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That it was not another grave; but one
We want not store of them ;-a water-spout He had forgotten. He had lost his path, Will bring down half a mountain ; what a feast As up the vale, that afternoon, he walked For folks that wander up and down like you, Through fields which once had been well known To see an acre's breadth of that wide cliff to him:
One roaring cataract ! a sharp May-storm And oh what joy this recollection now
Will come with loads of January snow, Sent to his heart! he lifted up his eyes,
And in one night send twenty score of sheep And, looking round, imagined that he saw To feed the ravens ; or a shepherd dies Strange alteration wrought on every side By some untoward death among the rocks : Among the woods and fields, and that the rocks The ice breaks up and sweeps away a bridge; And everlasting hills themselves were changed. A wood is felled :-and then for our own homes !
A child is born or christened, a field ploughed, By this the Priest, who down the field had a daughter sent to service, a web spun, come,
The old house-clock is decked with a new face; Unseen by Leonard, at the church-yard gate And hence, so far from wanting facts or dates Stopped short,-and thence, at leisure, limb by To chronicle the time, we all have here limb
A pair of diaries, -one serving, Sir, Perused him with a gay complacency.
For the whole dale, and one for each fire-sideAy, thought the Vicar, smiling to himself, Yours was a stranger's judgment: for historians, 'Tis one of those who needs must leave the path Commend me to these valleys ! Of the world's business to go wild alone:
Yet your Church-yard His arms have a perpetual holiday ;
Seems, if such freedom may be used with you, The happy man will creep about the fields To say that you are heedless of the past : Following his fancies by the hour, to bring An orphan could not find his mother's grave: Tears down his cheek, or solitary smiles Here's neither head nor foot-stone,plate of brass, Into his face, until the setting sun
Cross-bones nor skull,-type of our earthly state Write fool upon his forehead. - Planted thus Noremblem of our hopes: the dead man's home Beneath a shed that over-arched the gate Is but a fellow to that pasture-field. Of this rude church-yard, till the stars appeared Priest. Why, there, Sir, is a thought that's The good Man might have communed with him
new to me! self,
The stone-cutters,'tis true, might beg their bread But that the Stranger, who had left the grave, If every English church-yard were like ours; Approached; he recognised the Priest at once, Yet your conclusion wanders from the truth: And, after greetings interchanged, and given We have no need of names and epitaphs ; By Leonard to the Vicar as to one
We talk about the dead by our fire-sides. Unknown to him, this dialogue ensued. And then, for our immortal part ! we want Leonard. You live, Sir, in these dales, a quiet No symbols, Sir, to tell us that plain tale:
The thought of death sits easy on the man Your years make up one peaceful family : Who has been born and dies among the mounAnd who would grieve and fret, if, welcome come tains. And welcome gone, they are so like each other, Leonard. Your Dalesmen, then, do in each They cannot be remembered? Scarce a funeral other's thoughts Comes to this church-yard once in eighteen Possess a kind of second life: no doubt months ;
You, Sir, could help me to the history And yet, some changes must take place among Of half these graves ? you:
For eight-score winters past, And you, who dwell here, even among these With what I've witnessed, and with what I've rocks,
heard, Can trace the finger of mortality,
Perhaps I might; and, on a winter-evening, And see, that with our threescore years and ten If you were seated at my chimney's nook, We are not all that perish.--I remember, By turning o'er these hillocks one by one, (For many years ago I passed this road) We two could travel, Sir, through a strange There was a foot-way all along the fields
round; By the brook-side’tis gone-and that dark Yet all in the broad highway of the world. cleft!
Now there's a grave-your foot is half upon To me it does not seem to wear the face
it, Which then it had !
It looks just like the rest; and yet that man Priest.
Nay, Sir, for aught I know, Died broken-hearted. That chasm is much the same
'Tis a common case. Leonard.
But, surely, yonder- We'll take another: who is he that lies Priest. Ay, there, indeed, your memory is a Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three friend
graves ? That does not play you false. On that tall pike It touches on that piece of native rock (It is the loneliest place of all these hills), Left in the church-yard wall. There were two springs which bubbled side by Priest.
