There," said the Vicar, pointing as he spake, "A woman rests in peace; surpassed by few In power of mind, and eloquent discourse. Tall was her stature; her complexion dark And saturnine; her head not raised to hold Converse with heaven, nor yet deprest towards earth, But in projection carried, as she walked For ever musing. Sunken were her eyes; Wrinkled and furrowed with habitual thought Was her broad forehead; like the brow of one Whose visual nerve shrinks from a painful glare Of overpowering light.—While yet a child, She, 'mid the humble flowerets of the vale, Towered like the imperial thistle, not unfurnished With its appropriate grace, yet rather seeking To be admired, than coveted and loved. Even at that age she ruled, a sovereign queen, Over her comrades; else their simple sports, Wanting all relish for her strenuous mind, Had crossed her only to be shunned with scorn. -Oh! pang of sorrowful regret for those

Whom, in their youth, sweet study has enthralled,
That they have lived for harsher servitude,
Whether in soul, in body, or estate!

Such doom was hers; yet nothing could subdue
Her keen desire of knowledge, nor efface
Those brighter images by books imprest
Upon her memory, faithfully as stars
That occupy their places, and, though oft
Hidden by clouds, and oft bedimmed by haze,
Are not to be extinguished, nor impaired.

Two passions, both degenerate, for they both
Began in honour, gradually obtained
Rule over her, and vexed her daily life;
An unremitting, avaricious thrift ;
And a strange thraldom of maternal love,
That held her spirit, in its own despite,

Bound-by vexation, and regret, and scorn,
Constrained forgiveness, and relenting vows,
And tears, in pride suppressed, in shame concealed-
To a poor dissolute Son, her only child.

-Her wedded days had opened with mishap,
Whence dire dependence. What could she perform
To shake the burthen off? Ah! there was felt,
Indignantly, the weakness of her sex.

She mused, resolved, adhered to her resolve;
The hand grew slack in alms-giving, the heart
Closed by degrees to charity; heaven's blessing
Not seeking from that source, she placed her trust
In ceaseless pains-and strictest parsimony
Which sternly hoarded all that could be spared,
From each day's need, out of each day's least gain.

Thus all was re-established, and a pile
Constructed, that sufficed for every end,
Save the contentment of the builder's mind;
A mind by nature indisposed to aught
So placid, so inactive, as content;
A mind intolerant of lasting peace,

And cherishing the pang her heart deplored.
Dread life of conflict! which I oft compared
To the agitation of a brook that runs
Down a rocky mountain, buried now and lost
In silent pools, now in strong eddies chained;
But never to be charmed to gentleness:
Its best attainment fits of such repose
As timid eyes might shrink from fathoming.

A sudden illness seized her in the strength
Of life's autumnal season.-Shall I tell
How on her bed of death the Matron lay,
To Providence submissive, so she thought;
But fretted, vexed, and wrought upon, almost
To anger, by the malady that griped
Her prostrate frame with unrelaxing power,

As the fierce eagle fastens on the lamb ?

She prayed, she moaned;-her husband's sister watched

Her dreary pillow, waited on her needs ;
And yet the very sound of that kind foot

Was anguish to her ears! And must she rule,'
This was the death-doomed Woman heard to say
In bitterness, and must she rule and reign,
'Sole Mistress of this house, when I am gone?
'Tend what I tended, calling it her own!'
Enough;-I fear, too much.-One vernal evening,
While she was yet in prime of health and strength,
I well remember, while I passed her door
Alone, with loitering step, and upward eye
Turned towards the planet Jupiter that hung
Above the centre of the Vale, a voice

Roused me, her voice; it said, 'That glorious star 'In its untroubled element will shine

'As now it shines, when we are laid in earth
'And safe from all our sorrows.' With a sigh
She spake, yet, I believe, not unsustained
By faith in glory that shall far transcend
Aught by these perishable heavens disclosed
To sight or mind. Nor less than care divine
Is divine mercy. She, who had rebelled,
Was into meekness softened and subdued;
Did, after trials not in vain prolonged,
With resignation sink into the grave;
And her uncharitable acts, I trust,
And harsh unkindnesses are all forgiven,

Tho', in this Vale, remembered with deep awe.”

THE Vicar paused; and toward a seat advanced, A long stone-seat, fixed in the Church-yard wall; Part shaded by cool sycamore, and part

Offering a sunny resting-place to them

Who seek the House of worship, while the bells

Yet ring with all their voices, or before
The last hath ceased its solitary knoll.
Beneath the shade we all sate down; and there
His office, uninvited, he resumed.

"As on a sunny bank, a tender lamb
Lurks in safe shelter from the winds of March,
Screened by its parent, so that little mound
Lies guarded by its neighbour; the small heap
Speaks for itself; an Infant there doth rest;
The sheltering hillock is the Mother's grave.
If mild discourse, and manners that conferred
A natural dignity on humblest rank;
If gladsome spirits, and benignant looks,
That for a face not beautiful did more
Than beauty for the fairest face can do ;
And if religious tenderness of heart,
Grieving for sin, and penitential tears
Shed when the clouds had gathered and distained
The spotless ether of a maiden life;

If these may make a hallowed spot of earth
More holy in the sight of God or Man;
Then, o'er that mould, a sanctity shall brood
Till the stars sicken at the day of doom.

Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed; render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod ! There, by her innocent Baby's precious grave, And on the very turf that roofs her own, The Mother oft was seen to stand, or kneel In the broad day, a weeping Magdalene. Now she is not; the swelling turf reports Of the fresh shower, but of poor Ellen's tears Is silent; nor is any vestige left

Of the path worn by mournful tread of her

Who, at her heart's light bidding, once had moved In virgin fearlessness, with step that seemed Caught from the pressure of elastic turf

Upon the mountains gemmed with morning dew,
In the prime hour of sweetest scents and airs.
-Serious and thoughtful was her mind; and yet,
By reconcilement exquisite and rare,

The form, port, motions, of this Cottage-girl
Were such as might have quickened and inspired
A Titian's hand, addrest to picture forth
Oread or Dryad glancing through the shade
What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard
Startling the golden hills.

A wide-spread elm
Stands in our valley, named THE JOYFUL TREE;
From dateless usage which our peasants hold
Of giving welcome to the first of May

By dances round its trunk.—And if the sky
Permit, like honours, dance and song, are paid
To the Twelfth Night, beneath the frosty stars
Or the clear moon. The queen of these gay sports,
If not in beauty yet in sprightly air,

Was hapless Ellen.-No one touched the ground
So deftly, and the nicest maiden's locks

Less gracefully were braided;-but this praise,
Methinks, would better suit another place.

She loved, and fondly deemed herself beloved.
-The road is dim, the current unperceived,
The weakness painful and most pitiful,
By which a virtuous woman, in pure youth,
May be delivered to distress and shame.
Such fate was hers.-The last time Ellen danced,
Among her equals, round THE JOYFUL TREE,
She bore a secret burthen; and full soon
Was left to tremble for a breaking vow,—
Then, to bewail a sternly-broken vow,
Alone, within her widowed Mother's house.