And still I loved thee with increasing love. 345 Never to living ear came sweeter sounds

Than when I heard thee by our own fireside First uttering, without words, a natural tune;

While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy

Sing at thy mother's breast. Month followed month,

350 And in the open fields my life was passed And on the mountains; else I think that thou

Hadst been brought up upon thy father's knees.

But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills,

As well thou knowest, in us the old and young

355 Have played together, nor with me didst

385

Received at others' hands; for, though now old

Beyond the common life of man, I still Remember them who loved me in my youth.

Both of them sleep together: here they lived,

As all their forefathers had done; and, when

At length their time was come, they were not loth

To give their bodies to the family mould. I wished that thou shouldst live the life they lived,

But 'tis a long time to look back, my son,
And see so little gain from threescore years.
These fields were burthened when they
came to me;

Till I was forty years of age, not more
Than half of my inheritance was mine.
I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in
my work,

And till these three weeks past the land was free.

-It looks as if it never could endure

Another master. Heaven forgive me, Luke,

If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good That thou shouldst go.

At this the old man paused; Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood,

Thus, after a short silence, he resumed:

This was a work for us; and now, my son, It is a work for me. But, lay one stoneHere, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.

Nay, boy, be of good hope;-we both may live

To see a better day. At eighty-four 390 I still am strong and hale;-do thou thy

Only by links of love: when thou art gone, What will be left to us!-But I forget My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone, As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, 405 When thou art gone away, should evil men Be thy companions, think of me, my son, And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts,

440

thee well

When thou return 'st, thou in this place wilt see

A work which is not here: a covenant 415 "Twill be between us, but, whatever fate Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last, And bear thy memory with me to the grave.

The shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down,

And, as his father had requested, laid 420 The first stone of the sheepfold. At the sight

The old man's grief broke from him; to his heart

He pressed his son, he kissèd him and wept;

And to the house together they returned. -Hushed was that house in peace, or seeming peace,

425 Ere the night fell:-with morrow's dawn the boy

The shepherd went about his daily work With confident and cheerful thoughts; and

now

Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour

He to that valley took his way, and there Wrought at the sheepfold. Meantime

Luke began

To slacken in his duty; and, at length,
He in the dissolute city gave himself
To evil courses: ignominy and shame
Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
To seek a hiding place beyond the seas.

There is a comfort in the strength of
love;

"Twill make a thing endurable, which else 450 Would overset the brain, or break the heart:

I have conversed with more than one who
well

Remember the old man, and what he was
Years after he had heard this heavy news.
His bodily frame had been from youth to
age

455 Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud,

And listened to the wind; and, as before, Performed all kinds of labor for his sheep, And for the land, his small inheritance. 460 And to that hollow dell from time to time Did he repair, to build the fold of which His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet

The pity which was then in every heart For the old man-and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone.

There, by the sheep fold, sometimes was

he seen

Sitting alone, or with his faithful dog,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.
The length of full seven years, from time

to time,

He at the building of this sheepfold wrought,

And left the work unfinished when he died. Three years, or little more, did Isabel Survive her husband: at her death the

estate

475 Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. The cottage which was named THE EVE

NING STAR

Is gone-the ploughshare has been through the ground

On which it stood; great changes have been wrought

10 The steps of June; as if their various hues Were only hindrances that stood between Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed

Such an entire contentment in the air That every naked ash, and tardy tree 15 Yet leafless, showed as if the countenance With which it looked on this delightful day Were native to the summer.-Up the brook I roamed in the confusion of my heart, Alive to all things and forgetting all. 20 At length I to a sudden turning came In this continuous glen, where down a rock The stream, so ardent in its course before, Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all

Which I till then had heard appeared the voice

25 Of common pleasure; beast and bird, the lamb,

The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush,

Vied with this waterfall, and made a song Which, while I listened, seemed like the

wild growth

Or like some natural produce of the air, 30 That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here;

35

But 'twas the foliage of the rocks-the birch,

The yew, the holly, and the bright green

thorn,

With hanging islands of resplendent furze :
And on a summit, distant a short space,
By any who should look beyond the dell
A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,

40

"Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,

My Emma,1 I will dedicate to thee.'

-Soon did the spot become my other home,

My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. And of the shepherds who have seen me there,

To whom I sometimes in our idle talk Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, 45 Years after we are gone and in our grayes, When they have cause to speak of this wild place,

May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL.

"TIS SAID THAT SOME HAVE DIED FOR LOVE

When thus his moan he made:

"Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak!

Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,

15 That in some other way yon smoke May mount into the sky!

The clouds pass on; they from the heavens
depart:

I look the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;

20 But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.

"O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye Leaves,

That murmur once so dear, when will it
cease?

Your sound my heart of rest bereaves,
It robs my heart of peace.

25 Thou Thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free,

Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit;

Or sing another song, or choose another

tree.

1 A name given to Wordsworth's sister Dorothy.

looked out

Upon the public way. It was a plot

Of garden ground run wild, its matted

weeds

stems,

In scanty strings, had tempted to o'erleap The broken wall. I looked around, and

there,

460 Where two tall hedge-rows of thick alder boughs

Joined in a cold damp nook, espied a well Shrouded with willow-flowers and plumy fern.

My thirst I slaked, and, from the cheerless spot

Withdrawing, straightway to the shade returned

465 Where sate the old man on the cottagebench;

And, while, beside him, with uncovered
head.

I yet was standing, freely to respire,
And cool my temples in the fanning air,
Thus did he speak. "I see around me
here

470 Things which you cannot see: we die, my friend,

Nor we alone, but that which each man
loved

And prized in his peculiar nook of earth
Dies with him, or is changed; and very

soon

Even of the good is no memorial left. 475 The poets, in their elegies and songs Lamenting the departed, call the groves, They call upon the hills and streams to

mourn,

And senseless rocks; nor idly; for they speak,

In these their invocations, with a voice 480 Obedient to the strong creative power

Of human passion. Sympathies there are
More tranquil, yet perhaps of kindred
birth,

That steal upon the meditative mind,
And grow with thought. Beside yon
spring I stood,

485 And eyed its waters till we seemed to feel One sadness, they and I. For them a bond

Of brotherhood is broken: time has been
When, every day, the touch of human hand
Dislodged the natural sleep that binds

them up

500

505

To human comfort. Stooping down to

drink,

The light extinguished of her lonely hut, The hut itself abandoned to decay, 510 And she forgotten in the quiet grave.