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While each to his great Father bends,
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
And to teach by his own example, love and reverence to all things that God made and loveth.
He prayeth best, who loveth best
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
He went like one that hath been stunned,
THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S TALE.
A Dramatic Fragment.
'Tis strange, he spake of you familiarly, As mine and Albert's common Foster-Mother.
FOSTER-MOTHER. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That joined your names with mine! O my sweet lady! As often as I think of those dear times, When you two little-ones would stand at eve On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day, and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you, 'Tis more like heaven to come than what has been.
MARIA. O my dear Mother ! this strange man has left me Troubled with wilder fancies, than the Moon Breeds in the love-sick maid who gazes at it, Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye She gazes idly—But that entrance, Mother !
FOSTER-MOTHER. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni : Angels, rest his soul ! He was a woodman, and could fell, and saw, With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging-wall of the old chapel ?Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, He found a baby, wrapt in mosses lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And reared him at the then Lord Valez cost; And so the babe grew up a pretty boyam
A pretty boy, but most unteachable And never learnt a prayer nor told a bead; But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself! And all the autumn 'twas his only play To gather seeds of wild-flowers, and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A Friar, who oft culld simples in the wood, A grey-haired man he loved this little boy: The boy loved him-and, when the Friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen ; and from that time Lived chiefly at the Convent or the Castle. So he became a very learned youth. But oh! poor wretch! he read, and read, and read, Till his brain turned-and ere his twentieth year,
He had unlawful thoughts of many things: - And though he prayed, he never loved to pray With holy men, or in a holy placé ;But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, The late Lord Valez ne'er was wearied with him : And once, as by the north side of the chapel They stood together, chained in deep discourse, The earth heaved under them with such a groan, That the wall tottered, and had well nigh fallen Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened ;