This is sad talk-they'll never sound for him
Living or dead.-When last we heard of him,
He was in slavery among the Moors
Upon the Barbary Coast.—'Twas not a little
That would bring down his spirit; and no doubt,
Before it ended in his death, the Youth
Was sadly crossed-Poor Leonard ! when we

parted,
He took me by the hand, and said to me,
If e'er he should grow rich he would return,
To live in peace upon his father land,
And lay his bones among us.

LEONARD.

If that day Should come, 'twould needs be a glad day for

him ; He would himself, no doubt, be happy then As any that should meet him

PRIEST.

Happy! Sir

LEONARD.

You said his kindred all were in their graves,
And that he had one Brother

PRIEST.

That is bu

A fellow tale of sorrow. From his youth
James, though not sickly, yet was delicate ;
And Leonard being always by his side
Had done so many offices about him,
That, though he was not of a timid nature,
Yet still the spirit of a mountain boy
In himn 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

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 wich one, and six months with

another; 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) "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.

But this Youth,

How did he die at last ?

PRIEST.

course

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

turns) He had gone forth among the new-dropped

lambs,
With two or three companions, whom their
Of occupation led from height to height
Under a cloudless sun-till be, 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.
Upon its aery summit crowned with heath,

The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades. 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 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 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.

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 to Leonard's luckless

fortune,
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
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