verses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough if, being true and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a manner not unworthy of a Poet's calling.] IF Nature, for a favourite child, Read o'er these lines; and then review Its history of two hundred years. -When through this little wreck of fame, Has travelled down to Matthew's name, And, if a sleeping tear should wake, Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, And murmur of the village school. ; The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup -Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! XI. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. WE walked along, while bright and red And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, A village schoolmaster was he, As blithe a man as you could see On a spring holiday. And on that morning, through the grass, And by the steaming rills, We travelled merrily, to pass A day among the hills. "Our work," said I, was well begun, Then, from thy breast what thought, So sad a sigh has brought ?" 1799. A second time did Matthew stop; Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply: "Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this which I have left And just above yon slope of corn Such colours, and no other, Were in the sky, that April morn, Of this the very brother. With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, to the church-yard come, stopped short Beside my daughter's grave. Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale; And then she sang ;-she would have been A very nightingale. Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more, For so it seemed, than till that day And, turning from her grave, I met, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet A basket on her head she bare; Her brow was smooth and white: No fountain from its rocky cave There came from me a sigh of pain I looked at her, and looked again: Matthew is in his grave, yet now, XII. THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. We talked with open heart, and tongue A pair of friends, though I was young, We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet. 1799. "Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch Or of the church-clock and the chimes In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree; And thus the dear old Man replied, "No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay : And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind. ; |