That's Walter Ewbank. side,
He had as white a head and fresh a cheek As if they had been made that they might be As ever were produced by youth and age Companions for each other: the huge crag Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore. Was rent with lightning--one hath disappeared; Through five long generations had the heart The other, left behind, is flowing still.
Of Walter's forefathers o'erflowed the bounds For accidents and changes such as these Of their inheritance, that single cottage
You see it yonder ! and those few green fields. As I remember, looking round these rocks They toiled and wrought, and still, from sire to And hills on which we all of us were born, son,
That God who made the great book of the world Each struggled, and each yielded as before Would bless such pietyA little-yet a little,-and old Walter,
It may be then, They left to him the family heart, and land Priest. Never did worthier lads break English With other burthens than the crop it bore.
bread; Year after year the old man still kept up The very brightest Sunday Autumn saw, A cheerful mind,-and buffeted with bond, With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts, Interest, and mortgages ; at last he sank, Could never keep those boys away from church, And went into his grave before his time. Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach. Poor Walter ! whether it was care that spurred Leonard and James! I warrant, every corner him
Among these rocks, and every hollow place God only knows, but to the very last
That venturous foot could reach, to one or both He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale :
Was known as well as to the flowers that grow His pace was never that of an old man:
there. I almost see him tripping down the path Like roe-bucks they went bounding o'er the With his two grandsons after him :-but you,
hills; Unless our Landlord be your host to-night, They played like two young ravens on the crags: Have far to travel,-and on these rough paths Then they could write, ay and speak too, as well Even in the longest day of midsummer
As many of their betters and for Leonard ! Leonard. But those two Orphans !
The very night before he went away, Priest. Orphans -Such they were- In my own house I put into his hand Yet not while Walter lived :-for, though their A bible, and I'd wager house and field parents
That, if he be alive, he has it yet. Lay buried side by side as now they lie, Leonard. It seems, these Brothers have not The old man was a father to the boys,
lived to be Two fathers in one father: and if tears, A comfort to each other Shed when he talked of them where they were
That they might not,
Live to such end is what both old and young And hauntings from the infirmity of love, In this our valley all of us have wished, Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart, And what, for my part, I have often prayed : This old Man, in the day of his old age,
But LeonardWas half a mother to them.- If you weep, Sir, Leonard. Then James still is left among you! To hear a stranger talking about strangers, Priest. "Tis of the elder brother I am speak Heaven bless you when you are among your ing: kindred !
They had an uncle ;-he was at that time Ay-you may turn that way-it is a grave A thriving man, and trafficked on the seas: Which will bear looking at.
And, but for that same uncle, to this hour Leonard.
These boys, I hope Leonard had never handled rope or shroud : They loved this good old Man?
For the boy loved the life which we lead here; Priest.
They did-and truly: And though of unripe years, a stripling only, But that was what we almost overlooked, His soul was knit to this his native soil. They were such darlings of each other. Yes, But, as I said, old Walter was too weak Though from the cradle they had lived with To strive with such a torrent; when he died, Walter,
The estate and house were sold; and all their The only kinsman near them, and though he
sheep, Inclined to both by reason of his age,
A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know, With a more fond, familiar tenderness;
Had clothed the Ewbanks for a thousand They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare, years: And it all went into each other's hearts.
Well-all was gone, and they were destitute, Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months, And Leonard, chiefly for his Brother's sake, Was two years taller: 'twas a joy to see, Resolved to try his fortune on the seas. To hear, to meet them!- From their house the Twelve years are past since we had tidings from school
him. Is distant three short miles, and in the time If there were one among us who had heard Of storm and thaw, when every water-course That Leonard Ewbank was come home again, And unbridged stream, such as you may have From the Great Gavel,* down by Leeza's banks, noticed
And down the Enna, far ás Egremont, Crossing our roads at every hundred steps, The day would be a joyous festival ; Was swoln into a noisy rivulet,
And those two bells of ours, which there you Would Leonard then, when elder boys remained At home, go staggering through the slippery Hanging in the open air—but, O good Sir! fords,
This is sad talk-they'll never sound for him-' Bearing his brother on his back. I have seen him,
* The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from On windy days, in one of those stray brooks, its resemblance to the gable end of a house, is Ay, more than once I have seen him, mid-leg one of the highest of the Cumberland moundeep,
tains, Their two books lying both on a dry stone, The Leeza is a river which flows into the Upon the hither side : and once I said, Lake of Ennerdale.
