Whose skill had thronged the floor with a proud

show

425

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

430

Impatient to pass on, when I exclaimed, "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!"

435

441

Exclaimed the Wanderer, "cannot but be his,
And he is gone!" 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!”
Exclaimed my Friend: "here then has been to
him

445

Retreat within retreat, a sheltering-place
Within how deep a shelter! He had fits,
Even to the last, of genuine tenderness,
And loved the haunts of children; here, no
doubt,

Pleasing and pleased, he shared their simple

sports,

450

Or sate companionless; and here the book,
Left and forgotten in his careless way,
Must by the cottage-children have been found:

Heaven bless them, and their inconsiderate work!

To what odd purpose have the darlings turned This sad memorial of their hapless friend!" 456

'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: 460 'Tis strange, I grant; and stranger still had

been

To see the Man who owned it, dwelling here,
With one poor shepherd, far from all the world!-
Now, if our errand hath been thrown away,
As from these intimations I forebode,

465

Grieved shall I be-less for And least of all for him who is no more." my sake than yours,

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

An eye of scorn :—

66 doomed

"The lover," said he,

470

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 476 Henceforth in whatsoever nook he may, A kerchief sprinkled with his master's blood, And he too hath his comforter. How Beyond all poverty how destitute,

poor,

480

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 485
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." 491

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

496

500

Behold the Man whom he had fancied dead!
I knew from his deportment, mien, and dress,
That it could be no other; a pale face,
A meagre person, tall, and in a garb
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; gift by which he strove, 505
With intermixture of endearing words,

To soothe a Child, who walked beside him, weeping

As if disconsolate.

66

They to the grave

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

66

To the dark pit; but he will feel no pain; 510 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;
He was all fire: no shadow on his brow

516

Remained, nor sign of sickness on his face.
Hands joined he with his Visitant,-a grasp,
An eager grasp; and many moments'

space

When the first glow of pleasure was no more, 520
And, of the sad appearance which at once
Had vanished, much was come and coming back-
An amicable smile retained the life
Which it had unexpectedly received,

524

Upon his hollow cheek. "How kind," he said, "Nor could your coming have been better timed; For this, you see, is in our narrow world A day of sorrow. I have here a charge". And, speaking thus, he patted tenderly The sun-burnt forehead of the weeping childA little mourner, whom it is To comfort;-but how came ye?-if my task (Which doth at once befriend us and betray) Conducted hither your most welcome feet,

531

yon track

Ye could not miss the funeral train-they yet 535 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 also 541
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 545
Unnoticed, thus continuing.
"From yon crag,

Down whose steep sides we dropped into the

vale,

We heard the hymn they sang a solemn sound

Heard any where; but in a place like this. 'Tis more than human! Many precious rites 550 And customs of our rural ancestry

Are gone, or stealing from us; this, I hope, Will last for ever. Oft on my way have I Stood still, though but a casual passenger, So much I felt the awfulness of life,

555

In that one moment when the corse is lifted
In silence, with a hush of decency;
Then from the threshold moves with song of
peace,

And confidential yearnings, tow'rds its home,
Its final home on earth. What traveller-

who

560

(How far soe'er a stranger) does not own
The bond of brotherhood, when he sees them go,
A mute procession on the houseless road;
Or passing by some single tenement
Or clustered dwellings, where again they raise
The monitory voice? But most of all
It touches, it confirms, and elevates,
Then, when the body, soon to be consigned
Ashes to ashes, dust bequeathed to dust,
Is raised from the church-aisle, and forward

borne

566

570

Upon the shoulders of the next in love,
The nearest in affection or in blood;
Yea, by the very mourners who had knelt
Beside the coffin, resting on its lid
In silent grief their unuplifted heads,
And heard meanwhile the Psalmist's mournful

plaint,

575

And that most awful scripture which declares We shall not sleep, but we shall all be changed! -Have I not seen-ye likewise may have seenSon, husband, brothers-brothers side by side, And son and father also side by side,

581