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A healthy man, a man full grown,

Another still! and still another! Weep in the public roads alone.

A little lamb, and then its inother! But such a one, on English ground,

It was a vein that never stopp'dAnd in the broad high-way, I met;

Like blood-drops from my heart they droppid. Along the broad high-way he came,

Till thirty were not left alive His cheeks with tears were wet.

They dwindled, dwindled, one by one, Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;

And I may say, that many a time And in his arms a lamb he had.

I wished they all were gone:

They dwindled one by one away; He saw me, and he turned aside,

For me it was a woeful day. As if he wished himself to hide:

To wicked deeds I was inclined, Then with his coat he made essay

And wicked fancies crossed my mind;
To wipe those briny tears away.

And every man I chanced to see,
I followed him, and said, “ My friend,
What ails you? wherefore weep you so :"

I thought he knew some ill of me. -“ Shame on me, sir! this lusty lamb,

No peace, no comfort could I find,

No ease, within doors or without;
He makes my tears to flow.

And crazily, and wearily,
To-day I fetched him from the rock;
He is the last of all my flock.

I went my work about.

Oft-limes I thought to run away; When I was young, a single man,

For me it was a woeful day. And after youthful follies ran,

Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me, Though little given to care and thought,

As dear as my own children be; Yet, so it was, a ewe I bought;

For daily with my growing store And other sheep from her I raised,

I loved my children more and more. As healthy sheep as you might see;

Alas! it was an evil time; And then I married, and was rich

God cursed me in my sore distress; As I could wish to be;

I prayed, yet every day I thought Of sheep I numbered a full score,

I loved my children less ; And every year increased my store.

And every week, and every day,

My flock, it seemed to melt away.
Year after year my stock it grew;
And from this one, this single ewe,

They dwindled, sir, sad sight to see! # Full fifty comely sheep I raised,

From ten to five, from five to three, As sweet a flock as ever grazed !

A lamb, a wether, and a ewe;Upon the mountain did they feed,

And then at last, from three to two; They throve, and we at home did thrive.

And of my fifty, yesterday -This lusty lamb, of all my store,

I had but only one: Is all that is alive;

And here it lies upon my arm, And now I care not if we die,

Alas! and I have none;And perish all of poverty.

To-day I fetched it from the rock;

It is the last of all my flock."
Six children, sir! had I to feed;
Hard labour in a time of need!
My pride was tamed, and in our grief

I of the parish asked relief.

“ With sacrifice, before the rising morn They said I was a wealthy man;

Performed, my slaughtered lord have I required; My sheep upon the mountain fed,

And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn, And it was fit that thence I took

Him of the infernal gods have I desired: Whereof to buy us bread. “ Do this: how can we give to you,”

Celestial pity I again implore ;They cried, “ what to the poor is due?"

Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore !"

So speaking, and by fervent love endowed [hands; I sold a sheep, as they had said,

With faith, the suppliant heaven-ward lifts her And bought my little children bread,

While, like the sun emerging from a cloud, And they were healthy with their food;

Her countenance brightens—and her eye expands, For me-it never did me good.

Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows, A woeful time it was for me,

And she expects the issue in repose.
To see the end of all my gains,
The pretty flock which I had reared

O terror! what hath she perceived ?-Ojoy! With all my care and pains,

What doth she look on i-whom doth she behold: To see it melt like snow away!

Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy? For me it was a woeful day.

His vital presence-his corporeal mold?


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It is-if sense deceive her not-'tis he!

“ Be taught, O faithful consort, to control

On the to And a god leads him-winged Mercury!

Rebellious passion: for the gods approve

Ad cath The depth, and not the tumult of the soul;

The paths Mild Hermes spake—and touched her with his wand

A fervent, not ungovernable love.

hower That calms all fear,“ Such grace hath crowned thy

Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn Laodamia, that at Jove's command (prayer,

When I depart, for brief is my sojourn—" Thy husband walks the paths of upper air:

* But shot He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space; “ Ah, wherefore ? —Did not Hercules by forcedit Accept the gift, behold him face to face !"

Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb

Tad the

Alcestis, a reanimated corse, Forth sprang the impassioned queen her lord to

Given back to dwell on earth in beauty's blocat maite
Again that consummation she essayed; (clasp; Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp

And Æson stood a youth ʼmid youthful peers.
As often as that eager grasp was made.
The phantom parts--but parts to re-unite,

“ The gods to us are merciful—and they And re-assume his place before her sight.

Yet further may relent: for mightier far
Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway

(krbiet “ Protesilaus, lo! thy guide is gone!

