Which they were used to deck: carnations, once Prized for surpassing beauty, and no less

The cumbrous bind-weed, with its wreaths and bells,
Had twined about her two small rows of peas,

And dragged them to the earth. Ere this an hour
Was wasted. Back I turned my restless steps;
A stranger passed; and, guessing whom I sought,
He said that she was used to ramble far.-

The sun was sinking in the west; and now
I sate with sad impatience. From within
Her solitary infant cried aloud;

Then, like a blast that dies away self-stilled,
The voice was silent. From the bench I rose;
But neither could divert nor soothe my thoughts.
The spot, though fair, was very desolate-

The longer I remained, more desolate.

And, looking round, I saw the corner stones,
Till then unnoticed, on either side the door
With dull red stains discoloured, and stuck o'er
With tufts and hairs of wool, as if the sheep,
That fed upon the Common, thither came
Familiarly; and found a couching-place
Even at her threshold. Deeper shadows fell

From these tall elms; the cottage-clock struck eight;

I turned, and saw her distant a few steps.

Her face was pale and thin, her figure too
Was changed. As she unlocked the door, she said,
It grieves me you have waited here so long,
But, in good truth, I've wandered much of late,
And, sometimes to my shame I speak-have need
Of my best prayers to bring me back again.'
While on the board she spread our evening meal,
She told me-interrupting not the work
Which gave employment to her listless hands-
That she had parted with her elder child,

To a kind master on a distant farm

Now happily apprenticed

I perceive

You look at me, and you have cause; to-day
I have been travelling far; and many days

About the fields I wander, knowing this

Only, that what I seek I cannot find;

And so I waste my time: for I am changed;

And to myself,' said she, 'have done much wrong

And to this helpless infant. I have slept

Weeping, and weeping have I waked; my tears

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 Heaven
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
'Tis 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

A momentary trance comes over me;

And to myself I seem to muse on One

By sorrow laid asleep, or borne away;

A human being destined to awake

To human life, or something very near

To human life, when he shall come again

For whom she suffered. Yes, it would have grieved

Your very soul to see her: evermore

Her eyelids drooped, her eyes were downward cast;

And, when she at her table gave me food,

She did not look at me. Her voice was low,

Her body was subdued. In every act

Pertaining to her house affairs, appeared

The careless stillness of a thinking mind
Self-occupied; to which all outward things
Are like an idle matter. Still she sighed,

But yet no motion of the

No heaving of the heart.

breast was seen,

While by the fire

We sate together, sighs came on my ear,

I knew not how, and hardly whence they came.

"Ere my departure to her care I gave,

For her son's use, some tokens of regard,
Which with a look of welcome she received;
And I exhorted her to have her trust

In God's good love, and seek his help by prayer.
I took my staff, and when I kissed her babe,
The tears stood in her eyes. I left her then
With the best hope and comfort I could give.
She thanked me for my wish; but for my hope
It seemed she did not thank me.

And took my rounds along this road again.
Ere on its sunny bank the primrose flower
Peeped forth, to give an earnest of the Spring.

I found her sad and drooping; she had learned