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And to that hollow Dell from time to time
Did he repair, to build the Fold of which
His flock had need. And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts,
'Tis not forgotten yet And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear
The pity which was then in every heart And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou
For the Old Man — and 't is believed by all
And never lifted up a single stone.
There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen A work which is not here: a covenant
Sitting alone, with that his faithful Dog, 'T will be between us But, whatever fate
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. Betall thee, I shall love thee to the last,
The length of full seven years, from time to time, And bear thy memory with me to the grave.”
He at the building of this sheep-fold wrought,
And left the work unfinished when he died.
Survive her Husband : at her death the estate
Is gone—the ploughshare has been through the ground And to the house together they returned.
On which it stood; great changes have been wrought -Hushed was that house in peace, or seeming peace, In all the neighbourhood :- yet the Oak is left Ere the night fell:- with morrow's dawn the Boy That grew beside their Door; and the remains Began his journey, and when he had reached Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen The public Way, he put on a bold face;
Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll 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.
THE RUSSIAN FUGITIVE.
[Peler Henry Bruce, having given in his entertaining Memoirs Which
, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout the substance of the following Tale, affirms, that, besides the “The prettiest letters that were ever seen."
concurring reports of others, he had the story from the Lady's
own mouth. Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.
The Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, was the Se many months passed on: and once again
famous Catherine, then bearing that name as the acknowledged The Shepherd went about his daily work
Wife of Peter the Great.]
Enough of rose-bud lips, and eyes
Like harebells bathed in dew, To evil courses: ignominy and shame
Of cheek that with carnation vies, Pell on him, so that he was driven at last
And veins of violet hue; To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
Earth wants not beauty that may scorn
A likening to frail flowers ;
Yea, to the stars, if they were born
For seasons and for hours.
Through Moscow's gates, with gold unbarred,
Stepped one at dead of night,
From meditated blight;
As doth the hunted fawn,
Appeared unwelcome dawn.
Yeurs after he had heard this heavy news.