66 Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now. Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough; My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold. "It will not, will not rest!-Poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear. When they are angry, roar like lions for their "Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe, our cottage is hard by. Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain? Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!" As homeward through the lane I went with lazv feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine. Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; "Nay," said I, more than half to the damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own.' 1800. THE BROTHERS. 'THESE Tourists, Heaven preserve us! needs must live A profitable life: some glance along, Why can he tarry yonder?-In our church-yard Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread And a few natural graves." To Jane, his wife, Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale. It was a July evening; and he sate Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves Of his old cottage, as it chanced, that day, Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone He fed the spindle of his youngest child, In which the Parish Chapel stood alone, Of carded wool which the old man had piled The Stranger, whom he still saw lingering 'Twas one well known to him in former days, Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared Among the mountains, and he in his heart Between the tropics filled the steady sail, Lengthening invisibly its weary line Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours foam Flashed round him images and hues that wrought In union with the employment of his heart, Saw mountains,-saw the forms of sheep that grazed On verdant hills-with dwellings among trees, And shepherds clad in the same country grey Which he himself had worn.* This description of the Calenture is sketched from an imperfect recollection of an admirable one in prose, by Mr. Gilbert, author of The Hurricane. |