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And see,

By this the Priest, who down the field had come A wood is felld :- and then for our own homes! Unseen by Leonard, at the church-yard gate

A Child is born or christen'd, a Field plougha, Stopp'd short,--and thence, at leisure, limb by limb A Daughter sent to service, a Web spun, Perused him with a gay complacency.

The old House-clock is deck'd with a new face; Ay, thought the Vicar, smiling to himself,

And hence, so far from wanting facts or dates "T is one of those who needs must leave the path To chronicle the time, we all have here of the world's business to go wild alone :

A pair of diaries,-one serving, Sir, His arms have a perpetual holiday ;

for the whole dale, and one for each fire-sideThe happy Man will creep about the fields,

Yours was a stranger's judgment: for Historians, Following his fancies by the hour, to bring

Commend me to these valleys! Tears down his cheek, or solitary smiles,

LEONARD Into his face, until the setting sun

Yet your Churchr-yard Write Fool upon his forehead. Planted thus

Seems, if such freedom may be used with you, Beneath a shed that over-arch'd the gate

To say that you are heedless of the past : Of this rude church-yard, till the stars appear'd, An orphan could not find his mother's grave: The good Man might have communed with himself, Here's neither head nor foot-stone, plate of brass. But that the Stranger, who had left the grave,

Cross-bones nor skull, -type of our earthly state Approach'd ; he recogaised the Priest at once,

Nor emblem of our hopes: the dead man's home And, after greetings interchanged, and given

Is but a fellow to that pasturc-field.
By Leonard to the Vicar as to one
Unknown to him, this dialogue ensued.

Why, there, Sir, is a thought that's new to me!

The Stone-cutters, 't is true, might beg their bread You live, Sir, in these dales, a quiet life:

If every English Church-yard were like ours; Your years make up one peaceful family;

Yet your conclusion wanders from the truth: And who would grieve and fret, if, welcome come We have no need of names and epitaphs; And welcome gone, they are so like each other, We talk about the dead by our fire-sides. They cannot be remember'd ? Scarce a funeral And theo, for our immortal part! we want Comes to this church-yard once in eighteen months ; No symbols, Sir, to tell us that plain tale: And yet, some changes must take place among you: The thought of death sits easy on the man And you, who dwell here, even among these rocks Who has been born and dies among the mountains. Can trace the finger of mortality,

LEONARD. that with our threescore years and ten

Your Dalesmen, then, do in each other's thoughts We are not all that perish.--I remember,

Possess a kind of second life: no doubt (For many years ago I pass'd this road)

You, Sir, could help me to the history
There was a fool-way all along the fields

Of half these Graves?
By the brook-side-t is gone—and that dark cleft!
To me it does not seem to wear the face

For eight-score winters past, Which then it bad.

With what I've witness'd, and with what I've heard,

Perhaps I might; and, on a winter-evening,
Nay, Sir, for aught I know,

If you were scated at my chimney's pook,
That chasm is much the same-

By turning o'er these hillocks one by one,

We two could travel, Sir, through a strange round; But, surely, yonder

Yet all in the broad highway of the world.

Now there 's a grave-your foot is half upon it, PRIEST.

It looks just like the rest;

and Ay, there, indeed, your memory is a friend

that Man


Died broken-hearted. That does not play you false.-On that tall pike

LEONARD. (It is the loneliest place of all these hills)

'T is a common case. There were two Springs which bubbled side by side,

We'll take another: who is be that lies
As if they had been made that they might be
Companions for cach other: the huge crag

Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves? Was rent with lightning-one hath disappear'd;

It touches on that piece of native rock

Left in the church-yard wall. The other, left behind, is flowing still. --

PRIEST. For accidents and changes such as these,

That's Walter Ewbank. We want not store of them;—a water-spout Will bring down half a mountain; what a feast

He had as white a head and fresh a cheek For folks that wander up and down like you,

As ever were produced by youth and age To see an acre's breadth of that wide cliff

Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore. One roaring cataract!-a sharp May-storm

Througlı five long generations had the heart Will come with loads of January snow,

Of Walter's forefathers o'erflow'd the bounds And in one night send twenty score of sheep

Of their inheritance, that siugle cottageTo feed the ravens; or a Shepherd dies

You see it yonder!—and those few green fields. By some untoward death among the rocks :

They toild and wrought, and still, from Sire to Son, The ice breaks up and sweeps away a bridge

Each struggled, and each yielded as before

A little-yet a little—and old Walter, 'This actually took place upon Kidstow Pike at the head of They left to him the family heart, and land Hawes-water.

