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Had walked, and from the summit had fallen

headlong. And so, no doubt, he perished. When the

Youth Fell, in his hand he must have grasp'd, we

think, His shepherd's staff; for on that pillar of the

rock It had been caught midway; and there for years It hung--and mouldered there.

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

felt 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, 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, entreating That Leonard would partake his homely fare: The other thanked him with an earnest voice ; But added, that, the evening being calm, 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, 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: 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; 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.

1800

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She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love :

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye

-Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me !

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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

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 basin* at Timothy's door ;

* In several parts of the North of England when a funeral takes place, a basin full of Sprigs of Box

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! Old Timothy took up his staff, and he shut With a leisurely motion the door of his hut.

Perhaps to himself at that moment he said, The key I must take, for my Ellen is dead." But of this in my ears not a word did he speak, And he went to the chase with a tear on his cheek.

1800.

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 Boxwood, and throws it into the grave of the deceased.

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