbourhood;

Sharing in the ecstasy ; And among the kinds that keep

I would fare like that or this, With us closer fellowship,

Find my wisdom in my bliss; With us openly abide,

Keep the sprightly soul awake, All have laid their mirth aside.

And have faculties to take, - Where is he that giddy sprite,

Even from things by sorrow wrought, Blue-cap, with his colours bright,

Matter or a jocund thought; Who was blest as bird could be,

Spite of care, and spite of grief,
Feeding in the apple-tree;

To gambol with life's falling leaf.
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung with head towards the ground,

Fluttered, perched, into a round

O blithe new-comer! I have heard, Bound himself, and then unbound;

I hear thee and rejoice : Lithest, gaudiest harlequin !

O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Prettiest tumbler ever seen!

Or but a wandering voice ?
Light of heart and light of limb,
What is now become of him?

While I am lying on the grass,
Lambs, that through the mountains went

Thy loud note smites my ear! Frisking, bleating merriment,

It seems to fill the whole air's space,
When the year was in it's prime,

At once far off and near!
They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,

I hear thee babbling to the vale
If you listen, all is still,

Of sunshine and of flowers; Save a little neighbouring rill,

But unto me thou bring'st a tale
That from out the rocky ground

Of visionary hours.
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitters hill and plain,

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
And the air is calm in vain;

Even yet thou art to me Vainly morning spreads the lure

No bird; but an invisible thing, Of a sky serene and pure ;

A voice, a mystery. Creature none can she decoy

The same whom in my school-boy days
Into open sign of joy:

I listened to; that cry
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near?

Which made me look a thousand ways,
Or that other pleasures be

In bush, and tree, and sky.
Sweeter even than gaiety?

To seek thee did I often rove
Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell
In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show,
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty kitten! from thy freaks,

Through woods and on the green ;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen!
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

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O blessed bird! the earth we pace

RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place;

There was a roaring in the wind all night;

The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
That is fit home for thee!

But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;

Over his own sweet voice the stock-dore broed;

The jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters; There is a yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,

And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of water Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore,

All things that love the sun are out of doors; Not loth to furnish weapons for the bands

The sky rejoices in the morning's birth; Of Umfraville or Percy, ere they marched

The grass is bright with rain-drops ; on the sca To Scotland's heaths; or those that crossed the sea The hare is running races in her mirth; And drew their sounding bows at Azincour,

And with her feet she from the plashy earth Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers.

Raises a mist; which, glittering in the sun, Of vast circumference and gloom profound

Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth ra This solitary tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay;

I was a traveller then upon the moor; Of form and aspect too magnificent

I saw the hare that raced about with jos; To be destroyed. But worthier still of note

I heard the woods, and distant waters, roat; Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale,

Or heard them not, as happy as a boy: Joined in one solemn and capacious grove;

The pleasant season did my heart emplos: Huge trunks!—and each particular trunk a growth

My old remembrances went from me wholly; Of intertwisted fibres serpentine

And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved,

But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Nor uninformed with phantasy, and looks

Of joy in minds that can no farther go,
That threaten the prophane ;-

;-a pillared shade, As high as we have mounted in delight
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, In our dejection do we sink as low,
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged To me that morning did it happen so;
Perennially-beneath whose sable roof

And fears, and fancies, thick upon me cane;
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked

Dim sadness, and blind thoughts, I knew Bot, ut With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes

could name. May meet at noontide-Fear and trembling Hope, Silence and Foresight—Death the Skeleton

I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky; And Time the Shadow,—there to celebrate,

And I bethought me of the playful hare: As in a natural temple scattered o'er

Even such a happy child of earth am l; With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,

Even as these blissful creatures do I fare ; United worship; or in mute repose

Far from the world I walk, and from all care; To lie, and listen to the mountain flood

But there may come another day to me-
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.

Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.
My whole life I have lived in pleasant theorghe

As if life's business were a summer mood;

As if all needful things would come unsought At the corner of Wood-street, when day-light ap- To genial faith, still rich in genial good; pears,

(three years:

But how can he expect that others should Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it bas sung for Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard Love him, who for himself will take no heed tal! In the silence of morning the song of the bird.

I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Of Him who walked in glory and in joy Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, Following his plough, along the mountain-side: And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. By our own spirits are we deified; Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,

We poets in our youth begin in gladnes; frete Down which she so often has tripped with her pail;

But thereof comes in the end despondency and sato
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, Now, whether it were by peculiar grace,
The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. A leading from above, a something given,

Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,
She looks, and her beart is in heaven; but they fade,
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade :

When I with these untoward thoughts had strives,

Beside a pool bare to the eye of Heaven The stream will not flow and the hill will not rise, I saw a man before me unawares : And the colours have all passed away from her eyes. The oldest inan he seemed that ever wore grey hair

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