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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.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
A Maid whom there were none to praise
A violet by a mossy stone
-Fair as a star, when only one
She lived unknown, and few could know
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
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
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.
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.