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He quickly will repair this loss, and then He may return to us. If here he stay, What can be done? Where every one is poor,

What can be gained?"

At this the old Man paused, "And Isabel sat silent, for her mind Was busy, looking back into past times. There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself,

He was a parish-boy-at the church door They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence

And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbors bought

A basket, which they filled with pedlar's

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Buy for him more, and let us send him forth

To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: -If he could go, the boy should go tonight."

Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth

With a light heart. The Housewife for five days

Was restless morn and night, and all day long

Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare

Things needful for the journey of her


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A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel

Had to her house returned, the old Man said,

"He shall depart to-morrow." To this word

The Housewife answered, talking much of things

Which, if at such short notice he should go,

Would surely be forgotten. But at length

She gave consent, and Michael was at


Near the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,

In that deep valley, Michael had designed

To build a Sheepfold; and, before he heard

The tidings of his melancholy loss, For this same purpose he had gathered up

A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge

Lay thrown together, ready for the work. With Luke that evening thitherward he walked :

And soon as they had reached the place he stopped,

And thus the old Man spake to him:"My Son,

To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart

I look upon thee, for thou art the same That wert a promise to me ere thy birth, And all thy life hast been my daily joy. I will relate to thee some little part

Of our two histories; 'twill do thee good When thou art from me, even if I should touch

On things thou canst not know of.

After thou

First cam'st into the world-as oft befalls To new-born infants-thou didst sleep away

Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue

Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed


And still I loved thee with increasing


Never to living ear came sweeter sounds Than when I heard thee by our own fireside

First uttering, without words, a natural


While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy

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And in the open fields my life was passed And on the mountains; else I think that thou

Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees.

But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills,

As well thou knowest, in us the old and young

Have played together, nor with me didst thou

Lack any pleasure which a boy can know."

Luke had a manly heart; but at these words

He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand,

And said, "Nay, do not take it so I see That these are things of which I need not speak.

-Even to the utmost I have been to thee A kind and a good Father: and herein I but repay a gift which I myself Received at others' hands; for, though now old

Beyond the common life of man, I still Remember them who loved me in my youth.

Both of them sleep together: here they lived,

As all their Forefathers had done; and when

At length their time was come, they were not loth

To give their bodies to the family mould. I wished that thou should'st live the life

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Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.

Nay, Boy, be of good hope;-we both may live

To see a better day. At eighty-four I still am strong and hale ;-do thou thy part;

I will do mine.-I will begin again With many tasks that were resigned to thee:

Up to the heights, and in among the storms,

Will I without thee go again, and do All works which I was wont to do alone, Before I knew thy face.-Heaven bless thee, Boy!

Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast

With many hopes; it should be so-yes

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The old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart

He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept ;

And to the house together they returned. -Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace,

Ere the night fell :-with morrow's dawn the Boy

Began his journey, and when he had reached

The public way, he put on a bold face; And all the neighbors, as he passed their doors,

Came forth with wishes and with fare well prayers,

That followed him till he was out of sight.

A good report did from their Kinsman

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He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud,

And listened to the wind; and, as before, Performed all kinds of labor for his sheep,

And for the land, his small inheritance. And to that hollow dell from time to time Did he repair, to build the Fold of which His flock had need. "Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old Man-and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went,

And never lifted up a single stone.

There, by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen

Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog, Then old, beside him, lying at his feet. The length of full seven years. from time to time,

He at the building of this Sheepfold wrought,

And left the work unfinished when he died.

Three years, or little more, did Isabel Survive her Husband: at her death the estate

Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand.

The Cottage which was named the EVENING STAR

Is gone-the ploughshare has been through the ground

On which it stood; great changes have been wrought

In all the neighborhood:-yet the oak is left

That grew beside their door; and the


Of the unfinished Sheepfold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Greenhead Ghyll. 1800. 1800.


Written in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere. At the end of the garden of my father's house at Cockermouth was a high terrace that commanded a fine view of the river Derwent and Cockermouth Castle. This was our favorite play-ground. The terrace-wall, a low one, was covered with closely-clipt privet and roses, which gave an almost impervious shelter to birds that built their nests there. The latter of these stanzas alludes to one of those nests. (Wordsworth.)

BEHOLD, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.
I started-seeming to espy
The home and sheltered bed,

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Extempore. This little poem was a favorite with Joanna Baillie. (Wordsworth)

Compare the description of the same scene by Wordsworth's sister: "There was the gentle flowing of the stream, the glittering, lively lake, green fields without a living creature to be seen on them; behind us, a flat pasture with fortytwo cattle feeding; to our left, the road leading to the hamlet. No smoke there, the sun shone on the bare roofs. The people were at work ploughing, harrowing, and sowing;... a dog barking now and then, cocks crowing, birds twittering, the snow in patches at the top of the highest hills, yellow palms, purple and green twigs on the birches, ashes with their glittering spikes, stems quite bare. The hawthorn a bright green, with black stems under the oak. The moss of the oak glossy. We went on.. William finished his poem before we got to the foot of Kirkstone." (Dorothy Wordsworth's Jour nal, April 16, 1802.)

THE Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,

1 Dorothy Wordsworth, called Emmeline also in the poem To a Butterfly. See the beautiful lines To my Sister, p. 8, the last lines of the Sonnet p. 31, and notes on the Sonnets of 1802.

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Written at Town-end, Grasmere. It is remarkable that this flower, coming out so early in the spring as it does, and so bright and beauti ful, and in such profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English verse. What adds much to the interest that attends it is its habit of shutting itself up and opening out according to the degree of light and temperature of the air. (Wordsworth.)

PANSIES, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story:
There's a flower that shall be mine,
"Tis the little Celandine.

Eyes of some men travel far
For the finding of a star;

Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little Flower!-I'll make a stir,
Like a sage astronomer.

Modest, yet withal an Elf
Bold, and lavish of thyself;
Since we needs must first have met
I have seen thee, high and low,
Thirty years or more, and yet
"Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.

Ere a leaf is on a bush,

In the time before the thrush

Has a thought about her nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal;
Telling tales about the sun,
When we've little warmth, or none

Poets, vain men in their mood!
Travel with the multitude:
Never heed them; I aver
That they all are wanton wooers;
But the thrifty cottager,
Who stirs little out of doors,
Joys to spy thee near her home;
Spring is coming, Thou art come!

Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
Careless of thy neighborhood.
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane; there's not a place,
Howsoever mean it be,

But 'tis good enough for thee.

Ill befall the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien ;
They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thine
Little, humble Celandine!

Prophet of delight and mirth,
Ill-requited upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing,
Serving at my heart's command,
Tasks that are no tasks renewing,
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!
1802. 1807.

TO THE SAME FLOWER PLEASURES newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet : February last, my heart

First at sight of thee was glad;
All unheard of as thou art,

Thou must needs, I think, have had,
Celandine! and long ago,

Praise of which I nothing know.

I have not a doubt but he,
Whosoe'er the man might be,
Who the first with pointed rays
(Workman worthy to be sainted)

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