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The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here
The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the wind.
His Pinnace, a small vagrant Barge, up-piled
Lie round him, even as if they were a part
Of his own Household: nor, while from his bed He through that door-place looks toward the lake And to the stirring breezes, does he want Creations lovely as the work of sleep,
Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy.
To a SEXTON.
Let thy wheel-barrow alone.
In thy Bone-house bone on bone?
'Tis already like a hill
In a field of battle made,
Where three thousand skulls are laid.
-These died in peace each with the other,
Father, Sister, Friend, and Brother.
Mark the spot to which I point!
Take not even a finger-joint :
Andrew's whole fire-side is there,
Here, alone, before thine eyes,
Simon's sickly Daughter lies,
From weakness, now, and pain defended, Whom he twenty winters tended.
Look but at the gardener's pride
How he glories, when he sees
Roses, Lilies, side by side,
Violets in families!
By the heart of Man, his tears,
By his hopes and by his fears,
Thou; old Gray-beard! art the Warden
Of a far superior garden.
Thus then, each to other dear,
Let them all in quiet lie,
Andrew there and Susan here,
Neighbours in mortality.
And, should I live through sun and rain Seven widowed years without my Jane, O Sexton, do not then remove her,
Let one grave hold the Lov'd and Lover!
"I hate that Andrew Jones: he'll breed
I said not this, because he loves
To whom a foul deed he had done,
A friendless Man, a travelling Cripple.