I led a wandering life among the fields; Forgone the home delight of constant truth, And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth. Three years thus wandering, often have I view'd, As if because her tale was at an end She wept;-because she had no more to say Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. I. THE BROTHERS*. THESE Tourists, Heaven preserve us! needs must live A profitable life: some glance along, Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air, And they were butterflies to wheel about Sit perched, with book and pencil on their knee, * This Poem was intended to conclude a series of pastorals, the scene of which was laid among the mountains of Cumberland and Westmoreland. I mention this to apologize for the abruptness with which the poem begins. But, for that moping Son of Idleness, Why can he tarry yonder?—In our church-yard Tomb-stone nor name-only the turf we tread, Who turned her large round wheel in the open air |