Seen by mine eyes, or clasped in my embrace.
Absence and death how differ they! and how
Shall I admit that nothing can restore
What one short sigh so easily removed?-
Death, life, and sleep, reality and thought,
Assist me, God, their boundaries to know,
O teach me calm submission to thy Will!

The Child she mourned had overstepped the

pale

Of Infancy, but still did breathe the air
That sanctifies its confines, and partook
Reflected beams of that celestial light
To all the Little-ones on sinful earth

15

Not unvouchsafed a light that warmed and

cheered

Those several qualities of heart and mind
Which, in her own blest nature, rooted deep,
Daily before the Mother's watchful eye,
And not hers only, their peculiar charms
Unfolded, beauty, for its present self,
And for its promises to future years,
With not unfrequent rapture fondly hailed.

20

25

Have you espied upon a dewy lawn A pair of Leverets each provoking each To a continuance of their fearless sport, Two separate Creatures in their several gifts 30 Abounding, but so fashioned that, in all

That Nature prompts them to display, their

looks,

Their starts of motion and their fits of rest,
An undistinguishable style appears
And character of gladness, as if Spring
Lodged in their innocent bosoms, and the spirit
Of the rejoicing morning were their own?

35

Such union, in the lovely Girl maintained And her twin Brother, had the parent seen, Ere, pouncing like a ravenous bird of prey, 40 Death in a moment parted them, and left The Mother, in her turns of anguish, worse Than desolate; for oft-times from the sound Of the survivor's sweetest voice (dear child, He knew it not) and from his happiest looks, Did she extract the food of self-reproach, As one that lived ungrateful for the stay By Heaven afforded to uphold her maimed And tottering spirit. And full oft the Boy, Now first acquainted with distress and grief, 50 Shrunk from his Mother's presence, shunned

with fear

46

Her sad approach, and stole away to find,
In his known haunts of joy where'er he might,
A more congenial object. But, as time
Softened her pangs, and reconciled the child 55
To what he saw, he gradually returned,
Like a scared Bird encouraged to renew
A broken intercourse; and, while his eye
Were yet with pensive fear and gentle awe
Turned upon her who bore him, she would

60

stoop To imprint a kiss that lacked not power to spread

Faint colour over both their pallid cheeks,

And stilled his tremulous lip. Thus they were

calmed

And cheered; and now together breathe fresh

air

In open fields; and when the glare of day 65
Is gone, and twilight to the Mother's wish
Befriends the observance, readily they join
In walks whose boundary is the lost One's

Which he with flowers hath planted, finding

there Amusement, where the Mother does not miss 70 Dear consolation, kneeling on the turf In prayer, yet blending with that solemn rite Of pious faith the vanities of grief;

For such, by pitying Angels and by Spirits 74 Transferred to regions upon which the clouds Of our weak nature rest not, must be deemed Those willing tears, and unforbidden sighs, And all those tokens of a cherished sorrow, Which, soothed and sweetened by the grace of

Heaven

As now it is, seems to her own fond heart
Immortal as the love that gave it being.

80

с. 1810 (?).

XXVII.

THE SAILOR'S MOTHER.

ONE morning (raw it was and wet

A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime: Majestic in her person, tall and straight; And like a Roman matron's was her mien and

gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there; Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair :

5

She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;

I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke, "What is it," said I, "that you bear, Beneath the covert of your Cloak,

15

Protected from this cold damp air?"
She answered, soon as she the question heard,

"A simple burthen, Sir, a little singing-bird."

And, thus continuing, she said,

"I had a Son, who many a day Sailed on the seas, but he is dead;

In Denmark he was cast away:

20

And I have travelled weary miles to see If aught which he had owned might still remain

for me.

The bird and cage they both were his:
'Twas my Son's bird; and neat and trim
He kept it; many voyages
The singing-bird had gone with him;

25

When last he sailed, he left the bird behind; From bodings, as might be, that hung upon

his mind.

30

He to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it, to be watched and fed, And pipe its song in safety;-there I found it when my Son was dead; And now, God help me for my little wit! 35 I bear it with me, Sir; - he took so much

delight in it."

March 11-12, 1802.

XXVIII.

THE CHILDLESS FATHER.

"UP, Timothy, up with your staff and away! Not a soul in the village this morning will

stay; The hare has just started from Hamilton's grounds,

And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds."

-Of coats and of jackets grey, scarlet, and

green, On the slopes of the pastures all colours were

5

seen;

With their comely blue aprons, and caps white

as snow,

The girls on the hills made a holiday show.

Fresh sprigs of green box-wood, not six months

before,

Filled the funeral basin1 at Timothy's door; Ιο A coffin through Timothy's threshold had past; One Child did it bear, and that Child was his

last.

Now fast up the dell came the noise and the fray, The horse, and the horn, and the hark! hark away!

' In several parts of the North of England, when a funeral takes place, a basin full of sprigs of box-wood is placed at the door of the house from which the coffin is taken up, and each person who attends the funeral ordinarily takes a sprig of this box-wood, and throws it into the grave of the deceased.