Of magic potent over sun and star, Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:

Is love, though oft to agony distrest, This is our palace,-yonder is thy throne;

And though his favourite seat be feeble wonasi

Larob Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.

Iswards Not to appal me have the gods bestowed

“ But if thou go’st, I follow"_" Peace!" he saidThis precious boon,--and blest a sad abode." She looked upon him and was calmed and cheers: Encourag

The ghastly colour from his lips had led; “ Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave

In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared His gifts imperfect:-Spectre though I be,

Elysian beauty-melancholy graceI am not sent to scare thee or deceive;

Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

ladhe But in reward of thy fidelity. And something also did my worth obtain ;

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

In worlds whose course is equable and pure;

No fears to beat away–no strife to heal“ Thou know'st, the Delphic oracle foretold

The past unsighed for, and the future sure;
That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand

Spake, as a witness, of a second birth
Should die; but me the threat could not withhold: For all that is most perfect upon earth:
A generous cause a victim did demand;
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;

Of all that is most beauteous—imaged there
A self-devoted chief-by Hector slain.”

In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,

An ampler ether, a diviner air,
Supreme of heroes-bravest, noblest, best! And fields invested with purpureal gleams;
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,
Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore:
Thou found'st—and I forgive thee—here thou art-
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.
“ But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
That thou shouldst cheat the malice of the grave;

That I
Redundant are thy lucks, thy lips as fair
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.

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Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.
Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earned
That privilege by virtue.-“ III,” said be,
“ The end of man's existence I discerned,
Who from ignoble games and revelry
Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight,
While tears were thy best pastime,--day and night:
“ And while my youthful peers, before my eyes,
(Each hero following his peculiar bent)
Prepared themselves for glorious enterprize
By martial sports,-or, seated in the tent,
Chieftains and kings in council were detained ;


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What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.

The wish’d-for wind was given :--I then revolved
The oracle, upon the silent sea;

“ No spectre greets me,-no vain shadow this:
Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side!
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
To me, this day, a second time thy bride!"
Jove frowned in heaven; the conscious Parcæ threw
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.
“ This visage tells thee that my doom is past:
Know, virtue were not virtue if the joys
Of sense were able to return as fast
And surely as they vanish.--Earth destroys
Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains:
Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains.

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And, if no worthier led the way, resolved
That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be
The foremost prow in pressing to the strand,
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.
“ Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang
When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife;

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in thee too fondly did my memory hang,

The mountains have all opened out themselves, nd on the joys we shared in mortal life,

And made a hidden valley of their own. he paths which we had trod—these fountains, No habitation there is seen; but such flowers;

As journey thither find themselves alone sy new-planned cities, and unfinished towers. With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites

That overhead are sailing in the sky. But should suspense permit the foe to cry,

It is in truth an utter solitude; Behold they tremble !_haughty their array, Nor should I have made mention of this dell et of their number no one dares to die?'

But for one object which you might pass by, soul I swept the indignity away:

Might see and notice not. Beside the brook d frailties then recurred:—but lofty thought

There is a straggling heap of unhewn stones! act embodied my deliverance wrought.

And to that place a story appertains, And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak

Which, though it be ungarnished with events, reason, in self-government too slow;

Is not unfit, I deen, for the fireside, ounsel thee by fortitude to seek

Or for the summer shade. It was the first, ir blest re-union in the shades below.

The earliest of those tales that spake to me je invisible world with thee hath sympathized;

Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men thy affections raised and solemnized.

Whom I already loved;—not verily

For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills Learn by a mort al yearning to ascend

Where was their occupation and abode. wards a higher object :-Love was given, And hence this tale, while I was yet a boy couraged, sanctioned, chiefly for this end: Careless of books, yet having felt the power r this the passion to excess was driven

Of Nature, by the gentle agency lat self might be annulled; her bondage prove Of natural objects led me on to feel le fetters of a dream, opposed to love."

For passions that were not my own, and think

(At random and imperfectly indeed) oud she shrieked! for Hermes re-appears! (vain :

On man, the heart of man, and human life. und the dear shade she would have clung—'tis

Therefore, although it be a history e hours are past,—too brief had they been years;

Homely and rude, I will relate the same id him no mortal effort can detain: rift, tow'rd the realms that know not earthly day,

For the delight of a few natural hearts; through the portal takes his silent way

And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake id on the palace floor a lifeless corse she lay.

Of youthful poets, who among these hills

Will be my second self when I am gone. 1, judge her gently who so deeply loved! s, who, in reason's spite, yet without crime,

Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale as in a trance of passion thus removed;

There dwelt a shepherd, Michael was his name; livered from the galling yoke of time,

An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. id these frail elements—to gather flowers

His bodily frame had been from youth to age blissful quiet ʼmid unfading bowers.

Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,

Intense and frugal, apt for all affairs, ?t tears to human suffering are due ;

And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt ad mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown

And watchful more than ordinary men. e mourned by man, and not by man alone, Hence he had learned the meaning of all winds, i fondly he believes.-Upon the side

Of blasts of every tone, and, oftentimes, Hellespont (such faith was entertained)

When others heeded not, he heard the south knot of spiry trees for ages grew

Make subterraneous music, like the noise com out the tomb of him for whom she died; Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. nd ever, when such stature they had gained The shepherd, at such warning, of his flock nat llium's walls were subject to their view, Bethought him, and he to himself would

say, ne trees' tall summits withered at the sight; “ The winds are now devising work for me!” constant interchange of growth and blight! And truly, at all times, the storm—that drives

The traveller to a shelter-summoned him

Up to the mountains: he had been alone

Amid the heart of many thousand mists,
That came to him and left him on the heights.

So lived he till his eightieth year was past.
From the public way you turn your steps

And grossly that man errs, who should suppose the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks ou will suppose that with an upright path Were things indifferent to the shepherd's thoughts. our feet must struggle; in such bold ascent Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed ne pastoral mountains front you, face to face.

The cominon air; the hills, which he so oft (pressed et courage! for beside that boisterous brook

Had climbed with vigorous steps; which had im


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So many incidents upon his mind

Murmur as with the sound of summer flies.

Ard, to Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear;

This light was famous in its neighbourhood,

Therest Which like a book preserved the memory

And was a public symbol of the life

Sethi Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved,

The thrifty pair had lived. For, as it chanced,

And for Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts,

Their cottage on a plot of rising ground

RECENIE So grateful in themselves, the certainty

Stood single, with large prospect, north and south,

Though Of honourable gain; these fields, these hills, High into Easedale, up to Dunmal-Raise,

Op look: Which were his living being, even more

And westward to the village near the lake; Than his own blood--what could they less? had laid And from this constant light, so regular

Agziast Strong hold on his affections, were to him

And so far seen, the house itself, by all

Na fear A pleasurable feeling of blind love,

Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, The pleasure which there is in life itself.

Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. His days had not been passed in singleness. Thus living on through such a length of years, His helpmate was a comely matron, old

The shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs Though younger than himself full twenty years. Have loved his help-mate; but to Michael's heart She was a woman of a stirring life,

This son of his old age was yet more dear

Light te Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had

And the

Effect which might perhaps have been produced Of antique form, this large for spinning wool, By that instinctive tenderness, the same

That small for tlax; and if one wheel bad rest, Blind spirit, which is in the blood of all-
It was because the other was at work.

Or that a child, more than all other gifts,
The pair had but one inmate in their house, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts

, An only child, who had been born to them

And stirrings of inquietude, when they
When Michael telling o'er his years began

By tendency of nature needs must fail.
To deem that he was old,-in shepherd's phrase, From such, and other causes, to the thoughts
With one foot in the grave. This only son,

Of the old man his only son was now
With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm, The dearest object that he knew on earth.
The one of an inestimable worth,

Exceeding was the love he bare to him, Made all their household. I may truly say, His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes That they were as a proverb in the vale,

Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, For endless industry. When day was gone,

Had done him female service, not alone And from their occupations out of doors

For dalliance and delight, as is the use
The son and father were come home, even then Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced
Their labour did not cease; unless when all

To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked
Turned to their cleanly supper-board, and there, His cradle with a woman's gentle hand.
Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk, And, in a later time,
Sat round their basket piled with oaten cakes,

Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love,
And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when their Albeit of a stern unbending mind,
Was ended, Luke (for so the son was named) (meal

To have the young one in his sight, when he
And his old father both betook themselves

Had work by his owo door, or when he sat To such convenient work as might employ

With sheep before him on his shepherd's stool, Their hands by the fire-side; perhaps to card

*| Wool for the housewife's spindle, or repair

Ano Some injury done to sickle, tail, or scythe,

HAE Or other implement of house or field.

She Down from the cieling, by the chimney's edge,

Ti Which in our ancient uncouth country style

There, while they two were sitting in the shade, Did with a huge projection overbrow

With others round them, earnest all and blithe, Large space beneath, as duly as the light

Te Of day grew dim the housewife hung a lamp; An aged utensil, which had performed Service beyond all others of its kind.

By catching at their legs, or with his shouts Early at evening did it burn and late,

Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears,

H Surviving comrade of uncounted hours,

And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up
Which going by from year to year had found
And left the couple neither gay perhaps
Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes,
Living a life of eager industry.

