-When through this little wreck of fame, Has travelled down to Matthew's name, And, if a sleeping tear should wake, Which for himself he had not made. Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, Far from the chimney's merry roar, The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup -Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! 1799. XIV. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. WE walked along, while bright and red And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, "The will of God be done!" A village schoolmaster was he, With hair of glittering grey; As blithe a man as you could see On a spring holiday. And on that morning, through the grass, And by the steaming rills, We travelled merrily, to pass A day among the hills. "Our work," said I, 66 was well begun ; Then, from thy breast what thought, So sad a sigh has brought?" A second time did Matthew stop; Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply: "Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this which I have left Full thirty years behind. And just above yon slope of corn Such colours, and no other, Were in the sky, that April morn, With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, to the church-yard come, stopped short Beside my daughter's grave. Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale; And then she sang ;-she would have been A very nightingale. Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more, For so it seemed, than till that day I e'er had loved before. And, turning from her grave, I met, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet A basket on her head she bare; To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight! No fountain from its rocky cave There came from me a sigh of pain I looked at her, and looked again : Matthew is in his grave, yet now, As at that moment, with a bough 1799. XV. THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. We talked with open heart, and tongue A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet. Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon; |