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, Has travelled down to Matthew's name, And, if a sleeping tear should wake, Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup He felt with spirit so profound. -Thou soul of God's best earthly mould ! Thou happy Soul! and can it be That these two words of glittering gold 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. "And just above yon slope of corn Such colours, and no other, Were in the sky, that April morn, Of this the very brother. "With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, coming to the church, stopped short Beside my daughter's grave. "Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale; And then she sang ;-she would have been A very nightingale. "Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more, For so it seemed, than till that day I e'er had loved before. "And, turning from her grave, I met, A blooming girl, whose hair was wet "A basket on her head she bare; Her brow was smooth and white : To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight! "No fountain from its rocky cave "There came from me a sigh of pain I looked at her, and looked again : Matthew is in his grave, yet now, THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. We talked with open heart, and tongue A pair of Friends, though I was young, We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet. "Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old Border-song, or Catch, That suits a summer's noon; "Or of the Church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade, That half-mad thing of witty rhymes Which you last April made!" In silence Matthew lay, and eyed "Down to the vale this water steers, How merrily it goes! "Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. "And here, on this delightful day, "My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. "Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind. "The Blackbird in the summer trees, The Lark upon the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. "With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: |