Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees. But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills, As well thou knowest, in us the old and young Have played together, nor with me didst thou Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." Luke had a manly heart; but at these words He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand, And said, "Nay, do not take it so I see That these are things of which I need not speak. -Even to the utmost I have been to thee A kind and a good Father: and herein I but repay a gift which I myself
Received at others' hands; for, though now old Beyond the common life of man, I still Remember them who loved me in my youth. Both of them sleep together: here they lived, As all their Forefathers had done; and when At length their time was come, they were not loth To give their bodies to the family mould.
I wished that thou shouldst live the life they lived: But, 'tis a long time to look back, my Son, And see so little gain from threescore years. These fields were burthened when they came to me; Till I was forty years of age, not more Than half of my inheritance was mine.
I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work, And till these three weeks past the land was free. -It looks as if it never could endure Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good That thou should'st go."
At this the old Man paused; Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood, Thus, after a short silence, he resumed: "This was a work for us; and now, my Son, It is a work for me.
But, lay one stone- Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands. Nay, Boy, be of good hope ;-we both may live To see a better day. At eighty-four
I still am strong and hale ;-do thou thy part; I will do mine.-I will begin again With many tasks that were resigned to thee: Up to the heights, and in among the storms, Will I without thee go again, and do All works which I was wont to do alone, Before I knew thy face.-Heaven bless thee, Boy! Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast With many hopes; it should be so-yes-yes- I knew that thou could'st never have a wish To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to me Only by links of love: when thou art gone, What will be left to us!-But, I forget My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, As I requested; and hereafter, Luke,
When thou art gone away, should evil men Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well— When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see A work which is not here: a covenant "Twill be between us; but, whatever fate Befal thee, I shall love thee to the last, And bear thy memory with me to the grave."
The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down,
And, as his Father had requested, laid
The first stone of the Sheep-fold. At the sight The old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept ; And to the house together they returned. -Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming
Ere the night fell :-with morrow's dawn the Boy Began his journey, and when he had reached The public way, he put on a bold face; And all the neighbours, as he passed their doors, Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, That followed him till he was out of sight.
A good report did from their Kinsman come, Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout "The prettiest letters that were ever seen.' Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. So, many months passed on: and once again The Shepherd went about his daily work With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour He to that valley took his way, and there Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began To slacken in his duty; and, at length, He in the dissolute city gave himself To evil courses: ignominy and shame Fell on him, so that he was driven at last To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
There is a comfort in the strength of love; "Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart: I have conversed with more than one who well Remember the old Man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, And listened to the wind; and, as before, Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep, And for the land, his small inheritance. And to that hollow dell from time to time Did he repair, to build the Fold of which His flock had need. "Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old Man-and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone.
The Mother mourned, nor ceased her tears to flow, Till a winter's noon-day placed her buried Son Before her eyes, last child of many gone- His raiment of angelic white, and lo! His very feet bright as the dazzling snow Which they are touching; yea far brighter, even As that which comes, or seems to come, from heaven, Surpasses aught these elements can show. Much she rejoiced, trusting that from that hour Whate'er befel she could not grieve or pine;
But the Transfigured, in and out of season, Appeared, and spiritual presence gained a power Over material forms that mastered reason.
There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he Oh, gracious Heaven, in pity make her thine!
Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.
The length of full seven years, from time to time, He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought, And left the work unfinished when he died. Three years, or little more, did Isabel Survive her Husband: at her death the estate Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. The Cottage which was named the EVENING STAR Is gone the ploughshare has been through the ground
On which it stood; great changes have been wrought In all the neighbourhood:-yet the oak is left That grew beside their door; and the remains Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll.
THE WIDOW ON WINDERMERE SIDE.
