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They both are happy at this hour,
For one fair house by Emont's side,
"Oh! it was a time forlorn
Swords that are with slaughter wild
Yonder is a House but where?
Save a Mother and her Child!
"Now Who is he that bounds with joy On Carrock's side, a Shepherd Boy? No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass Light as the wind along the grass. Can this be He who hither came In secret, like a smothered flame?
O'er whom such thankful tears were shed For shelter, and a poor Man's bread!
God loves the Child; and God hath willed
"Alas! when evil men are strong No life is good, no pleasure long.
The Boy must part from Mosedale's Groves,
Be turned to heaviness and fear.
Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise!
"A recreant Harp, that sings of fear And heaviness in Clifford's ear! I said, when evil Men are strong, No life is good, no pleasure long, A weak and cowardly untruth ! Our Clifford was a happy Youth, And thankful through a weary time, That brought him up to manhood's prime. Again he wanders forth at will,
And tends a Flock from hill to hill:
His garb is humble; ne'er was seen
That learned of him submissive ways;
In their immortality ;
They moved about in open sight,
To and fro, for his delight.
He knew the Rocks which Angels haunt
On the Mountains visitant;
He hath kenned them taking wing:
He hath entered; and been told
Fitter hope, and nobler doom;
88 SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE.
'Quell the Scot,' exclaims the Lance
Tell thy name, thou trembling Field;
When our Shepherd, in his power,
Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,
To his Ancestors restored
Like a re-appearing Star,
Like a glory from afar,
First shall head the Flock of War!"
Alas! the fervent Harper did not know
Love had he found in huts where poor Men lie; His daily Teachers had been Woods and Rills, The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
In him the savage virtue of the Race,
Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts were dead:
Glad were the Vales, and every cottage hearth; The Shepherd Lord was honoured more and more; And, ages after he was laid in earth,
"The Good Lord Clifford" was the name he bore.
YES, it was the mountain Echo,
Answering to the shouting Cuckoo,
Hears not also mortal Life?
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! Slaves of Folly, Love, or Strife, Voices of two different Natures?
Have not We too?
yes, we have
Answers, and we know not whence;
Echoes from beyond the grave,
Recognised intelligence !