'A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL.'

A SLUMBER did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears:

She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees,

Rolled round in earth's diurnal course
With rocks and stones and trees.

MATTHEW.

IF Nature, for a favourite child,
In thee hath tempered so her clay
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray,

Read o'er these lines; and then review
This tablet, that thus humbly rears

In such diversity of hue

The history of two hundred years.

When through this little wreck of fame,
Cipher and syllable, thine eye
Has travelled down to Matthew's name,
Pause with no common sympathy.

ΙΟ

And, if a sleeping tear should wake,

Then be it neither checked nor stayed: For Matthew a request I make

Which for himself he had not made.

Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er,
Is silent as a standing pool;
Far from the chimney's merry roar,
And murmur of the village school.

The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs
Of one tired out with fun and madness;
The tears which came to Matthew's eyes
Were tears of light, the dew of gladness.

Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup

Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up,

He felt with spirit so profound.

Thou soul of God's best earthly mould!
Thou happy soul! and can it be
That these two words of glittering gold
Are all that must remain of thee?

20

30

THE FOUNTAIN.

A CONVERSATION.

We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true—

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;

'Or of the church-clock and the chimes
Sing here beneath the shade,
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes
Which you last April made.'

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;
And thus the dear old man replied,

The gray-haired man of glee:

'Down to the vale this water steers,

How merrily it goes!

'T will murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.

ΙΟ

20

'And here, on this delightful day,
I cannot choose but think
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay
Beside this fountain's brink.

'My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred;

For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.

'Thus fares it still in our decay ;
And yet the wiser mind

Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.

'The blackbird in the summer trees,

The lark upon the hill,

Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.

'With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife: they see

A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free;

'But we are pressed by heavy laws,
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy because
We have been glad of yore.

'If there be one who need bemoan

His kindred laid in earth,

The household hearts that were his own,
It is the man of mirth.

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40

30

'My days, my friend, are almost gone;
My life has been approved,

And many love me, but by none
Am I enough beloved.'

'Now both himself and me he wrongs,

The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains;

'And, Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!'

At this he grasped my hand and said, 'Alas! that cannot be.'

We rose up from the fountain-side,
And down the smooth descent
Of the green sheep-track did we glide,
And through the wood we went;

And ere we came to Leonard's rock,
He sang those witty rhymes
About the crazy old church-clock,
And the bewildered chimes.

THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.

WE walked along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;

And Matthew stopped, he looked and said,
'The will of God be done!'

бо

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