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 should'st 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 stone- Here, 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
I still am strong and hale ;-do thou thy part; I will do mine.-I will begin again
With many tasks that were resigned to thee: Up to the heights, and in among the storms, Will I without thee go again, and do
All works which I was wont to do alone, Before I knew thy face.-Heaven bless thee, Boy! Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast With many hopes; it should be so- -yes-yes- I knew that thou could'st never have a wish
To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to me 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, When thou art gone away, should evil men Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well- When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see A work which is not here: a covenant
"Twill be between us; but, whatever fate
Befal 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
The first stone of the Sheep-fold. 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, Ere the night fell :—with morrow's dawn the Boy Began his journey, and when he had reached
The public way, he put on a bold face;
And all the neighbours, as he passed their doors, Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, That followed him till he was out of sight.
A good report did from their Kinsman come, Of Luke and his well-doing and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news,
Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout 'The prettiest letters that were ever seen.
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.
So, many months passed on
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 Sheep-fold. 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 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 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 labour for his sheep,
And for the land, his small inheritance. 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 Sheep-fold wrought, And left the work unfinished when he died. Three years, or little more, did Isabel
Survive her Husband: at her death the estate Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand.
The Cottage which was named the EVENING STAR Is gone the ploughshare has been through the ground On which it stood; great changes have been wrought In all the neighbourhood:-yet the oak is left That grew beside their door; and the remains Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll.
THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE.
[The subject of the following poem is from the Orlandus of the author's friend, Kenelm Henry Digby: and the liberty is taken of inscribing it to him as an acknowledgment, however unworthy, of pleasure and instruction derived from his numerous and valuable writings, illustrative of the piety and chivalry of the olden time.]
You have heard a Spanish Lady How she wooed an English man*; Hear now of a fair Armenian,
Daughter of the proud Soldàn;
How she loved a Christian Slave, and told her pain By word, look, deed, with hope that he might love again.
"Pluck that rose, it moves my liking,"
Said she, lifting up her veil; "Pluck it for me, gentle gardener, Ere it wither and grow pale.”
"Princess fair, I till the ground, but may not take From twig or bed an humbler flower, even for your sake!”
* See, in Percy's Reliques, that fine old ballad, " The Spanish Lady's Love;" from which Poem the form of stanza, as suitable to dialogue, is adopted.
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