With other burthens than the crop it bore.





Year after year the old man still kept up

The finest Sunday that the Autumn saw, A cheerful mind, -and buffeted with bond,

With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts, Interest, and mortgages; at last he sank,

Could never keep these boys away from church, And went into his grave before his time.

Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach. Poor Walter! whether it was care that spurr'd him Leonard and James! I warrant, every corner God only knows, but to the very last

Among these rocks, and every hollow place He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale:

Where foot could come, to one or both of them His pace was never that of an old man:

Was known as well as to the flowers that grow there. I almost see him tripping down the path

Like Roe-bucks they went bounding o'er the hills; With his two Grandsons after him :-but You, They play'd like two young Ravens on the crags : Unless our Landlord be your host to night,

Then they could write, ay and speak too, as well Have far to travel, -and on these rough paths

As many of their betters and for Leonard!
Even in the longest day of midsummer

The very night before he went away,

In my own house I put into his hand
But those two Orphans !

A Bible, and I d wager house and field

That, if he is alive, he has it yet.
Orphans !-Such they were-

Yet not while Walter lived :-for, though their parents It seems, these Brothers have not lived to be
Lay buried side by side as now they lie,

A comfort to each other 1-
The old Man was a father to the boys,

PRIEST. Two fathers in one father: and if tears,

That they might
Shed when he talk'd of them where they were not, Live to such end, is what both old and young
And hauntings from the infirmity of love,

Jo this our valley all of us have wish'd,
Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart, And what, for my part, I have often pray'd:
This old man, in the day of his old age,

But Leonard
Was half a mother to them. If you weep, Sir,

LEONARD. To hear a Stranger talking about Strangers,

Then James still is left among you? Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred!

PRIEST. Ay-You may turn that way—it is a grave

'Tis of the elder Brother I am speaking: Which will bear looking at.

They had an Uncle;- he was at that time

A thriving man, and traffick'd on the seas : These Boys—I hope And, but for that some Uncle, to this hour They loved this good old Man?

Leonard had never handled rope or shroud.

For the Boy loved the life which we lead here;

They did—and truly: And though of upripe years, a stripling only, But that was what we almost overlook'd,

His soul was knit to this his native soil. They were such darlings of each other. For,

But, as I said, old Walter was too weak Though from their cradles they had lived with Walter, To strive with such a torrent; when he died, The only Kinsman near them, and though he

The Estate and House were sold; and all their Sheep, Inclined to them by reason of his age,

A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know, With a more fond, familiar tenderness,

Had clothed the Ewbanks for a thousand years :They, botwithstanding, had much love to spare,

Well-all was gone, and they were destitute. And it all went into each other's hearts.

And Leonard, chietly for his Brother's sake, Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months,

Resolved to try his fortune on the seas. Was two years taller : 't was a joy to see,

Twelve years are past since we had tidings from him. To hear, to meet them!-From their house the School

If there were one among us who had heard Is distant three short miles-and in the time

That Leonard Ewbank was come home again, Of storm and thaw, when every water-course

From the great Gavel,' down by Leeza's Banks, And unbridged stream, such as you may have noticed

And down the Enna, far as Egremont, Crossing our roads at every hundred steps,

The day would be a very festival ; Was swoln into a noisy rivulet,

And those two bells of ours, which there you secWould Leonard then, when elder boys perhaps

Hanging in the open air- but, O good Sir! Remain'd at home, go staggering through the fords,

This is sad talk-they 'll never sound for himBearing his brother on his back. I've seen him,

Living or dead.- When last we heard of him, On windy days, in one of those stray brooks,

He was in slavery among the Moors Ay, more than once I've seen him mid-leg deep,

Upon the Barbary Coast. — 'T was not a little Their two books lying both on a dry stone

That would bring down his spirit; and no doubt, Upon the hither side : and once I said,

Before it ended in his death, the Youth
As I remember, looking round these rocks
And bills on which we all of us were born,

Was sadly crossd-Poor Leonard! when we parted, That God who made the great book of the world

"The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from its resemblance to Would bless such piety,

tbe Gable cod of a house, is one of the highest of the Cumberland LEONARD.

mountains. It stands at the head of the several vales of Enner

dale, Wasidale, and Borrowdale. It may be then

Tbe 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, Never did worthier lads break English bread;

Eyno, or Eona. It falls into the sea a little below Egremont.








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He took me by the hand, and said to me,

Which at that time was James's home, there learn'd If ever the day came when he was rich,

That nobody had seen him all that day:
He would

and on his Father's Land

The morning came, and still he was unheard of:
He would grow old among us.

