'Tis of the elder Brother I am speaking:
They had an Uncle; - he was at that time
A thriving man, and trafficked on the seas:
And, but for that same Uncle, to this hour
Leonard had never handled rope or shroud:
For the Boy loved the life which we lead here;
And though of unripe years, a stripling only,
His soul was knit to this his native soil.
But, as I said, old Walter was too weak
To strive with such a torrent; when he died,

The Estate and House were sold; and all their Sheep,
A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know,
Had clothed the Ewbanks for a thousand years:
Well-all was gone, and they were destitute.
And Leonard, chiefly for his Brother's sake,
Resolved to try his fortune on the seas.

Twelve years are past since we had tidings from him.
If there was one among us who had heard
That Leonard Ewbank was come home again,
From the great Gavel*, down by Leeza's Banks,
And down the Enna, far as Egremont,
The day would be a very festival;

And those two bells of ours, which there you see —
Hanging in the open air- but, O good Sir!
This is sad talk-they'll never sound for him-
Living or dead. — When last we heard of him,
He was in slavery among the Moors

That would bring down his spirit; and no doubt,
Before it ended in his death, the Youth
Was sadly crossed - Poor Leonard! when we parted,
He took me by the hand, and said to me,

*The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from its resemblance to the Gable end of a house, is one of the highest of the Cumberland mountains. It stands at the head of the several vales of Ennerdale, Watsdale, and Borrowdale.

The Leeza is a river which flows into the Lake of Ennerdale: on issuing from the Lake, it changes its name, and is called the End, Eyne, or Enna. It fails into the sea a little below Egremont.

That is but From his youth

A fellow tale of sorrow.
James, though not sickly, yet was delicate
And Leonard being always by his side
Had done so many offices about him,
That, though he was not of a timid nature,
Yet still the spirit of a Mountain Boy

In him was somewhat checked; and, when his Brether
Was gone to sea, and he was left alone,

The little colour that he had was soon Stolen from his cheek; he drooped, and pined, and pined

LEONARD.

But these are all the graves of full-grown men !

PRIEST.

Ay, Sir, that passed away: we took him to us,
He was the child of all the dale- he lived
Three months with one, and six months with another,
And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love:
And many, many happy days were his.
But, whether blithe or sad, 't is my belief
His absent Brother still was at his heart.
And, when he dwelt beneath our roof, we found
(A practice till this time unknown to him)
That often, rising from his bed at night,
He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping
He sought his brother Leonard. You are moved!
Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,
I judged you most unkindly.

LEONARD.

But this Youth,

How did he die at last?

PRIEST.

One sweet May morning,

(It will be twelve years since when Spring returns)
He had gone forth among the new-dropped lambs,
With two or three companions, whom their course
Of occupation led from height to height
Under a cloudless sun, till he, at length,
Through weariness, or, haply, to indulge
The humour of the moment, lagged behind

se yon precipice; - it wears the shape
rasting made of many crags;
a the midst is one particular rock
tres like a column from the vale,

- by our shepherds it is called THE PILLAR. tary summit crowned with heath,

- Leterer, not unnoticed by his Comrades, retched at ease; but, passing by the place ir return, they found that he was gone. ... was feared; but one of them by chance

ng, when evening was far spent, the house

- at that time was James's home, there learned 1 body had seen him all that day:

trung came, and still he was unheard of: ⚫urs were alarmed, and to the Brook

bustened, some towards the Lake: ere noon fi him at the foot of that same Rock ¦»-i, and with mangled limbs. The third day after d him, poor Youth, and there he lies!

LEONARD.

Lat then is his grave! - Before his death y that he saw many happy years?

PRIEST.

Ay, the be did! —

LEONARD.

And all went well with him?--
PRIEST.

had coe, the youth had twenty homes.

LEONARD.

Andre believe, then, that his mind was easy?—

PRIEST.

Ing before he died, he found that time

the friad to sorrow; and unless

The power of speech. Both left the spot in silence;
And Leonard, when they reached the church-yard gate,
As the Priest lifted up the latch turned round,
And, looking at the grave, he said, "My Brother!"
The Vicar did not hear the words: and now,
Pointing towards the Cottage, he entreated
That Leonard would partake his homely fare:
The other thanked him with a fervent voice;
But added, that, the evening being calm,
He would pursue his journey. So they parted.
It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove
That overhung the road: he there stopped short,
And, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed
All that the Priest had said: his early years
Were with him in his heart: his cherished hopes,
And thoughts which had been his an hour before,
All pressed on him with such a weight, that now,
This vale, where he had been so happy, seemed
A place in which he could not bear to live:
So he relinquished all his purposes.

