Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace, 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 neighbors, 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;
'T will 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

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440

450

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 labor 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 't is believed by all
That many and many a day he thither went,
And never lifted up a single stone.

There by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog,

Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.

460

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

470

Is gone, the ploughshare has been through the ground On which it stood. Great changes have been wrought In all the neighborhood; 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.

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THE WATERFALL AND THE EGLANTINE.

1800. 1800.

"BEGONE, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"

Exclaimed an angry Voice,

"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice!"

A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose,
That all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

"Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny Thing!

I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock

To which thy fibres cling."

The Flood was tyrannous and strong;

The patient Briar suffered long,

Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

Hoping the danger would be past;

But seeing no relief, at last

He ventured to reply.

"Ah!" said the Briar, " blame me not;

Why should we dwell in strife?

We who in this sequestered spot

Once lived a happy life!

ΙΟ

20

What pleasure through my veins you spread!
The summer long, from day to day,

My leaves you freshened and bedewed;
Nor was it common gratitude

That did your cares repay.

"When spring came on with bud and bell, Among these rocks did I

Before you hang my wreaths, to tell

That gentle days were nigh!

And in the sultry summer hours

I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves · now shed and gone —
The linnet lodged, and for us two

Chanted his pretty songs, when you

Had little voice or none.

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40

"But now proud thoughts are in

What grief is mine you see,

your breast

Ah! would you think, even yet how blest

Came thundering loud and fast;

I listened, nor aught else could hear;
The Briar quaked—and much I fear
Those accents were his last.

THE OAK AND THE BROOM,

A PASTORAL.

1800.- 1800.

His simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;

A careful student he had been
Among the woods and hills.

One winter's night, when through the trees
The wind was roaring, on his knees
His youngest born did Andrew hold:
And while the rest, a ruddy quire,
Were seated round their blazing fire,
This Tale the Shepherd told :-

"I saw a crag, a lofty stone As ever tempest beat!

Out of its head an Oak had grown,

A Broom out of its feet.

The time was March, a cheerful noon
The thaw-wind, with the breath of June,

Breathed gently from the warm south-west :
When, in a voice sedate with age,

ΙΟ