With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped
And now, when Luke was in his eighteenth year,

With iron, making it throughout in all There by the light of this old lamp they sat, Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, Father and son, while late into the night

And gave it to the boy, wherewith equipt The housewife plied her own peculiar work,

He as a watchman oftentimes was placed Making the cottage through the silent hours

At gate or gap, to stem or turn the Rock;

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Beneath that large old oak, which near their dee

Stood,mand, from its enormous breadth of shade
Chosen for the shearer's covert from the sun,
Thence in our rustic dialect was called
The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears.

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Would Michael exercise his heart with looks
Of fond correction and reproof bestowed
Upon the child, if he disturbed the sheep

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A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek
Two steady roses that were five years old,
Then Michael from a winter coppice cut

And, to his office prematurely called,

Another kinsman-he will be our friend There stood the urchin, as you will divine,

In this distress. He is a prosperous man, Something between a hindrance and a help; Thriving in trade--and Luke to him shall go, And for this cause not always, I believe,

And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift Receiving from his father hire of praise;

He quickly will repair this loss, and then
Though nought was left undone which staffor voice, May come again to us.

If here he stay,
Or looks, or threatening gestures could perform. What can be done? Where every one is poor

But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand What can be gained :" At this the old man paused,
Against the mountain blasts, and to the heights, And Isabel sat silent, for her mind
Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways,

Was busy, looking back into past times. He with his father daily went, and they

There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, Were as companions, why should I relate

He was a parish-boy-at the church-door That objects which the shepherd loved before They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence, Were dearer now? that from the boy there came And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours bought Feelings and emanations--things which were A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares; Light to the sun and music to the wind;

And with this basket on his arm, the lad And that the old man's heart seemed born again. Went up to London, found a master there, Thus in his father's sight the boy grew up:

Who out of many chose the trusty boy And now when he had reached his eighteenth year,

To go and overlook his merchandize He was his comfort and his daily hope.

Beyond the seas, where he grew wondrous rich,

And left estates and monies to the poor, While in this sort the simple household lived And at his birth-place built a chapel foored From day to day, to Michael's ear there came With marble, which he sent from foreign lands. Distressful tidings. Long before the time

These thoughts, and many others of like sort, Of which I speak, the shepherd had been bound Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, In surety for his brother's son, a man

And her face brightened. The old man was glad, of an industrious life, and ample means,

And thus resumed:-" Well, Isabel! this scheme But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly

These two days has been meat and drink to me. Had pressed upon him,-aud old Michael now

Far more than we have lost is left us yet. Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,

-We have enough-I wish indeed that I A grievous penalty, but little less

Were younger,-but this hope is a good hope. Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim, - Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best At the first hearing, for a moment took

Buy for him more, and let us send him forth More hope out of his life than he supposed

To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: That any old man ever could have lost.

-If he could go, the boy should go to-night.” As soon as he had gathered so much strength

Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth That he could look his trouble in the face,

With a light heart. The housewife for five days It seemed that his sole refuge was to sell

Was restless morn and night, and all day long A portion of his patrimonial fields.

Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare
Such was his first resolve; he thought again, Things needful for the journey of her son.
And his heart failed him. “ Isabel," said he, But Isabel was glad wheu Sunday came
Two evenings after he had heard the news,

To stop her in her work: for, when she lay “ I have been toiling more than seventy years,

By Michael's side, she through the two last nights And in the open sunshine of God's love

Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep: Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours And when they rose at moruing she could see Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think

That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon That I could not lie quiet in my grave.

She said to Luke, while they two by themselves Our lot is a hard lot; the sun itself

Were sitting at the door, " Thou must not go: Has scarcely been more diligent than I,

We have no other child but thee to lose, And I have lived to be a fool at last

None to remember-do not go away, To my own family. An evil man

For if thou leave thy father he will die." That was, and made an evil choice, if he

The youth made answer with a jocund voice; Were false to us; and, if he were not false,

And Isabel, when she had told her fears, There are ten thousand to whom loss like this

Recovered heart. That evening her best fare Had been no sorrow. I forgive him-but

Did she bring forth, and all together sat *Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. When I began, my purpose was to speak

Like happy people round a Christmas fire,
Of remedies and of a cheerful hope.

With daylight Isabel resumed her work;
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free.
He shall possess it, free as is the wind
That passes over it. We have, thou know'st,

And all the ensuing week the house appeared
As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length
The expected letter from their kinsman came,
With kind assurances that he would do
His utmost for the welfare of the boy ;

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