The neighbours were alarm'd, and to the Brook

Some hasten'd, some towards the Lake : ere noon
If that day

They found him at the foot of that same Rock-
Should come,

't would needs be a glad day for him; Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day after He would himself, no doubt, be happy then

I buried him, poor Youth, and there be lies!
As any that should meet him-

And that then is his grave!-Before his death
Happy! Sir-

You say that he saw many happy years ?
You said his kindred all were in their graves,

Ay, that he did -
And that he had one Brother-

And all went well with him.-
That is but

PRIEST A fellow tale of sorrow. From his youth

If he had one, the youth had twenty homes. James, though not sickly, yet was delicate;

LEONARD. And Leonard being always by his side

And you believe, then, that his mind was easy?Had done so many offices about him,

PRIEST. That, though he was not of a timid nature,

Yes, long before he died, he found that time Yet still the spirit of a Mountain Boy

Is a true friend to sorrow; and unless In him was somewhat checkd; and, when his Brother His thoughts were turu'd on Leonard's luckless fortune, Was gone to sea, and he was left alone,

He talk'd about him with a cheerful love.
The little colour that he had was soon

Stolen from his cheek; he droop'd, and pined, and pined- He could not come to an uuhallow'd end!

But these are all the graves of full-grown men! Nay, God forbid !-- You recollect I mention'd

A habit which disquietude and grief
Ay, Sir, that pass'd away : we took him to us; Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured
He was the Child of all the dale-he lived

That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
Three months with one, and six months with another; Upon the grass, -and waiting for his comrades,
And waoted neither food, nor clothes, nor love : He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep
And many, many happy days were lis.

He to the margin of the precipice But whether blithe or sad, i is my belief

Had walk'd, and from the summit had fallen headlong. His absent Brother still was at his heart.

And so, no doubt, he perish d: at the time, And, when he dwelt beneath our roof, we found We guess, that in his hands he must have held (A practice till this time unknown to him)

His Shepherd's staff; for midway in the cliff
That often, rising from his bed at night,

It had been caught; and there for many years
He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping It hung-and moulder'd there.
He sought his Brother Leonard.—You are moved !

The Priest here ended Forgive me, Sir : before I spoke to you,

The Stranger would have thank'd him, but he felt I judged you most unkindly.

A gushing from his heart, that took away

The power of speech. Both left the spot in silence;

But this Youth, And Leonard, when they reach'd the church-yard gate, How did he die at last?

As the Priest lifted up the latch, turn'd round,

And, looking at the grave, he said, « My Brother!»
One sweet May morning, The Vicar did not hear the words : and now,
(It will be twelve years since when Spring returns) Pointing towards the Cottage, he entreated
He had gone forth among the new-droppd lambs, That Leonard would partake his homely fare :
With two or three Companions, whom their course The other thank'd him with a fervent voice ;
Of occupation led from height to height

But added, that, the evening being calm,
Under a cloudless sun, till he, at length,

He would pursue his journey. So they parted. Through weariness, or, haply, to indulge

It was not long ere Leonard reach'd a grove The humour of the moment, laggd behind.

That overhung the road : he there stopp'd short, You see yon precipice;-it wears the shape

And, sitting down beneath the trees, review d Of a vast building made of many crags;

All that the Priest had said : his early years And in the midst is one particular rock

Were with him in his heart : bis cherish'd hopes, That rises like a column from the vale,

And thoughts which had been his an hour before, Whence by our shepherds it is call'd The Pillar. All press'd on him with such a weight, that now, Upon its aëry summit crown'd with heath,

This vale, where he had been so happy, seem'd
The Loiterer, not unnoticed by his Comrades,

A place in which he could not bear to live :
Lay stretch'd at ease; but, passing by the place So he relioquish'd all his purposes.
On their return, they found that he was gone.

He travellid on to Egremont: and thence,
No ill was fear'd; but one of them by chance

That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest, Entering, when evening was far spent, the house Reminding him of what had pass'd between them;



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By brave Corineus aided, he subdued,

He died, whom Artegal succeeds- his son ; And rooted out the intolerable kind;

But how unworthy of such sire was he! And this too-long-polluted land imbued

A hopeful reigo, auspiciously begun,
With goodly arts and usages refined;

Was darkened soon by foul iniquity.
Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers, From crime to crime he mounted, till at length
And Pleasure's sumptuous bowers;

The nobles leagued their strength
Whence all the fix'd delights of house and home,

With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased; Friendships that will not break, and love that cannot And, on the vacant throne, his worthier Brother placed.


