I left her busy with her garden tools; And well remember, o'er that fence she looked,

And, while I paced along the foot-way path, Called out, and sent a blessing after me, With tender cheerfulness, and with a voice That seemed the very sound of happy thoughts.

I roved o'er many a hill and many a dale, With my accustomed load; in heat and cold,

Through many a wood and many an open ground,

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In sunshine and in shade, in wet and fair, Drooping or blithe of heart, as might befall;

My best companions now the driving winds, And now the 'trotting brooks' and whispering trees,

And now the music of my own sad steps,
With many a short-lived thought that
passed between,
And disappeared.

I journeyed back this way, When, in the warmth of midsummer, the wheat

Was yellow; and the soft and bladed grass, Springing afresh, had o'er the hay-field

spread

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Its tender verdure. At the door arrived,
I found that she was absent. In the shade,
Where now we sit, I waited her return.
Her cottage, then a cheerful object, wore
Its customary look,- only, it seemed,
The honeysuckle, crowding round the porch,
Hung down in heavier tufts; and that

bright weed,

The yellow stone-crop, suffered to take

root

Along the window's edge, profusely grew, Blinding the lower panes. I turned aside,

Have flowed as if my body were not such
As others are; and I could never die.
But I am now in mind and in my heart
More easy; and I hope,' said she, that
God

Will give me patience to endure the things
Which I behold at home.'
It would have grieved
Your very soul to see her. Sir, I feel
The story linger in my heart; I fear
'T is long and tedious; but my spirit clings
To that poor Woman:-so familiarly
Do I perceive her manner, and her look,
And presence; and so deeply do I feel
Her goodness, that, not seldom, in my
walks

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