The old house-clock is decked with a new face; [dates And hence, so far from wanting facts or To chronicle the time, we all have here A pair of diaries,-one serving, sir, For the whole dale, and one for each fireside[historians, Yours was a stranger's judgment: for Commend me to these valleys!

Leonard.

Yet your church-yard Seems, if such freedom may be used with you,

To say that you are heedless of the past: An orphan could not find his mother's grave: [of brass, Here's neither head nor footstone, plate Cross-bones nor skull, -type of our earthly state [home Nor emblem of our hopes: the dead man's Is but a fellow to that pasture-field. Priest. Why, there, sir, is a thought that's new to me! [their bread The stone-cutters, 'tis true, might beg If every English church-yard were like [truth:

ours;

Yet your conclusion wanders from the We have no need of names and epitaphs; We talk about the dead by our fire-sides. And then, for our immortal part! we want No symbols, sir, to tell us that plain tale: The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.

Leonard. Your dalesmen, then, do in each other's thoughts

Possess a kind of second life: no doubt
You, sir, could help me to the history
Of half these graves?

Priest. For eight-score winters past, With what I've witnessed, and with what I've heard,

Perhaps I might; and, on a winter-evening, If you were seated at my chimney's nook, By turning o'er these hillocks one by one, We two could travel, sir, through a strange round;

Yet all in the broad highway of the world. Now there's a grave-your foot is half upon it,

It looks just like the rest; and yet that man Died broken-hearted.

Leonard.

'Tis a common case. We'll take another: who is he that lies Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves?

It touches on that piece of native rock
Left in the church-yard wall.

Priest

That's Walter Ewbank.

He had as white a head and fresh a cheek As ever were produced by youth and age Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore. Through five long generations had the heart Of Walter's forefathers o'erflowed the bounds

Of their inheritance, that single cottage-
You see it yonder!-and those few green
fields.
[to son,

They toiled and wrought, and still, from sire
Each struggled, and each yielded as before
A little yet a little-and old Walter,
They left to him the family heart, and land
With other burthens than the crop it bore.
Year after year the old man still kept up:
A cheerful mind,-and buffeted with bond,
Interest, and mortgages; at last he sank,
And went into his grave before his time.
Poor Walter! whether it was care that
spurred him

God only knows, but to the very last
He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale :
His pace was never that of an old man :
I almost see him tripping down the path
With his two grandsons after him:--but you,
Unless our landlord be your host to-night,
Have far to travel,-and on these rough
paths

Even in the longest day of midsummer-
Leonard. But those two orphans !

Priest. Orphans !-Such they wereYet not while Walter lived:-for, though their parents

Lay buried side by side as now they lie, The old man was a father to the boys, Two fathers in one father and if tears, Shed when he talked of them where they were not,

And hauntings from the infirmity of love, Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart,

This old man, in the day of his old age, Was half a mother to them.-If you weep, sir,

To hear a stranger talking about strangers, Heaven bless you when you are among

your kindred!

Ay-you may turn that way-it is a grave
Which will bear looking at.
Leonard.

These boys-I hope
They loved this good old man?
Priest.

They did-and truly : But that was what we almost overlooked, They were such darlings of each other. For, Though from their cradles they had lived

with Walter,

The only kinsman near them, and though he Inclined to them by reason of his age,

With a more fond, familiar tenderness ; They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare,

And it all went into each other's hearts. Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months, Was two years taller: 'twas a joy to see, To hear, to meet them!-From their house the school

In this our valley all of us have wished, And what, for my part I have often prayed: But Leonard[you? Leonard. Then James still is left among Priest. 'Tis of the elder brother I am speaking:

Crossing our roads at every hundred steps, Was swoln into a noisy rivulet, Would Leonard then, when elder boys perhaps [the fords Remained at home, go staggering through Bearing his brother on his back. I've seen him,

On windy days, in one of those stray brooks, Ay, more than once I've seen him mid-leg deep,

Their two books lying both on a dry stone
Upon the hither side: and once I said,
As I remember, looking round these rocks
And hills on which we all of us were born,
That God who made the great book of the
world

Would bless such piety-
Leonard.
It may be then—
Priest. Never did worthier lads break
English bread;

The finest Sunday that the autumn saw,
With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts,
Could never keep these boys away from
church,

Ortempt them to an hour of Sabbath breach.
Leonard and James! I warrant every corner
Among these rocks, and every hollow place
Where foot could come, to one or both of
them
[grow there.
Was known as well as to the flowers that
Like roebucks they went bounding o'er
the hills;
[the crags:
They played like two young ravens on
Then they could write, ay, and speak too,
as well

As many of their betters-and for Leonard!
The very night before he went away,
In my own house I put into his hand
A Bible, and I'd wager house and field
That if he is alive, he has it yet.
Leonard. It seems these brothers have
not lived to be

A comfort to each other

Priest. That they might Live to such end is what both old and young

here;

And though of unripe years, a stripling only, His soul was knit to this his native soil. But, as I said, old Walter was too weak To strive with such a torrent; when he died, The estate and house were sold; and all their sheep, [know.