Living or dead. When last we heard of him, Upon its aëry summit crowned with heath, Ye was in slavery among the Moors
The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades, Upon the Barbary coast.—'Twas not a little Lay stretched at ease; but, passing by the place That would bring down his spirit; and no doubt, On their return, they found that he was gone. Before it ended in his death, the Youth
No ill was feared ; till one of them by chance Was sadly crossed.-Poor Leonard ! when we Entering, when evening was far spent, the house parted,
Which at that time was James's home, there He took me by the hand, and said to me,
learned If c'er he should grow rich, he would return, That nobody had seen him all that day : To live in peace upon his father's land,
The morning came, and still he was unheard And lay his bones among us.
If that day The neighbours were alarmed, and to the brook Should come, 'twould needs be a glad day for Some hastened; some ran to the lake: ere noon
They found him at the foot of that same rock He would himself, no doubt, be happy then Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day As any that should meet him
Happy! Sir- I buried him, poor Youth, and there he lies ! Leonard. You said his kindred all were in Leonard. And that then is his grave !-Be
fore his death And that he had one Brother
You say that he saw many happy years ? Priest.
That is but Priest. Ay, that he did A fellow-tale of sorrow. From his youth
Leonard. And all went well with him ?James, though not sickly, yet was delicate ; Priest. If he had one, the youth had twenty And Leonard being always by his side
homes. Had done so many offices about him,
Leonard. And you believe, then, that his That, though he was not of a timid nature,
mind was easy?Yet still the spirit of a mountain-boy
Priest. Yes, long before he died, he found In him was somewhat checked ; and, when his that time Brother
Is a true friend to sorrow; and unless Was gone to sea, and he was left alone,
His thoughts were turned on Leonard's luckThe little colour that he had was soon
less fortune, Stolen from his cheek; he drooped, and pined, He talked about him with a cheerful love. and pined,
Leonard. He could not come to an unhallowed Leonard. But these are all the graves of full
end ! grown men!
Priest. Nay, God forbid !-You recollect I Priest. Ay, Sir, that passed away: we took mentioned him to us;
A habit which disquietude and grief He was the child of all the dale-he lived Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured Three months with one, and six months with That, as the day was warm, he had lain down another;
On the soft heath,-and, waiting for his comAnd wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love: rades, And many, many happy days were his. He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep But, whether blithe or sad, 'tis my belief He to the margin of the precipice His absent Brother still was at his heart,
Had walked, and from the summit had fallen And, when he dwelt beneath our roof, we found headlong: (A practice till this time unknown to him) And so no doubt he perished. When the Youth That often, rising from his bed at night, Fell, in his hand he must have grasp'd, we He in his sleep would walk
about, and sleeping think, He sought his brother Leonard.-You are His shepherd's staff; for on that Pillar of rock moved!
It had been caught midway; and there for Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,
years I judged you most unkindly.
It hung ;-and mouldered there. Leonard.
But this Youth, How did he die at last?
The Priest here ended Priest.
One sweet May-morning, The Stranger would have thanked him, but he (It will be twelve years since when Spring re- felt turns)
A gushing from his heart, that took away He had gone forth among the new-dropped The power of speech. 'Both left the spot in lambs,
silence ; With two or three companions, whom their And Leonard, when they reached the church
yard gate, Of occupation led from height to height As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round, Under a cloudless sun-till he, at length, And, looking at the grave, he said, “My Through weariness, or, haply, to indulge
Brother !" The humour of the moment, lagged behind. The Vicar did not hear the words: and now, You see yon precipice :-it wears the shape He pointed towards his dwelling-place, enOf a vast building made of many crags;
treating And in the midst is one particular rock
That Leonard would partake his homely fare : That rises like a column from the vale,
The other thanked him with an earnest voice ; Whence by our shepherds it is called THB But added, that, the evening being calm, PILLAR
He would pursue his journey. So they parted.
