He could not find forgiveness in himself;
Nor could endure the weight of his own shame.
"Here rests a mother. But from her I turn, And from her grave. Behold-upon that ridge, Which, stretching boldly from the mountain side, Carries into the centre of the vale
Its rocks and woods-the cottage where she dwelt; And where yet dwells her faithful partner, left (Full eight years past) the solitary prop
Of many helpless children. I begin
With words which might be prelude to a tale
Of sorrow and dejection; but I feel
No sadness, when I think of what mine eyes
See daily in that happy family.
Bright garland form they for the pensive brow
Of their undrooping father's widowhood.
Those six fair daughters, budding yet not one,
Not one of all the band, a full-blown flower.
Depressed and desolate of soul, as once
That father was, and filled with anxious fear,
Now by experience taught, he stands assured,
That God, who takes away, yet takes not half
Of what he seems to take; or gives it back,
Not to our prayer, but far beyond our prayer;
He gives it-the boon produce of a soil
Which our endeavours have refused to till,
And hope hath never watered. The abode,
Whose grateful owner can attest these truths,
Even were the object nearer to our sight,
Would seem in no distinction to surpass
The rudest habitations. Ye might think
That it had sprung self-raised from earth, or grown Out of the living rock, to be adorned
By nature only; but, if thither led,
Ye would discover, then, a studious work
Of many fancies prompting many hands.
Brought from the woods, the honeysuckle twines
Around the porch, and seems, in that trim place,
A plant no longer wild; the cultured rose
There blossoms, strong in health, and will be soon
Roof-high; the wild pink crowns the garden wall,
And with the flowers are intermingled stones
Sparry and bright, the scatterings of the hills.
These ornaments that fade not with the year,
A hardy girl continues to provide;
Who, mounting fearlessly the rocky heights,
Her father's prompt attendant, does for him
All that a boy could do-but with delight
More keen, and prouder daring; yet hath she
Within the garden, like the rest, a bed
For her own flowers and favourite herbs-a space
By sacred charter holden, for her use.
These, and whatever else the garden bears
Of fruit or flower, permission asked or not,
I freely gather; and my leisure draws
A not unfrequent pastime from the sight
Of the bees murmuring round their sheltered hives
In that enclosure! while the mountain rill,
That sparkling thrids the rocks, attunes his voice
To the pure course of human life, which there
Flows on in solitude from year to year.
But at the closing in of night, then most
This dwelling charms me. Covered by the gloom,
Then, in my walks, I oftentimes stop short
(Who could refrain ?) and feed by stealth my sight With prospect of the company within,
Laid open through the blazing window ;-there
I see the eldest daughter at her wheel
Spinning amain, as if to overtake
The never-halting time; or, in her turn,
Teaching some novice of the sisterhood
That skill in this, or other household work,
Which, from her father's honoured hand, herself,
While she was yet a little one, had learned.
Mild man! he is not gay, but they are gay;
And the whole house seems filled with gaiety.
Thrice happy, then, the mother may be deemed,
The wife, who rests beneath that turf, from which
I turned, that ye in mind might witness where
And how her spirit yet survives on earth!
"The next three ridges-those upon the leftBy close connection with our present thought, Tempt me to add, in praise of humble worth, Their brief and unobtrusive history.
One hillock, ye may note, is small and low,
Sunk almost to a level with the plain
By weight of time; the others, undepressed.
Are bold and swelling. There a husband sleeps
Deposited, in pious confidence
Of glorious resurrection with the just,
Near the loved partner of his early days;
And, in the bosom of that family mould,
A second wife is gathered to his side;
The approved assistant of an arduous course
From his mid-noon of manhood to old age!
He also of his mate deprived, was left
Alone 'mid many children; one a babe
Orphaned as soon as born. Alas! 'tis not
In course of nature that a father's wing
Should warm these little ones; and can he feed?
That was a thought of agony more keen.
For, hand in hand with death, by strange mishap
And chance encounter on their diverse road,
The ghastlier shape of poverty had entered
Into that house, unfeared and unforeseen.
He had stepped forth in time of urgent need,
The generous surety of a friend; and now
The widowed father found that all his rights
In his paternal fields were undermined:
Landless he was and penniless. The dews
Of night and morn, that wet the mountain sides,
The bright stars twinkling on their dusky tops,
Were conscious of the pain that drove him forth
From his own door, he knew not when to range-
He knew not where; distracted was his brain,
His heart was cloven; and full oft he prayed,
In blind despair, that God would take them all.
-But suddenly, as if in one kind moment
To encourage and reprove, a gleam of light
Broke from the very bosom of that cloud
Which darkened the whole prospect of his days.
For he, who now possessed the joyless right
To force the bondsman from his house and lands,
In pity, and by admiration urged
Of his unmurmuring and considerate mind,
Meekly submissive to the law's decree,
Lightened the penalty with liberal hand.
The desolate father raised his head, and looked
On the wide world in hope. Within these walls,
In course of time was solemnized the vow
Whereby a virtuous woman, of grave years
And of prudential habits, undertook
The sacred office of a wife to him,
Of mother to his helpless family.
