Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

Had done so many offices about him,
That, though he was not of a timid nature, 335
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

340

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;

346

And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love:
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) 350
That often, rising from his bed at night,
He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping
He sought his brother Leonard. - You are

moved!

Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,

I judged you most unkindly.

Leonard.

How did he die at last?
Priest.

But this Youth, 355

One sweet May-morning, (It will be twelve years since when Spring

returns)

He had gone forth among the new-dropped lambs,

With two or three companions, whom their

course

360

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.

365

Upon its aëry summit crowned with heath, The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades, 370 Lay stretched at ease; but, passing by the

place

On their return, they found that he was gone. No ill was feared; till one of them by chance Entering, when evening was far spent, the

house

Which at that time was James's home, there learned

375

That nobody had seen him all that day:
The morning came, and still he was unheard of :
The neighbours were alarmed, and to the brook
Some hastened; some ran to the lake: ere noon
They found him at the foot of that same rock
Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day

after

381

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.

386

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,

390

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

394

A habit which disquietude and grief
Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured
That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
On the soft heath, and, waiting for his com-

rades,

He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep
He to the margin of the precipice
Had walked, and from the summit had fallen

headlong:

400

And so no doubt he perished. When the Youth Fell, in his hand he must have grasped, we think, His shepherd's staff; for on that Pillar of rock It had been caught mid-way; and there for

years

It hung; and mouldered there.

The Priest here endedThe Stranger would have thanked him, but he felt 406

A gushing from his heart, that took away
The power of speech. Both left the spot in

silence;

And Leonard, when they reached the church

yard gate,

409

As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round, — And, looking at the grave, he said, "My Bro

ther!"

The Vicar did not hear the words: and now He pointed towards his dwelling-place, en

treating

That Leonard would partake his homely fare: The other thanked him with an earnest voice; But added, that, the evening being calm, 416 He would pursue his journey. So they parted.

It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove That overhung the road: he there stopped

short,

419

And, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed All that the Priest had said: his early years Were, with him:- his long absence, cherished

hopes,

And thoughts which had been his an hour before,

All pressed on him with such a weight, that

now,

This vale, where he had been so happy, seemed
A place in which he could not bear to live: 426
So he relinquished all his purposes.
He travelled back to Egremont: and thence,
That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest,
Reminding him of what had passed between

them;

430

And adding, with a hope to be forgiven, That it was from the weakness of his heart He had not dared to tell him who he was. This done, he went on shipboard, and is now A. seaman, a grey-headed Mariner.

435

1800.

II.

ARTEGAL AND ELIDURE.

(SEE THE CHRONICLE OF GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, AND MILTON'S HISTORY

OF ENGLAND.)

WHERE be the temples which in Britain's Isle,
For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised?
Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile
Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed!
Ere Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore, 5

They sank, delivered o'er

To fatal dissolution; and, I ween,

No vestige then was left that such had ever been.

Nathless, a British record (long concealed
In old Armorica, whose secret springs,
No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed
The marvellous current of forgotten things;
How Brutus came, by oracles impelled,

And Albion's giants quelled,

[ocr errors]

15

A brood whom no civility could melt, "Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er

had felt."

By brave Corineus aided, he subdued,
And rooted out the intolerable kind;
And this too-long-polluted land imbued
With goodly arts and usages refined;
Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers,

And pleasure's sumptuous bowers;

20

« VorigeDoorgaan »