He travelled on to Egremont: and thence,
That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest,
Reminding him of what had passed between them;
And adding, with a hope to be forgiven,
That it was from the weakness of his heart

He had not dared to tell him who he was.

This done, he went on shipboard, and is now A Seaman, a gray-headed Mariner.

ARTEGAL AND ELIDURE.

[See the Chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and Milton's History of England.]

Totaled about him with a cheerful love.

LEONARD.

act come to an unhallowed end!

PRIEST.

*r, Gud fatud! — You recollect I mentioned at which disquietude and grief

ght up him; and we all conjectured the day was warm, he had lain down the grass, — and waiting for his comrades, Le had fallen asleep; that in his sleep to the margin of the precipice

- waged, and from the summit had fallen headlong. we sa no dubt, he perished; at the time, ⚫, that in his hand he must have held

herd's staff; for midway in the cliff und hera caught; and there for many years — and mouldered there.

The Priest here ended Sarger would have thanked him, but he felt from his heart that took away

For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?
Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile
Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed!
Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore,
They sank, delivered o'er

To fatal dissolution; and, I ween,

No vestige then was left that such had ever been.

Nathless, a British record (long concealed
In old Armorica, whose secret springs
No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed
The wondrous current of forgotten things;
How Brutus came, by oracles impelled,

And Albion's giants quelled

A brood whom no civility could melt,

"Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er had felt "

By brave Corineus aided, he subdued,
And rooted out the intolerable kind;
And this too-long-polluted land imbued
With goodly arts and usages refined;
Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers,

And Pleasure's sumptuous bowers;

stret, and tender was the embrace he gave, returned by daunted Artegal; natural affection doubts enslave, athensions dark and criminal.

to restrain the moving interview,

The attendant lords withdrew;

e they stood upon the plain apart,

-- Landare, by words, relieved his struggling heart.

enly Powers conducted, we have met; 3-cer: to my knowledge lost so long,

ther lost to love, nor to regret,
by wishes lost;-forgive the wrong,

*** may seem) if I thy crown have borne,

Tey royal mantle worn:

their natural guardian; and 't is just

And this for one who cannot imitate

Thy virtue, who may hate:

For, if, by such strange sacrifice restored,

He reign, thou still must be his king, and sovereign Lord.

"Lifted in magnanimity above

Aught that my feeble nature could perform,
Or even conceive; surpassing me in love
Far as in power the eagle doth the worm;
I, Brother! only should be king in name,
And govern to my shame;

A shadow in a hated land, while all

Of glad or willing service to thy share would fall."

"Believe it not," said Elidure; "respect Awaits on virtuous life, and ever most

FAREWELL LINES.

HIGH bliss is only for a higher state,' But, surely, if severe afflictions borne With patience merit the reward of peace, Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good, Sought by a wise though late exchange, and here With bounteous hand beneath a cottage roof To you accorded, never be withdrawn, Nor for the world's best promises renounced. Most soothing was it for a welcome friend, Fresh from the crowded city, to behold That lonely union, privacy so deep, Such calm employments, such entire content. So when the rain is over, the storm laid, A pair of herons oft-times have I seen, Upon a rocky islet, side by side,

Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease;

And so, when night with grateful gloom had fallen,
Two glow-worms in such nearness that they shared,
As seemed, their soft self-satisfying light,
Each with the other on the dewy ground,
Where He that made them blesses their repose.
When wandering among lakes and hills I note,
Once more, those creatures thus by nature paired,
And guarded in their tranquil state of life,
Even as your happy presence to my mind
Their union brought, will they repay the debt,
And send a thankful spirit back to you,
With hope that we, dear friends! shall meet again.

TO A BUTTERFLY.

I'VE watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed,

FAREWELL.

COMPOSED IN THE YEAR 1802

FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent Temple which doth bound
One side of our whole Vale with grandeur rure;
Sweet Garden-orchard, eminently fair,
The loveliest spot that Man hath ever found,
Farewell!-we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround

Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And safely will she ride when we are gone;
The flowering shrubs that decorate our door
Will prosper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none:
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon
Here are they in our sight-we have no more.

Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
For two months now in vain we shall be sought,
We leave you here in solitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought;
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
Whom from the borders of the Lake we broug
And placed together near our rocky Well.

We go for one to whom ye will be dear,
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, Building without peer!
- A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer,
Will come to you, to you herself will wed,-
And love the blessed life that we lead here.