He would himself, no doubt, be happy then Priest. - Happy! Sir Leonard. You said his kindred all were in their A fellow-tale of sorrow. From his youth That, though he was not of a timid nature, 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 color that he had was soon Stolen from his cheek; he dropped, and pined, and pined Leonard. But these are all the graves of fullgrown men !. Priest. Ay, Sir, that passed away: we took him to us; He was the child of all the dale; - he lived 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 Leonard. How did he die at last? Priest. But this Youth, 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 Of occupation led from height to height Under a cloudless sun, Through weariness, or, haply, to indulge it wears the shape Whence by our shepherds it is called THE PILLAR. The morning came, and still he was unheard of: The neighbors 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! You his death say that he saw many happy years? Priest. Ay, that he did Leonard. Before 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 on 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 Had walked, and from the summit had fallen headlong: And so no doubt he perished. When the Youth The Priest here ended. The Stranger would have thanked him, but he felt gate, As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round, - 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, II. 1800. 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, To fatal dissolution; and, I ween, No vestige then was left that such had ever been. Nathless, a British record (long concealed |