A pretty flock, and which, for aught Had clothed the Ewbanks for a thousand years :

Well-all was gone, and they were destitute, And Leonard, chiefly for his brother's sake, Resolved to try his fortune on the seas. Twelve years are passed since we had tidings from him.

If there were one among us who had heard That Leonard Ewbank was come home again, [banks,

From the great Gavel,* down by Leeza's And down the Enna, far as Egremont, The day would be a very festival;

And those two bells of ours, which there you see

Hanging in the open air-but, O good sir! This is sad talk-they'll never sound for him

[him Living or dead.-When last we heard of He was in slavery among the Moors Upon the Barbary coast.-'Twas not a little [doubt, That would bring down his spirit; and no Before ended in his death, the youth Was sadly crossed-Poor Leonard! when we parted,

He took me by the hand, and said to me,
If ever the day came when he was rich,
He would return, and on his father's land
He would grow old among us.

*The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from its resemblance to the gable end of a house, is one of the highest of the Cumberland mountains.

The 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, Eyne,

or Enna. It falls into the sea a little below Egremont.

Leonard.

If that day

Should come, 'twould needs be a glad day for him ;

He would himself, no doubt, be happy then
As any that should meet him—
Priest.
Happy! Sir-
Leonard. You said his kindred all were
in their graves,

And that he had one brother

Priest. That is but A fellow tale of sorrow. From his youth James, though not sickly, yet was delicate; And Leonard being always by his side Had done so many offices about him, That, though he was not of a timid nature, Yet still the spirit of a mountain-boy In him was somewhat checked; and when his brother

Was gone to sea, and he was left alone, The little colour that he had was soon Stolen from his cheek; he drooped, and pined, and pined—

Leonard. But these are all the graves of full-grown men !

Priest. Ay, sir, that passed away: we took him to us;

He was the child of all the dale-he lived Three months with one and six months with another; [love: And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor And many, many happy days were his. But whether blithe or sad, 'tis my belief His absent brother still was at his heart. And, when he dwelt beneath our roof, we found

(A practice till this time unknown to him)
That often, rising from his bed at night,
He in his sleep would walk about, and
sleeping
[moved!

He sought his brother Leonard.-You are
Forgive me, sir: before I spoke to you,
I judged you most unkindly.
Leonard.

But this youth, How did he die at last? Priest. One sweet May morning, (It will be twelve years since when spring returns) [lambs,

He had gone forth among the new-dropped With two or three companions, whom their course

Of occupation led from height to height Under a cloudless sun, till he, at length, Through weariness, or, haply, to indulge The humour of the moment, lagged behind. You see yon precipice ;-it wears the shape Of a vast building made of many crags; And in the midst is one particular rock That rises like a column from the vale,

Whence by our shepherds it is called THE

PILLAR.

Upon its aëry summit crowned with heath, The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades, Lay stretched at ease; but, passing by the place

On their return, they found that he was gone. No ill was feared; but one of them by chance

Entering, when evening was far spent, the house [learned Which at that time was James's home, there That nobody had seen him all that day: The morning came, and still he was unheard of: [brook The neighbours were alarmed, and to the Some hastened, some towards the lake: [rock

ere noon

They found him at the foot of that same Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day after

I buried him, poor youth, and there he lies! Leonard. And that then is his grave!

Before his death:

You say that he saw many happy years?
Priest. Ay, that he did-

Leonard. And all went well with him ? Priest. If he had one, the youth had twenty homes.

Leonard. 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 fortune,

He talked about him with a cheerful love. Leonard. He could not come to an unhallowed end!

Priest. Nay, God forbid!-You recollect/ I mentioned

A habit which disquietude and grief! Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured [down That, as the day was warm, he had lain Upon the grass, and waiting for his comrades, [sleep He there had fallen asleep; that in his He to the margin of the precipice Had walked, and from the summit had

fallen headlong.

A KING more worthy of respect and love Than wise Gorbonian, ruled not in his day; And grateful Britain prospered far above All neighbouring countries through his righteous sway; [good; He poured rewards and honours on the The oppressor he withstood; And while he served the gods with reverence due,

[and cities grew. "Field smiled, and temples rose, and towns

He died, whom Artegal succeeds-his son;
But how unworthy of such sire was he!
A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun,
Was darkened soon by foul iniquity.

sped;

The royal Elidure, who leads the chase, Hath checked his foaming courser-Can it be? [face,

The nobles leagued their strength

Though much disguised by long adversity! He gazed, rejoicing, and again he gazed, Confounded and aniazed

sound

[the ground. Of his own voice confirmed, he leaps upon