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While he the issue waits, at early morn

Beware of rousing an ambitious thought; Wandering by stealth abroad, he chanced to hear Beware of kindling hopes, for me unmeet! A startling outcry made by hound and horn,

Thou art reputed wise, but in my mind
From which the tusky boar hath fled in fear;

Art pitiably blind;
And, scouring tow'rds him o'er the grassy plain, Full soon this generous purpose thou mayst rue,
Behold the hunter train!

When that which has been done no wishes can undo. He bids his little

company advance With seeming unconcern and steady countenance. «Who, when a crown is fixed upon his bead,

Would balance claim with claim, and right with right? The royal Elidure, who leads the chase,

But thou—I know not how inspired, how ledHath check'd his foaming courser-Can it be?

Wouldst change the course of things in all men's sight! Methinks that I should recognize that face,

And this for one who cannot imitate Though much disguised by long adversity!

Thy virtue, who may hate : He gazed, rejoicing, and again he gazed,

For, if, by such strange sacrifice restored, Confounded and amazed

He reign, thou still must be his king, and sovereign lord. « It is the king, my brother !» and, by sound Of his own voice confirm'd, he leaps upon the ground. « Lifted in magnanimity above

Aught that


feeble nature could perform, Long, strict, and tender was the embrace he gave, Or even conceive; surpassing me in love Feebly return'd by daunted Artegal ;

Far as in power the eagle doth the worm; Whose natural affection doubts enslave,

1, Brother! only should be king in name, And apprehensions dark and criminal.


govern to my shame; Loth to restrain the moving interview,

A shadow in a bated land, while all The attendent lords withdrew;

Of glad or willing service to thy share would fall.» And, while they stood upon the plain apart, Thus Elidure, by words, relieved his struggling heart.

« Believe it not,» said Elidure; « respect

Awaits on virtuous life, and ever most « By heavenly Powers conducted, we have met;

Attends on goodness with dominion decked, - Brother! to my knowledge lost so long,

Which stands the universal empire's boast; But neither lost to love, nor to regret,

This can thy own experience testify: Nor to my wishes lost;-forgive the wrong,

Nor shall thy foes deny (Such it may seem) if I thy crown have borne,

That, in the gracious opening of thy reign, Thy royal mantle worn :

Our Father's spirit seemed in thee to breathe again. I was their natural guardian; and 't is just That now I should restore what hath been held in

« And what if o'er that bright unbosoming trust.»

Clouds of disgrace and envious fortune past !

Have we not seen the glories of the spring Awhile the astonished Artegal stood mute,

By veil of noontide darkness overcast ? Then tbus exclaimed « To me, of titles shorn,

The frith that glittered like a warrior's shield, And stripped of power!--me, feeble, destitute,

The sky, the gay green field, To me a kingdom !-spare the bitter scorn!

Are vanished ;-gladness ceases in the groves, If justice ruled the breast of foreign kings,

And trepidation strikes the blackened mountain coves. Then, on the wide-spread wings Of war, had I returned to claim my right; This will I here avow, not dreading thy despite.»

« But is that gloom dissolved ? how passing clear

Seems the wide world-far brighter than before ! « I do not blame thee,» Elidure replied,

Even so thy latent worth will re-appear, « But, if my looks did with my words agree,

Gladdening the people's heart from shore to shore, I should at once be trusted, not defied,

For youthful faults ripe virtues shall alone; And thou from all disquietude be free.

Re-seated on thy throne, May the unsullied Goddess of the cbase,

Proof shalt thou furnish that misfortune, pain, Who to this blessed place

And sorrow, have confirmed thy native right to reign. At this blest moment led me, if I speak With insincere intent, on me hier vengeance wreak!

But, not to overlook what thou mayst know,

Thy enemies are neither weak nor few; « Were this same spear, which in

And circumspect must be our course, and slow,
The British sceptre, here would I to thee

Or from my purpose ruin may ensue.
The symbol yield; and would undo this clasp, Dismiss thy followers ;—let them calmly wait
If it confined the robe of sovereignty.

Such change in thy estate
Odious to me the pomp of regal court,

As I already have in thought devised; And joyless sylvan sport,

And which, with caution due, may soon be realised,» While thou art roving, wretched and forlorn, Thy couch the dewy earth, thy roof the forest thorn!» The Story tells what courses were pursued,

Until King Elidure, with full content Then Artegal thus spake—« I only sought,

Of all his Peers, before the multitude, Within this realm a place of safe retreat ;

Rose,-and, to consummate this just intent,

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hand I grasp,

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