I knew that thou couldst never have a wish
To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to

me

Only by links of love: when thou art gone,
What will be left to us!-But, I forget
My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone,
As I requested; and hereafter, Luke,
When thou art gone away, should evil men
Be thy companions, think of me, my Son,
And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts,
And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear
And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou
May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived,
Who, being innocent, did for that cause
Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee

well

When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see
A work which is not here: a covenant
"Twill be between us; but, whatever fate
Befal thee, I shall love thee to the last,
And bear thy memory with me to the grave."
The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped
down,

And, as his Father had requested, laid
The first stone of the Sheep-fold. At the sight
The old Man's grief broke from him; to his

heart

A good report did from their Kinsman come, Of Luke and his well-doing and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout

"The prettiest letters that were ever seen.'
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.
So, many months passed on and once again
The Shepherd went about his daily work
With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now
Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour
He to that valley took his way, and there
Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke
began

To slacken in his duty; and at length,
He in the dissolute city gave himself
To evil courses: ignominy and shame
Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.

There is a comfort in the strength of love;
"Twill make a thing endurable, which else
Would overset the brain, or break the heart:
I have conversed with more than one who well
Remember the old Man, and what he was
Years after he had heard this heavy news.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks
He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud,
And listened to the wind; and, as before,
Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep,
And for the land, his small inheritance.

T.

How beautiful when up a lofty height
Honour ascends among the humblest poor,
And feeling sinks as deep! See there the door
Of One, a Widow, left beneath a weight
Of blameless debt. On evil Fortune's spite
She wasted no complaint, but strove to make
A just repayment, both for conscience-sake
And that herself and hers should stand upright
In the world's eye. Her work when daylight
failed

Paused not, and through the depth of night she kept

Such earnest vigils, that belief prevalled
With some, the noble Creature never slept;
But, one by one, the hand of death assailed
Her children from her inmost heart bewept.

The Mother mourned, nor ceased her tears to flow,

Till a winter's noon-day placed her buried Son
Before her eyes, last child of many gone-
His raiment of angelic white, and lo!
His very feet bright as the dazzling snow
Which they are touching; yea far brighter, even
As that which comes, or seems to come, from
heaven,

Surpasses aught these elements can show.
Much she rejoiced, trusting that from that hour
Whate'er befel she could not grieve or pine;
But the Transfigured, in and out of season,
Appeared, and spiritual presence gained a power
Over material forms that mastered reason.
Oh, gracious Heaven, in pity make her thine!

III.

But why that prayer? as if to her could come No good but by the way that leads to bliss

F

On a friendly deck reposing

They at length for Venice steer;

There, when they had closed their voyage, One, who daily on the pier

For a sunny thought to cheer the Stranger's

way,

Her virtuous scruples to remove, her fears allay.

XXII.

And how blest the Reunited,

While beneath their castle-walls, Runs a deafening noise of welcome!Blest, though every tear that falls Doth in its silence of past sorrow tell, And makes a meeting seem most like a dear farewell.

XXIII.

Through a haze of human nature,
Glorified by heavenly light,
Looked the beautiful Deliverer

On that overpowering sight,

While across her virgin check pure blushes strayed,

For every tender sacrifice her heart had made.

XXIV.

On the ground the weeping Countess
Knelt, and kissed the Stranger's hand;
Act of soul-devoted homage,

Pledge of an eternal band:

Nor did aught of future days that kiss belie, Which, with a generous shout, the crowd did ratify.

XXV.

Constant to the fair Armenian,

Gentle pleasures round her moved,
Like a tutelary spirit

Reverenced, like a sister, loved.

Christian meekness smoothed for all the path

of life,

Lord,

only strife.

XXVI.

Mute memento of that union

In a Saxon church survives,
Where a cross-legged Knight lies sculptured
As between two wedded Wives--

Figures with armorial signs of race and birth, And the vain rank the pilgrims bore while yet on earth.

1830.

XXXV.

LOVING AND LIKING:

IRREGULAR VERSES,

ADDRESSED TO A CHILD.

(BY MY SISTER.)

THERE'S more in words than I can teach :
Yet listen, Child!-I would not preach;
But only give some plain directions
To guide your speech and your affections.
Say not you love a roasted fowl,
But you may love a screaming owl,
And, if you can, the unwieldy toad
That crawls from his secure abode
Within the mossy garden wall
When evening dews begin to fall.
Oh mark the beauty of his eye:
What wonders in that circle lie!
So clear, so bright, our fathers said
He wears a jewel in his head!
And when, upon some showery day,
Into a path or public way

A frog leaps out from bordering grass,

Startling the timid as they pass,
Do you observe him, and endeavour
To take the intruder into favour;
Learning from him to find a reason
For a light heart in a dull season.
And you may love him in the pool,
That is for him a happy school,

In which he swims as taught by nature,
Fit pattern for a human creature,
Glancing amid the water bright,
And sending upward sparkling light.

Nor blush if o'er your heart be stealing
A love for things that have no feeling:
The spring's first rose by you espied
May fill your breast with joyful pride;
And you may love the strawberry-flower,
And love the strawberry in its bower;
But when the fruit, so often praised
For beauty, to your lip is raised,
Say not you love the delicate treat,
But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat.

