Of baby-houses, curiously arranged;

Nor wanting ornament of walks between,
With mimic trees inserted in the turf,

And gardens interposed. Pleased with the sight,
I could not choose but beckon to my Guide,
Who, entering, round him threw a careless glance,
Impatient to pass on, when I exclaimed,1

"Lo! what is here ?" and, stooping down, drew forth
A book, that, in the midst of stones and moss
And wreck of party-coloured earthen-ware,*
Aptly disposed, had lent its help to raise

One of those petty structures. "His it must be !"
Exclaimed the Wanderer, " cannot but be his,2
And he is gone!"3 The book, which in my hand
Had opened of itself (for it was swoln
With searching damp, and seemingly had lain
To the injurious elements exposed

From week to week,) I found to be a work

In the French tongue, a Novel of Voltaire,
His famous Optimist. 'Unhappy Man!"

440

Exclaimed my Friend: "here then has been to him
Retreat within retreat, a sheltering place

Within how deep a shelter!

1 1827.

He had fits,

Who, having entered, carelessly looked round,

And now would have passed on; when I exclaimed, 1814.

It may not be too trivial to note that, to this day, in the Cumberland and Westmoreland vales, one of the favourite games of children on the fell-sides near their cottages, is playing at mimic gardens and parterres, made out of fragments of broken pottery.-ED.

Even to the last, of genuine tenderness,

And loved the haunts of children: here, no doubt,
Pleasing and pleased, he shared their simple sports,
Or sate companionless; and here the book,
Left and forgotten in his careless way,

Must by the cottage-children have been found:1
Heaven bless them, and their inconsiderate work!
To what odd purpose have the darlings turned
This sad memorial of their hapless friend!"

"Me," said I," most doth it surprise to find
Such book in such a place!"-"A book it is,"
He answered, " to the Person suited well,
Though little suited to surrounding things:
'Tis strange, I grant; and stranger still had been
To see the Man who owned it, dwelling here,2
With one poor shepherd, far from all the world!-
Now, if our errand hath been thrown away,
As from these intimations I forebode,
Grieved shall I be less for my sake than yours,
And least of all for him who is no more."

By this, the book was in the old Man's hand; And he continued, glancing on the leaves

An eye of scorn:-" The lover," said he, "doomed

1

1827.

; here no doubt

He sometimes played with them; and here hath sate
Far oftener by himself. This Book, I guess,

Hath been forgotten in his careless way;

Left here when he was occupied in mind;
And by the Cottage Children has been found.

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things;

Nor, with the knowledge which my mind possessed,
Could I behold it undisturbed: 'tis strange,
I grant, and stranger still had been to see
The Man, who was its owner, dwelling here,

1814.

To love when hope hath failed him-whom no depth

Of privacy is deep enough to hide,

(Hath yet his bracelet or his lock of hair,

And that is joy to him.

When change of times

Hath summoned kings to scaffolds, do but give
The faithful servant, who must hide his head
Henceforth in whatsoever nook he may,

A kerchief sprinkled with his master's blood,
And he too hath his comforter. How poor,
Beyond all poverty how destitute,

Must that Man have been left, who, hither driven,
Flying or seeking, could yet bring with him
No dearer relique, and no better stay,
Than this dull product of a scoffer's pen,*
Impure conceits discharging from a heart
Hardened by impious pride-I did not fear
To tax you with this journey;"-mildly said
My venerable Friend, as forth we stepped
Into the presence of the cheerful light—
"For I have knowledge that you do not shrink
From moving spectacles ;-but let us on."

So speaking, on he went, and at the word
I followed, till he made a sudden stand:
For full in view, approaching through a gate1
That opened from the enclosure of green fields
Into the rough uncultivated ground,†

Behold the Man whom he had fancied dead!

I knew from his deportment, mien, and dress,2

* See Charles Lamb's remark in Note H, Appendix to this volume.—ED. + The flat ground on the more level part of the valley near Blea Tarn cottage.-ED.

That it could be no other; a pale face,
A meagre person, tall, and in a garb1
Not rustic-dull and faded like himself!
He saw us not, though distant but few steps;
For he was busy, dealing, from a store
Upon a broad leaf carried, choicest strings
Of red ripe currants;2 gift by which he strove,
With intermixture of endearing words,

To soothe a Child, who walked beside him, weeping
As if disconsolate." They to the grave

Are bearing him, my Little-one,” he said,

"To the dark pit; but he will feel no pain;

His body is at rest, his soul in heaven."

More might have followed-but my honoured Friend Broke in upon the Speaker with a frank

And cordial greeting.-Vivid was the light

That flashed and sparkled from the other's eyes ;3 *
He was all fire: no shadow on his brow

Remained, nor sign of sickness on his face.

Hands joined he with his Visitant,

A tall and meagre person, in a garb

a grasp,

Glad was my Comrade now, though he at first,
I doubt not, had been more surprized than glad.
But now, recovered from the shock and calm,
He soberly advanced; and to the Man
Gave cheerful greeting.-Vivid was the light
Which flashed at this from out the Other's eyes;

He was all fire: the sickness from his face
Passed like a fancy that is swept away ;

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Compare Resolution and Independence, Stanza 13 (Vol. II. p. 279).

-ED.

An eager grasp; and many moments' space-
When the first glow of pleasure was no more,
And, of the sad appearance which at once

Had vanished, much was come and coming back—1
An amicable smile retained the life

Which it had unexpectedly received,

Upon his hollow cheek.

"How kind," he said,

"Nor could your coming have been better timed;
For this, you see, is in our narrow world2
A day of sorrow. I have here a charge "-
And, speaking thus, he patted tenderly

The sun-burnt forehead of the weeping child-
"A little mourner, whom it is my task
To comfort;-but how came ye ?-if yon track
(Which doth at once befriend us and betray)
Conducted hither your most welcome feet,
Ye could not miss the funeral train-they yet
Have scarcely disappeared." "This blooming Child,"
Said the old Man, "is of an age to weep

At any grave or solemn spectacle,

Inly distressed or overpowered with awe,

He knows not wherefore;—but the boy to-day,
Perhaps is shedding orphan's tears; you also3

Must have sustained a loss."-" The hand of Death,"

He answered, "has been here; but could not well

Have fallen more lightly, if it had not fallen

Upon myself."-The other left these words
Unnoticed, thus continuing-

He knows not why ;-but he, perchance, this day,

Is shedding Orphan's tears; and you yourself 1814.