Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour
He to that valley took his way, and there Wrought at this 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 Greenhead Ghyll.
"THESE Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air, And they were butterflies to wheel about Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise, Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag, Pencil in hand and book upon the knee, Will look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles, Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn. But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why can he tarry yonder?-In our church-yard Is neither epitaph nor monument,
Tombstone nor name-only the turf we tread And a few natural graves."
To Jane, his wife, Thus spake the homely Priest of Ennerdale. It was a July evening; and he sate
Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves Of his old cottage,-as it chanced, that day, Employed in winter's work. Upon the stone His wife sate near him, teasing matted wool, While, from the twin cards toothed with glittering wire, He fed the spindle of his youngest child, Who, in the open air, with due accord Of busy hands and back-and-forward steps,
Her large round wheel was turning. Towards the field In which the Parish Chapel stood alone,
Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall, While half an hour went by, the Priest had sent Many a long look of wonder: and at last, Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white ridge Of carded wool which the old man had piled He laid his implements with gentle care, Each in the other locked; and, down the path That from his cottage to the church-yard led,
He took his way, impatient to accost
The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there. 'Twas one well known to him in former days, A Shepherd-lad; who ere his sixteenth year Had left that calling, tempted to entrust His expectations to the fickle winds And perilous waters; with the mariners A fellow-mariner ;-and so had fared
Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared Among the mountains, and he in his heart Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas. Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds
Of caves and trees :—and, when the regular wind
Between the tropics filled the steady sail,
And blew with the same breath through days and weeks, Lengthening invisibly its weary line
Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours Of tiresome indolence, would often hang
Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze;
And, while the broad blue wave and sparkling foam Flashed round him images and hues that wrought In union with the employment of his heart, He, thus by feverish passion overcome, Even with the organs of his bodily eye,
Below him, in the bosom of the deep,
Saw mountains; saw the forms of sheep that grazed On verdant hills-with dwellings among trees,
And shepherds clad in the same country grey
Which he himself had worn. *
From perils manifold, with some small wealth Acquired by traffic 'mid the Indian Isles, To his paternal home he is returned, With a determined purpose to resume The life he had lived there; both for the sake Of many darling pleasures, and the love Which to an only brother he has borne In all his hardships, since that happy time When, whether it blew foul or fair, they two Were brother-shepherds on their native hills. -They were the last of all their race: and now, When Leonard had approached his home, his heart Failed in him; and, not venturing to enquire Tidings of one so long and dearly loved, He to the solitary church-yard turned ; That, as he knew in what particular spot His family were laid, he thence might learn If still his Brother lived, or to the file Another grave was added.—He had found Another grave,-near which a full half-hour He had remained; but, as he gazed, there grew Such a confusion in his memory,
That he began to doubt; and even to hope
*This description of the Calenture is sketched from an imperfect recollection of an admirable one in prose, by Mr. Gilbert, author of the Hurricane.
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