It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove She flung her blameless child, That overhung the road: he there stopped Sabrina,-vowing that the stream should bear short,
That name through every age, her hatred to And, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed declare. All that the Priest had said : his early years
So speaks the Chronicle, and tells of Lear Were with him :-his long absence, cherished
By his ungrateful daughters turned adrift. hopes,
Ye lightnings, hear his voice !--they cannot And thoughts which had been his an hour before,
Who comes her Sire to seek ;
And he, recovering sense, upon her breast He travelled back to Egremont: and thence, Leans smilingly, and sinks into a perfect rest. That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest, Reminding him of what had passed between There too we read of Spenser's fairy themes,
And those that Milton loved in youthful years ; And adding, with a hope to be forgiven,
The sage enchanter Merlin's subtle schemes; That it was from the weakness of his heart
The feats of Arthur and his knightly peers; He had not dared to tell him who he was.
Of Arthur, -who, to upper light restored,
With that terrific sword
Which yet he brandishes for future war, 1800.
Shall lift his country's fame above the polar
Of old tradition, one particular flower
Doth seemingly in vain its fragrance yield, (SEE THE CHRONICLE OF GEOFFREY OF MON
And bloom unnoticed even to this late hour ? MOUTH AND MILTON'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.)
Now, gentle Muses, your assistance grant,
While I this flower transplant WHERE be the temples which, in Britain's Isle, Into a garden stored with Poesy ; For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised? Where flowers and herbs unite, and haply some Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile
weeds be, Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed !
That, wanting not wild grace, are from all misEre Julius landed on her white-cliffed shore,
chief free! They sank, delivered o'er To fatal dissolution; and, I ween,
A KING more worthy of respect and love No vestige then was left that such had ever been. Than wise Gorbonian ruled not in his day; Nathless, a British record (long concealed
And grateful Britain prospered far above In old Armorica, whose secret springs
All neighbouring countries through his righteous
sway ; No Gothic conqueror ever drank) revealed The marvellous current of forgotten things;
He poured rewards and honours on the good ; How Brutus came, by oracles impelled,
The oppressor he withstood ;
And while he served the Gods with reverence And Albion's giants quelled,
due A brood whôm no civility could melt, “Who never tasted grace, and goodness ne'er Fields smiled, and temples rose, and towns and
had felt. By brave Corineus aided, he subdued,
He died, whom Artegal succeeds—his son; And rooted out the intolerable kind;
But how unworthy of that sire was he ! And this too-long-polluted land imbued
A hopeful reign, auspiciously begun, With goodly arts and usages refined ;
Was darkened soon by foul iniquity. Whence golden harvests, cities, warlike towers,
From crime to crime he mounted, till at length
The nobles leagued their strength
With a vexed people, and the tyrant chased ; Friendships that will not break, and love that And, on the vacant throne, his worthier
brother placed. cannot roam. O, happy Britain ! region all too fair
From realm to realm the humbled Exile went, For self-delighting fancy to endure
Suppliant for aid his kingdom to regain; That silence only should inhabit there,
In many a court, and many a warrior's tent, Wild beasts, or uncouth savages impure! He urged his persevering suit in vain. But, intermingled with the generous seed,
Him, in whose wretched heart ambition failed, Grew many a poisonous weed;
Dire poverty assailed ; Thus fares it still with all that takes its birth And, tired with slights his pride no more could From human care, or grows upon the breast of
He towards his native country cast a longing
look. Hence, and how soon ! that war of vengeance waged
Fair blew the wished-for wind-the voyage By Guendolen against her faithless lord ;
sped ; Till she, in jealous fury unassuaged
He landed; and, by many dangers scared, Had slain his paramour with ruthless sword: “Poorly provided, poorly followed," Then, into Severn hideously defiled,
To Calaterium's forest he repaired.
