"Beloved Ruth !"-No more he said. She thought again-and did agree "And now, as fitting is and right, Even so they did; and I may say Through dream and vision did she sink, But, as you have before been told, So beautiful, through savage lands The wind, the tempest roaring high, For him, a youth to whom was given Whatever in those climes he found Irregular in sight or sound Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seemed allied To his own powers, and justified Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of Nature wrought, Fair trees and lovely flowers; The breezes their own languor lent; The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those gorgeous bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween Pure hopes of high intent : For passions link'd to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their share Of noble sentiment. F But ill he lived, much evil saw His genius and his moral frame A man who without self-control And yet he with no feign'd delight But now the pleasant dream was gone; Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, But, when they thither came, the youth God help thee, Ruth!-Such pains she had That she in half a year was mad And in a prison housed; And there, exulting in her wrongs, Among the music of her songs, She fearfully caroused. Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, Nor pastimes of the May, -They all were with her in her cell; And a wild brook, with cheerful knell, When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, But of the vagrant none took thought; Among the fields she breathed again : And, coming to the banks of Tone,* The engines of her pain, the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, The vernal leaves, she loved them still, A barn her winter bed supplies; But, till the warmth of summer skies (And all do in this tale agree), She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, An innocent life, yet far astray! And Ruth will, long before her day, Be broken down and old. Sore aches she needs must have! but less Of mind, than body's wretchedness, From damp, and rain, and cold. If she is press'd by want of food, And there she begs at one steep place. That oaten pipe of hers is mute, This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, I, too, have pass'd her on the hills Farewell! and when thy days are told, Thy corpse shall buried be; The Tone is a river of Somersetshire at no great distance from the Quantock T These hills, which are alluded to a few stanzas below, are extremely beautiful, and places richly covered with coppice woods. For thee a funeral bell shall ring, THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT. THE days are cold, the nights are long, Save thee, my pretty love! The kitten sleeps upon the hearth, Nay! start not at that sparkling light; And wake when it is day. THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. ONE morning (raw it was and wet, A woman on the road I met, Not old, though something past her prime: Old times, thought I are breathing there; Such strength, a dignity so fair : She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate; I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate. When from these lofty thoughts I woke, I said to her, "Beneath your cloak, And thus continuing, she said, • See page 3. In Denmark he was cast away; And I have travell'd far as Hull, to see What clothes he might have left, or other property. "The bird and cage they both were his; 'Twas my son's bird; and neat and trim His singing-bird hath gone with him; "He to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watch'd and fed, And now-God help me for my little wit I trail it with me, sir! he took so much delight in it." THE CHILDLESS FATHER. "UP, Timothy, up, with your staff, and away! -Of coats and of jackets grey, scarlet, and green, The basin of boxwood,* just six months before, Now fast up the dell came the noise and the fray, Perhaps to himself at that moment he said, In several parts of the north of England, when a funeral takes place, a basin full of sprigs of boxwood is placed at the door of the house from which the coffin is taken up, ad each person who attends the funeral ordinarily takes a sprig of this boxwood, and throws it into the grave of the deceased. |