Nor did she fail-in nothing did she fail,
Through various exercise of twice ten years,
Save in some partial fondness for that child
Which at the birth she had received, the babe
Whose heart had known no mother but herself.
-By mutual efforts, by united hopes,
By daily-growing help of boy and girl,
Trained early to participate that zeal
Of industry, which runs before the day
And lingers after it; by strong restraint
Of an economy which did not check
The heart's more generous motions tow'rds themselves
Or to their neighbours; and by trust in God,
This pair insensibly subdued the fears
And troubles that beset their life: and thus
Did the good father and his second mate
Redeem at length their plot of smiling fields.
These, at this day, the eldest son retains:
The younger offspring, through the busy world,
Have all been scattered wide, by various fates;
But each departed from the native vale,
In beauty flourishing, and moral worth ""
THE CHURCHYARD AMONG THE MOUNTAINSContinued.
Impression of these narratives upon the author's mind-Pastor invited to give account of certain graves that lie apart-Clergyman and his family-Fortunate influence of change of situation-Activity in extreme old age-Another clergyman, a character of resolute virtue-Lamentations over mis-directed applause- Instance of less exalted excellence in & deaf man-Elevated character of a blind man-Reflection upon blindness-Interrupted by a peasant who passes-His animal cheerfulness and careless vivacity-He occasions a digression on the fall of beautiful and interesting trees-A female infant's grave: joy at her birth; sorrow at her departure-A youthful peasant-His patriotic enthusiasmDistinguished qualities-And untimely death-Exultation of the Wanderer, as a patriot, in this picture-Solitary how affected-Monument of a knight-Traditions concerning him-Peroration of the Wanderer on the transitoriness of things and the revolutions of Society-Hints at his own past calling-Thanks the pastor.
WHILE thus from theme to theme the historian
The words he uttered, and the scene that lay
Before our eyes, awakened in my mind
Vivid remembrance of those long-past hours,
When, in the hollow of some shadowy vale
(What time the splendour of the setting sun
Lay beautiful on Snowdon's craggy top,
On Cader Idris, or huge Penmanmaur),
A wandering youth, I listened with delight
To pastoral melody or warlike air,
Drawn from the chords of the ancient British harp
By some accomplished master; while he sate
Amid the quiet of the green recess,
And there did inexhaustibly dispense
An interchange of soft or solemn tunes,
Tender or blithe; now, as the varying mood
Of his own spirit urged,―now, as a voice
From youth or maiden, or some honoured chief
Of his compatriot villagers (that hung
Around him, drinking in the impassioned notes
Of the time-hallowed minstrelsy) required
For their heart's ease or pleasure.
Were they, to seize and occupy the sense;
But to a higher mark than song can reach
Rose this pure eloquence. And, when the stream
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,
A consciousness remained that it had left,
Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory, images and precious thoughts,
That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
"These grassy heaps lie amicably close,"
Said I, "like surges heaving in the wind
Upon the surface of a mountain pool :
Whence comes it, then, that yonder we behold
Five graves, and only five, that lie apart,
Unsociable company and sad;
And, furthermore, appearing to encroach
On the smooth playground of the village school?"
The Vicar answered: "No disdainful pride
In them who rest beneath, nor any course
Of strange or tragic accident, hath helped
To place those hillocks in that lonely guise.
-Once more look forth, and follow with your eyes
The length of road which from yon mountain's base
Through bare enclosures stretches, till its line
Is lost among a little tuft of trees;
Then, re-appearing in a moment, quits
The cultured fields, and up the heathy waste,
Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine,
Towards an easy outlet of the vale.
That little shady spot, that sylvan tuft,
By which the road is hidden, also hides
A cottage from our view; though I discern
(Ye scarcely can) amid its sheltering trees
The smokeless chimney-top. All unembowered
And naked stood that lowly parsonage
(For such in truth it is, and appertains
To a small chapel in the vale beyond)
When hither came its last inhabitant.
"Rough and forbidding were the choicest roads By which our northern wilds could then be crossed; And into most of these secluded vales
Was no access for wain, heavy or light.
So, at his dwelling-place the priest arrived
With store of household goods, in panniers slung
On sturdy horses graced with jingling bells,
And on the back of more ignoble beast,
That, with like burthen of effects most prized
Or easiest carried, closed the motley train.
Young was I then, a school-boy of eight years;
But still, methinks, I see them as they passed
In order, drawing tow'rds their wished-for home.
-Rocked by the motion of a trusty ass
Two ruddy children hung, a well-poised freight,
Each in his basket nodding drowsily;
Their bonnets, I remember, wreathed with flowers,
Which told that 'twas the pleasant month of June;
And, close behind, the comely matron rode,
A woman of soft speech and gracious smile,
And with a lady's mien.-From far they came,
Even from Northumbrian hills; yet theirs had been
A merry journey, rich in pastime, cheered
By music, prank, and laughter-stirring jest ;
And freak put on, and arch word dropped, to swell
The cloud of fancy and uncouth surmise
That gathered round the slowly-moving train.
Whence do they come? and with what errand charged 1 Belong they to the fortune-telling tribe
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