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.
And to that hollow dell from time to time
Did he repair, to build the Fold of which
His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet
The pity which was then in every heart
For the old Man-and 'tis believed by all
That many and many a day he thither went,
And never lifted up a single stone.

There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog,

Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.

The length of full seven years, from time to time, He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought, And left the work unfinished when he died.

Three years, or little more, did Isabel

Survive her Husband: at her death the estate
Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand.
The Cottage which was named the EVENING STAR

Is gone-the ploughshare has been through the ground
On which it stood; great changes have been wrought
In all the neighbourhood:-yet the oak is left

That
grew
beside their door; and the remains
Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen

Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll.

1800.

XXXIII.

THE WIDOW ON WINDERMERE SIDE.

[THE facts recorded in this Poem were given me, and the character of the person described, by my friend the Rev. R. P. Graves, who has long officiated as curate at Bowness, to the great benefit of the parish and neighbourhood. The individual was well known to him. She died before these verses were composed. It is scarcely worth while to notice that the stanzas are written in the sonnet form, which was adopted when I thought the matter might be included in twenty-eight lines.]

I.

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 prevailed
With some, the noble Creature never slept;
But, one by one, the hand of death assailed

Her children from her inmost heart bewept.

II.

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
Through Death,—so judging we should judge amiss.
Since reason failed want is her threatened doom,
Yet frequent transports mitigate the gloom :
Nor of those maniacs is she one that kiss

The air or laugh upon a precipice;

No, passing through strange sufferings toward the tomb She smiles as if a martyr's crown were won:

Oft, when light breaks through clouds or waving trees, With outspread arms and fallen upon her knees

The Mother hails in her descending Son

An Angel, and in earthly ecstacies

Her own angelic glory seems begun.

XXXIV.

THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE.

[WRITTEN at Rydal Mount.]

The subject of the following poem is from the Orlandus of the author's friend, Kenelm Henry Digby: and the liberty is taken of inscribing it to him as an acknowledgment, however unworthy, of pleasure and instruction derived from his numerous and valuable writings, illustrative of the piety and chivalry of the olden time.

I.

You have heard a Spanish Lady
How she wooed an English man ;’*
Hear now of a fair Armenian,

Daughter of the proud Soldàn;

How she loved a Christian slave, and told her pain By word, look, deed, with hope that he might love again.

II.

"Pluck that rose, it moves my liking,"

Said she, lifting up her veil;

"Pluck it for me, gentle gardener,

Ere it wither and grow pale."

"Princess fair, I till the ground, but may not take From twig or bed an humbler flower, even for your sake!"

*See, in Percy's Reliques, that fine old ballad, "The Spanish Lady's Love;" from which Poem the form of stanza, as suitable to dialogue, is adopted.

III.

"Grieved am I, submissive Christian !
To behold thy captive state;
Women, in your land, may pity

(May they not?) the unfortunate."

"Yes, kind Lady! otherwise man could not bear Life, which to every one that breathes is full of care."

. IV.

"Worse than idle is compassion

If it end in tears and sighs;
Thee from bondage would I rescue
And from vile indignities;

Nurtured, as thy mien bespeaks, in high degree,
Look up-and help a hand that longs to set thee free."

V.

"Lady! dread the wish, nor venture
In such peril to engage;

Think how it would stir against you
Your most loving father's rage:

Sad deliverance would it be, and yoked with shame,
Should troubles overflow on her from whom it came."

VI.

"Generous Frank! the just in effort
Are of inward peace secure:
Hardships for the brave encountered,
Even the feeblest may endure:

If almighty grace through me thy chains unbind
My father for slave's work may seek a slave in mind.”