Wept bitterly. I wist not what to do,

Or how to speak to her. Poor Wretch! at last
She rose from off her seat, and then,-O sir!
I cannot tell how she pronounced my name:-
With fervent love, and with a face of grief
Unutterably helpless, and a look

That seemed to cling upon me, she inquired
If I had seen her husband. As she spake,
A strange surprise and fear came to my heart,
Nor had I power to answer ere she told
That he had disappeared-not two months gone.
He left his house; two wretched days had passed,
And on the third, as wistfully she raised

Her head from off her pillow, to look forth,

Like one in trouble, for returning light,
Within her chamber-casement she espied

A folded paper, lying as if placed

To meet her waking eyes. This tremblingly
She opened-found no writing, but therein
Pieces of money carefully enclosed,

Silver and gold-'I shuddered at the sight,'

Said Margaret, for I knew it was his hand

Which placed it there; and, ere that day was ended,

That long and anxious day! I learned from one Sent hither by my husband to impart

The heavy news, that he had joined a troop

Of soldiers, going to a distant land.

-He left me thus-he could not gather heart

To take a farewell of me; for he feared

That I should follow with my babes, and sink
Beneath the misery of that wandering life.'

"This tale did Margaret tell with many tears; And, when she ended, I had little power

To give her comfort, and was glad to take

Such words of hope from her own mouth as served
To cheer us both; but long we had not talked,
Ere we built up a pile of better thoughts,
And with a brighter eye she looked around
As if she had been shedding tears of joy.
We parted. 'Twas the time of early spring;
I left her busy with her garden tools;

And well remember, o'er that fence she looked,
And, while I paced along the footway-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,

In sunshine and in shade, in wet and fair,

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
Toward the wane of summer, when the wheat
Was yellow; and the soft and bladed grass,
Springing afresh, had o'er the hay-field spread
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, I thought,

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,
And strolled into her garden. It appeared
To lag behind the season, and had lost

Its pride of neatness. From the border lines,

Composed of daisy and resplendent thrift,

Flowers straggling forth had on those paths encroached,