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And that then is his grave ?-Before his death
You said that he saw many happy years ?
And all went well with him
If he had one, the Lad had twenty homes.
And you believe, then, that his mind was easy
PRIEST, Yes, long before he died, he found that time Is a true friend to sorrow; and unless His thoughts were turned on Leonard's luckless
He talked about him with a cheerful love.
He could not come to an uphallowed end !
Nay, God forbid! You recollect I mentioned
A habit which disquietude and grief
Had brought upon him ; and we all conjectured
That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
Upon the grass, and, waiting for his comrades,
He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep
He to the margin of the precipice
Had walked, and from the summit had fallen heada
And so no doubt he perished : at the time,
We guess, that in his hands he must have had
His Shepherd's staff; for midway in the cliff
It had been caught; and there for many years
It hung--and mouldered there.
The Priest here endedThe Stranger would have thanked him, but he felt Tears rushing in. Both left the spot in silence ; And Leonard, when they reached the church-yard
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.
Or The BRA ES of KIRTLE*.
Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate
Upon the Braes of Kirtle,
Was lovely as a Grecian Maid
Adorned with wreaths of myrtle.
Young Adam Bruce beside her lay ;
And there did they beguile the day
With love and gentle speeches,
Beneath the budding beeches.
* The Kirtle is a river in the Southern part of Scotland, on the banks of which the events here related took place.