Long may you love your pensioner mouse, Though one of a tribe that torment the house: Nor dislike for her cruel sport the cat, Deadly foe both of mouse and rat; Remember she follows the law of her kind, And Instinct is neither wayward nor blind. Then think of her beautiful gliding form, Her tread that would scarcely crush a worm, And her soothing song by the winter fire, Soft as the dying throb of the lyre.

I would not circumscribe your love: It may soar with the eagle and brood with the dove,

May pierce the earth with the patient mole,
Or track the hedgehog to his hole.
Loving and liking are the solace of life,
Rock the cradle of joy, smooth the death-bed
of strife.

You love your father and your mother,
Your grown-up and your baby-brother;
You love your sister, and your friends,
And countless blessings which God sends:
And while these right affections play,
You live each moment of your day;
They lead you on to full content,
And likings fresh and innocent,
That store the mind, the memory feed,
And prompt to many a gentle deed:
But likings come, and pass away;
'Tis love that remains till our latest day:
Our heavenward guide is holy love,
And will be our bliss with saints above.
1832.

XXXVI.

FAREWELL LINES.

"HIGH bliss is only for a higher state," But, surely, if severe afflictions borne With patience merit the reward of peace, Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good, Sought by a wise though late exchange, and here

With bounteous hand beneath a cottage-roof
Το you accorded, never be withdrawn,

Nor for the world's best promises renounced.
Most soothing was it for a welcome Friend,
Fresh from the crowded city, to behold
That lonely union, privacy so deep,

Such calm employments, such entire content.
So when the rain is over, the storm laid,
A pair of herons oft-times have I seen,
Upon a rocky islet, side by side,
Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease;
And so, when night with grateful gloom had
fallen,

Two glow-worms in such nearness that they shared,

As seemed, their soft self-satisfying light,
Each with the other, on the dewy ground,
Where He that made them blesses their re-

pose.

When wandering among lakes and hills I note, Once more, those creatures thus by nature paired,

And guarded in their tranquil state of life,
Even as your happy presence to my mind
Their union brought, will they repay the debt,
And send a thankful spirit back to you,
With hope that we, dear Friends! shall meet
again.

XXXVII.

THE REDBREAST.

(suggested In A WESTMORELAND COTTAGE.)
DRIVEN in by Autumn's sharpening air
From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,
Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home:
Not like a beggar is he come,
But enters as a looked-for guest,
Confiding in his ruddy breast,
As if it were a natural shield
Charged with a blazon on the field,
Due to that good and pious deed
Of which we in the Ballad read.
But pensive fancies putting by,
And wild-wood sorrows, speedily
He plays the expert ventriloquist ;

And, caught by glimpses now-now missed,
Puzzles the listener with a doubt

If the soft voice he throws about

Comes from within doors or without!
Was ever such a sweet confusion,
Sustained by delicate illusion?
He's at your elbow-to your feeling
The notes are from the floor or ceiling;
And there's a riddle to be guessed,
Till you have marked his heaving chest,
And busy throat whose sink and swell
Betray the Elf that loves to dwell
In Robin's bosom, as a chosen cell.

Heart-pleased we smile upon the Bird
If seen, and with like pleasure stirred
Commend him, when he's only heard
But small and fugitive our gain
Compared with hers who long hath lain,
With languid limbs and patient head
Reposing on a lone sick-bed;
Where now, she daily hears a strain
That cheats her of too busy cares,
Eases her pain, and helps her prayers.
And who but this dear Bird beguiled
The fever of that pale-faced Child;
Now cooling, with his passing wing,
Her forehead, like a breeze of Spring:
Recalling now, with descant soft
Shed round her pillow from aloft,

Sweet thoughts of angels hovering nigh,
And the invisible sympathy

Of" Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John,
Blessing the bed she lies upon?'
And sometimes, just as listening ends
In slumber, with the cadence blends
A dream of that low-warbled hymn
Which old folk, fondly pleased to trim
Lamps of faith, now burning dim,
Say that the Cherubs carved in stone,
When clouds gave way at dead of night
And the ancient church was filled with light,
Used to sing in heavenly tone,
Above and round the sacred places
They guard, with winged baby-faces.

Thrice happy Creature! in all lands
Nurtured by hospitable hands:
Free entrance to this cot has he,
Entrance and exit both yet free;
And, when the keen unruffled weather
That thus brings man and bird together,
Shall with its pleasantness be past,

And casement closed and door made fast,
To keep at bay the howling blast,
He needs not fear the season's rage,
For the whole house is Robin's cage.
Whether the bird flit here or there,
O'er table lilt, or perch on chair,
Though some may frown and make a stir
To scare him as a trespasser,
And he belike will flinch or start,
Good friends he has to take his part;
One chiefly, who with voice and look
Pleads for him from the chimney-nook,
Where sits the Dame, and wears away
Her long and vacant holiday;
With images about her heart,
Reflected from the years gone by
On human nature's second infancy.
1834.