I knew that thou couldst never have a wish To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to
Only by links of love: when thou art gone, What will be left to us!-But, I forget My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, When thou art gone away, should evil men Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee
When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see A work which is not here: a covenant "Twill be between us; but, whatever fate Befal thee, I shall love thee to the last, And bear thy memory with me to the grave." The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down,
And, as his Father had requested, laid The first stone of the Sheep-fold. At the sight The old Man's grief broke from him; to his
A good report did from their Kinsman come, Of Luke and his well-doing and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout
"The prettiest letters that were ever seen.' Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. So, many months passed on and once again The Shepherd went about his daily work With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour He to that valley took his way, and there Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began
To slacken in his duty; and at length, He in the dissolute city gave himself To evil courses: ignominy and shame Fell on him, so that he was driven at last To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
There is a comfort in the strength of love; "Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart: I have conversed with more than one who well Remember the old Man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, And listened to the wind; and, as before, Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep, And for the land, his small inheritance.
How beautiful when up a lofty height Honour ascends among the humblest poor, And feeling sinks as deep! See there the door Of One, a Widow, left beneath a weight Of blameless debt. On evil Fortune's spite She wasted no complaint, but strove to make A just repayment, both for conscience-sake And that herself and hers should stand upright In the world's eye. Her work when daylight failed
Paused not, and through the depth of night she kept
Such earnest vigils, that belief prevalled With some, the noble Creature never slept; But, one by one, the hand of death assailed Her children from her inmost heart bewept.
The Mother mourned, nor ceased her tears to flow,
Till a winter's noon-day placed her buried Son Before her eyes, last child of many gone- His raiment of angelic white, and lo! His very feet bright as the dazzling snow Which they are touching; yea far brighter, even As that which comes, or seems to come, from heaven,
Surpasses aught these elements can show. Much she rejoiced, trusting that from that hour Whate'er befel she could not grieve or pine; But the Transfigured, in and out of season, Appeared, and spiritual presence gained a power Over material forms that mastered reason. Oh, gracious Heaven, in pity make her thine!
But why that prayer? as if to her could come No good but by the way that leads to bliss
On a friendly deck reposing
They at length for Venice steer;
There, when they had closed their voyage, One, who daily on the pier
For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger's
Her virtuous scruples to remove, her fears allay.
And how blest the Reunited,
While beneath their castle-walls, Runs a deafening noise of welcome!Blest, though every tear that falls Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell, And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell.
Through a haze of human nature, Glorified by heavenly light, Looked the beautiful Deliverer
On that overpowering sight,
While across her virgin check pure blushes strayed,
For every tender sacrifice her heart had made.
On the ground the weeping Countess Knelt, and kissed the Stranger's hand; Act of soul-devoted homage,
Pledge of an eternal band:
Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie, Which, with a generous shout, the crowd did ratify.
Constant to the fair Armenian,
Gentle pleasures round her moved, Like a tutelary spirit
Reverenced, like a sister, loved.
Christian meekness smoothed for all the path
Watched for tidings from the East, beheld his Who, loving most, should wiseliest love, their
Mute memento of that union
In a Saxon church survives, Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured As between two wedded Wives--
Figures with armorial signs of race and birth, And the vain rank the pilgrims bore while yet on earth.
IRREGULAR VERSES,
ADDRESSED TO A CHILD.
(BY MY SISTER.)
THERE'S more in words than I can teach : Yet listen, Child!-I would not preach; But only give some plain directions To guide your speech and your affections. Say not you love a roasted fowl, But you may love a screaming owl, And, if you can, the unwieldy toad That crawls from his secure abode Within the mossy garden wall When evening dews begin to fall. Oh mark the beauty of his eye: What wonders in that circle lie! So clear, so bright, our fathers said He wears a jewel in his head! And when, upon some showery day, Into a path or public way
A frog leaps out from bordering grass,
Startling the timid as they pass, Do you observe him, and endeavour To take the intruder into favour; Learning from him to find a reason For a light heart in a dull season. And you may love him in the pool, That is for him a happy school,
In which he swims as taught by nature, Fit pattern for a human creature, Glancing amid the water bright, And sending upward sparkling light.
Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing A love for things that have no feeling: The spring's first rose by you espied May fill your breast with joyful pride; And you may love the strawberry-flower, And love the strawberry in its bower; But when the fruit, so often praised For beauty, to your lip is raised, Say not you love the delicate treat, But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.
Long may you love your pensioner mouse, Though one of a tribe that torment the house: Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat, Deadly foe both of mouse and rat; Remember she follows the law of her kind, And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Then think of her beautiful gliding form, Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm, And her soothing song by the winter fire, Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.
I would not circumscribe your love: It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove,
May pierce the earth with the patient mole, Or track the hedgehog to his hole. Loving and liking are the solace of life, Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed of strife.
You love your father and your mother, Your grown-up and your baby-brother; You love your sister, and your friends, And countless blessings which God sends: And while these right affections play, You live each moment of your day; They lead you on to full content, And likings fresh and innocent, That store the mind, the memory feed, And prompt to many a gentle deed: But likings come, and pass away; 'Tis love that remains till our latest day: Our heavenward guide is holy love, And will be our bliss with saints above. 1832.
"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 Το 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 re-
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.
(suggested In A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE.) DRIVEN in by Autumn's sharpening air From half-stripped woods and pastures bare, Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home: Not like a beggar is he come, But enters as a looked-for guest, Confiding in his ruddy breast, As if it were a natural shield Charged with a blazon on the field, Due to that good and pious deed Of which we in the Ballad read. But pensive fancies putting by, And wild-wood sorrows, speedily He plays the expert ventriloquist ;
And, caught by glimpses now-now missed, Puzzles the listener with a doubt
If the soft voice he throws about
Comes from within doors or without! Was ever such a sweet confusion, Sustained by delicate illusion? He's at your elbow-to your feeling The notes are from the floor or ceiling; And there's a riddle to be guessed, Till you have marked his heaving chest, And busy throat whose sink and swell Betray the Elf that loves to dwell In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell.
Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird If seen, and with like pleasure stirred Commend him, when he's only heard But small and fugitive our gain Compared with hers who long hath lain, With languid limbs and patient head Reposing on a lone sick-bed; Where now, she daily hears a strain That cheats her of too busy cares, Eases her pain, and helps her prayers. And who but this dear Bird beguiled The fever of that pale-faced Child; Now cooling, with his passing wing, Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring: Recalling now, with descant soft Shed round her pillow from aloft,
Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh, And the invisible sympathy
Of" Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, Blessing the bed she lies upon?' And sometimes, just as listening ends In slumber, with the cadence blends A dream of that low-warbled hymn Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim Lamps of faith, now burning dim, Say that the Cherubs carved in stone, When clouds gave way at dead of night And the ancient church was filled with light, Used to sing in heavenly tone, Above and round the sacred places They guard, with winged baby-faces.
Thrice happy Creature! in all lands Nurtured by hospitable hands: Free entrance to this cot has he, Entrance and exit both yet free; And, when the keen unruffled weather That thus brings man and bird together, Shall with its pleasantness be past,
And casement closed and door made fast, To keep at bay the howling blast, He needs not fear the season's rage, For the whole house is Robin's cage. Whether the bird flit here or there, O'er table lilt, or perch on chair, Though some may frown and make a stir To scare him as a trespasser, And he belike will flinch or start, Good friends he has to take his part; One chiefly, who with voice and look Pleads for him from the chimney-nook, Where sits the Dame, and wears away Her long and vacant holiday; With images about her heart, Reflected from the years gone by On human nature's second infancy. 1834.
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