How beautiful when up a lofty height Honour ascends among the humblest poor, And feeling sinks as deep! See there the door Of One, a Widow, left beneath a weight Of blameless debt. On evil Fortune's spite She wasted no complaint, but strove to make A just repayment, both for conscience-sake And that herself and hers should stand upright In the world's eye. Her work when daylight failed Paused not, and through the depth of night she kept Such earnest vigils, that belief prevailed With some, the noble Creature never slept; But, one by one, the hand of death assailed Her children from her inmost heart bewept.
THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE.
[The subject of the following poem is from the Orlandus of the author's friend, Kenelm Henry Digby: and the liberty is taken of inscribing it to him as an acknowledgment, however unworthy, of pleasure and instruction derived from his numerous and valuable writings, illustrative of the piety and chivalry of the olden time.]
You have heard 'a Spanish Lady How she wooed an English man Hear now of a fair Armenian, Daughter of the proud Soldàn;
How she loved a Christian Slave, and told her pain By word, look, deed, with hope that he might love
* See, in Percy's Reliques, that fine old ballad, “The Spanish Lady's Love;" from which Poem the form of stanza, as suitable to dialogue, is adopted.
Your most loving father's rage:
"Wedded love with loyal Christians,
Lady, is a mystery rare;
Body, heart, and soul in union,
Make one being of a pair."
"Humble love in me would look for no return,
Sad deliverance would it be, and yoked with shame, Soft as a guiding star that cheers, but cannot burn.” Should troubles overflow on her from whom it
Bend with the breeze their heads, beside a crystal And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell.
Mute memento of that union
In a Saxon church survives,
Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured
As between two wedded WivesFigures with armorial signs of race and birth, And the vain rank the pilgrims bore while yet on earth.
THERE's more in words than I can teach : Yet listen, Child!--I would not preach; But only give some plain directions
To guide your speech and your affections. Say not you love a roasted fowl, But you may love a screaming owl, And, if you can, the unwieldy toad That crawls from his secure abode Within the mossy garden wall When evening dews begin to fall. Oh mark the beauty of his eye: What wonders in that circle lie! So clear, so bright, our fathers said He wears a jewel in his head! And when, upon some showery day, Into a path or public way
A frog leaps out from bordering grass, Startling the timid as they pass, Do you observe him, and endeavour To take the intruder into favour;' Learning from him to find a reason For a light heart in a dull season. And you may love him in the pool, That is for him a happy school,
In which he swims as taught by nature, Fit pattern for a human creature, Glancing amid the water bright, And sending upward sparkling light.
Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing A love for things that have no feeling : The spring's first rose by you espied, May fill your breast with joyful pride; And you may love the strawberry-flower, And love the strawberry in its bower; But when the fruit, so often praised For beauty, to your lip is raised,
Say not you love the delicate treat, But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.
Long may you love your pensioner mouse, Though one of a tribe that torment the house: Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat, Deadly foe both of mouse and rat; Remember she follows the law of her kind, And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Then think of her beautiful gliding form, Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm, And her soothing song by the winter fire, Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.
I would not circumscribe your love: It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove, May pierce the earth with the patient mole,
Or track the hedgehog to his hole.
Loving and liking are the solace of life,
Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of
You love your father and your mother, Your grown-up and your baby brother; You love your sister, and your friends, And countless blessings which God sends: And while these right affections play, You live each moment of your day; They lead you on to full content, And likings fresh and innocent, That store the mind, the memory feed, And prompt to many a gentle deed: But likings come, and pass away; "Tis love that remains till our latest day: Our heavenward guide is holy love, And will be our bliss with saints above.
"HIGH bliss is only for a higher state,' But, surely, if severe afflictions borne With patience merit the reward of peace, Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good, Sought by a wise though late exchange, and here With bounteous hand beneath a cottage-roof To you accorded, never be withdrawn,
Nor for the world's best promises renounced. Most soothing was it for a welcome Friend, Fresh from the crowded city, to behold That lonely union, privacy so deep, Such calm employments, such entire content. So when the rain is over, the storm laid,
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