I whispered, "Yet a little while, dear Child ! thou art my own,

To show thee some delightful thing, in country or in town.

What shall it be? a mirthful throng? or that

holy place and calm

St. Denis, filled with royal tombs, or the Church of Notre Dame?

"St. Ouen's golden Shrine? Or choose what else

would please thee most

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Of any wonder Normandy, or all proud France,

can boast!"

"My Mother," said the Boy, "was born near

to a blessèd Tree,

The Chapel Oak of Allonville; good Angel, show it me!"

On wings, from broad and stedfast poise let

loose by this reply,

For Allonville, o'er down and dale, away then

did we fly;

30

O'er town and tower we flew, and fields in May's

fresh verdure drest;

The wings they did not flag; the Child, though

grave, was not deprest.

But who shall show, to waking sense, the gleam

of light that broke

Forth from his eyes, when first the Boy looked

down on that huge oak,

For length of days so much revered, so famous

where it stands

35

For twofold hallowing-Nature's care, and work Strong as an Eagle with my charge I glided

round and round

The wide-spread boughs, for view of door, win

dow, and stair that wound

Gracefully up the gnarled trunk; nor left we

unsurveyed

The pointed steeple peering forth from the

centre of the shade.

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I lighted-opened with soft touch the chapel's iron door,

Past softly, leading in the Boy; and while from

roof to floor,

From floor to roof, all round his eyes the Child

with wonder cast,

Pleasure on pleasure crowded in, each livelier

than the last.

For, deftly framed within the trunk, the sanc

tuary showed,

45

By light of lamp and precious stones, that glimmered here, there glowed,

Shrine, Altar, Image, Offerings hung in sign of

gratitude;

Sight that inspired accordant thoughts; and speech I thus renewed:

"Hither the Afflicted come, as thou hast heard

thy Mother say,

And, kneeling, supplication make to our Lady

de la Paix;

50

What mournful sighs have here been heard, and, when the voice was stopt

By sudden pangs, what bitter tears have on

this pavement dropt!

"Poor Shepherd of the naked Down, a favoured

lot is thine,

Far happier lot, dear Boy, than brings full

many to this shrine;

From body pains and pains of soul thou needest

no release,

55

Thy hours as they flow on are spent, if not in

joy in peace.

"Then offer up thy heart to God in thankful

ness and praise,

Give to Him prayers, and many thoughts, in

thy most busy days;

And in His sight the fragile Cross, on thy small

hut, will be

Holy as that which long hath crowned the Chapel of this Tree;

60

"Holy as that far seen which crowns the sump

tuous Church in Rome

Where thousands meet to worship God under a

mighty Dome;

He sees the bending multitude, he hears the

choral rites,

Yet not the less, in children's hymns and lonely

prayer delights.

"God for His service needeth not proud work

of human skill;

65

They please Him best who labour most to do

in peace His will:

So let us strive to live, and to our Spirits will

be given

Such wings as, when our Saviour calls, shall bear us up to heaven."

The Boy no answer made by words but so

earnest was his look,

Sleep fled, and with it fled the dream-recorded

in this book, Lest all that passed should melt away in silence

70

from my mind,

As visions still more bright have done, and left no trace behind.

But oh! that Country-man of thine, whose eye, loved Child, can see

A pledge of endless bliss in acts of early piety, In verse, which to thy ear might come, would

treat this simple theme,

75

Nor leave untold our happy flight in that ad

venturous dream.

Alas the dream, to thee, poor Boy! to thee from

whom it flowed,

Was nothing, scarcely can be aught, yet 'twas

bounteously bestowed,

If I may dare to cherish hope that gentle eyes

will read

Not loth, and listening Little-ones, hearttouched, their fancies feed.1

80 XX.

THE WESTMORELAND GIRL.

TO MY GRANDCHILDREN.

PART I.

SEEK who will delight in fable,
I shall tell you truth. A Lamb
Leapt from this steep bank to follow
'Cross the brook its thoughtless dam.

Far and wide on hill and valley
Rain had fallen, unceasing rain,
And the bleating mother's Young-one
Struggled with the flood in vain :

5

But, as chanced, a Cottage-maiden
(Ten years scarcely had she told)
Seeing, plunged into the torrent,
Clasped the Lamb and kept her hold.

Whirled adown the rocky channel,
Sinking, rising, on they go,
Peace and rest, as seems, before them
Only in the lake below.

Oh! it was a frightful current

Whose fierce wrath the Girl had braved;
Clap your hands with joy my Hearers,
Shout in triumph, both are saved ;

Saved by courage that with danger
Grew, by strength the gift of love,
And belike a guardian angel

Came with succour from above.

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