How changed from him who, born to highest Were this same spear, which in my hand I place,
grasp, Had swayed the royal mace,
The British sceptre, here would I to thee Flattered and feared, despised yet deified, The symbol yield; and would undo this clasp, In Troynovant, his seat by silver Thames's side! If it confined the robe of sovereignty.
Odious to me the pomp of regal court, From that wild region where the crownless King
And joyless sylvan sport, Lay in concealment with his scanty train,
While thou art roying, wretched and forlorn, Supporting life by water from the spring, And such change food as outlaws can obtain,
Thy couch the dewy earth, thy roof the forest
thorn!” Unto the few whom he esteems his friends A messenger he sends;
Then Artegal thus spake : "I only sought And from their secret loyalty requires
Within this realm a place of safe retreat ;
Beware of kindling hopes, for me unmeet !
Art pitiably blindi
Full soon this generous purpose thou may'st rue,
When that which has been done no wishes can And, scouring toward him o'er the grassy plain, Behold the hunter train !
undo, He bids his little company advance
Who, when a crown is fixed upon his head, With seeming unconcern and steady counte- Would balance claim with claim, and right with
right? The royal Elidure, who leads the chase,
But thou-I know not how inspired, how ledHath checked his foaming courser :-can it be! Wouldst change the course of things in all men's Methinks that I should recognise that face,
And this for one who cannot imitate
Thy virtue, who may hate :
For, if, by such strange sacrifice restored, “ It is the king, my brother !” and, by sound
He reign, thou still must be his king and soveOf his own voice confirmed, he leaps upon the
reign lord ; ground.
Lifted in magnanimity above Long, strict, and tender was the embrace he Aught that my feeble nature could perform, gave,
Or even conceive ; surpassing me in love Feebly returned by daunted Artegal ;.
Far as in power the eagle doth the worm: Whose natural affection doubts enslave,
I, Brother! only should be king in name, And apprehensions dark and criminal.
And govern to my shame;
A shadow in a hated land, while all
Of glad or willing service to thy share would
Awaits on virtuous life, and ever most “By heavenly Powers conducted, we have met; | Attends on goodness with dominion decked, - Brother! to my knowledge lost so long,
Which st the universal empire's þoast; But neither lost to love, nor to regret,
This can thy own experience testify; Nor to my wishes lost ;-forgive the wrong,
Nor shall thy foes deny (Such it may seem) if I thy crown have borne, That, in the gracious opening of thy reign, Thy royal mantle worn :
Our father's spirit seemed in thee to breathe I was their natural guardian ; and 'tis just
again. That now I should restore what hath been held in trust.”
And what if o'er that bright unbosoming
Clouds of disgrace and envious fortune past ! A while the astonished Artegal stood mute, Have we not seen the glories of the spring Then thus exclaimed: “To me, of titles shorn, By veil of noontide darkness overcast ? And stripped of power! me, feeble, destitute, The frith that glittered like a warrior's shield, To me a kingdom! spare the bitter scorn :
The sky, the gay green field, If justice ruled the breast of foreign kings, Are vanished; gladness ceases in the groves, Then, on the wide-spread wings
And trepidation strikes the blackened mounOf war, had I returned to claim my right; This will I here avow, not dreading thy despite." But is that gloom dissolved, how passing clear “I do not blame thee," Elidure replied ; Seems the wide world, far brighter than before !
But, if my looks did with my words agree, Even so thy latent worth will re-appear, I should at once be trusted, not defied, Gladdening the people's heart from shore to And thou from all disquietude be free.
shore; May the unsullied Goddess of the chase, For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone ; Who to this blessed place
Re-seated on thy throne, At this blest moment led me, if I speak Proof shalt thou furnish that misfortune, pain, With insincere intent, on me her vengeance And sorrow, have confirmed thy native right to wreak!