I left her, and pursued my way; A pair of little Boys at play, The Taller followed with his hat in hand, Wreathed round with yellow flowers the gayest of the land. The Other wore a rimless crown In their fraternal features I could trace Unquestionable lines of that wild Suppliant's face. Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I ween, They dart across my path-and lo, Your Mother has had alms of mine." "That cannot be," one answered-"she is dead :". I looked reproof-they saw-but neither hung his head, "She has been dead, Sir, many a day "Sweet Boys! you're telling me a lie ; It was your Mother, as I say!" "Come! come!" cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew! SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING. COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER. WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys? And implements of frolic mirth ; And ornaments of seemlier pride, More fresh, more bright, than Princes wear; For what one moment flung aside, Another could repair; What good or evil have they seen Spirits of beauty and of grace! They met me in a genial hour, When universal nature breathed As with the breath of one sweet flower, A time to overrule the power Of discontent, and check the birth Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife, The most familiar bane of life Soft clouds, the whitest of the year, Sailed through the sky-the brooks ran clear; The faith with which it then was cheered; Through your sweet influence and the care Destined, whate'er their earthly doom, MATTHEW. In the School of Hawkshead is a Tablet, on which are inscribed, in IF Nature, for a favourite Child, Read o'er these lines; and then review In such diversity of hue Its history of two hundred years. -When through this little wreck of fame, And, if a sleeping tear should wake, Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, Is silent as a standing pool; The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup -Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! Are all that must remain of thee? THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. WE walked along, while bright and red And Matthew stopped, he looked and said, "The will of God be done!" A village Schoolmaster was he, With hair of glittering gray; As blithe a man as you could see On a spring holiday. And on that morning, through the grass And by the steaming rills, We travelled merrily, to pass A day among the hills. "Our work," said I, 66 was well begun ; Then, from thy breast what thought, So sad a sigh has brought?" A second time did Matthew stop; And fixing still his eye Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply: "Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this which I have left Full thirty years behind. |