A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering grey;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.

And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the streaming rills,

We travell'd merrily, to pass

A day among the hills.

"Our work," said I, "was well begun: Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun,

So sad a sigh has brought?"

A second time did Matthew stop,
And fixing still his eye

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
Full thirty years behind.

"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, coming to the church, stopp'd 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 seem'd, than till that day
I e'er had loved before.

"And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the churchyard yew,

A blooming girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning dew.

"A basket on her head she bare;
Her brow was smooth and white:
To see a child so very fair,

It was a pure delight!

"No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripp'd with foot so free;
She seem'd as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea.

"There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;

I look'd at her, and look'd again,
And did not wish her mine."

Matthew is in his grave; yet now;
Methinks, I see him stand,

As at that moment, with his bough
Of wilding in his hand.

THE FOUNTAIN.

A CONVERSATION.

WE talk'd with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true,

A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.

We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat;

And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.

"Now, Matthew! let us try to match

This water's pleasant tune

With some old border song, or catch,

That suits a summer's noon.

"Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade,

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes

Which you last April made !"

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed

The spring beneath the tree;

And thus the dear old man replied,
The grey-hair'd man of glee:

"Down to the vale this water steers; 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
Beside this fountain's brink.

"My eyes are dim with childish tears,

My heart is idly stirr'd,

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.

"The blackbird in the summer trees,
The lark upon the hill,

Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.

"With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife: they see

A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free;

"But we are press'd by heavy laws,
And often, glad no more,

We wear a face of joy because
We have been glad of yore.

"If there is one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth,

The household hearts that were his ow
It is the man of mirth.

"My days, my friend, are almost gone,
My life has been approved,

And many love me; but by none
Am I enough beloved."

"Now both himself and me he wrongs,
The man who thus complains!
I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains;

"And, Matthew, for thy children dead
I'll be a son to thee !"

At this he grasp'd my hand, and said,
"Alas! that cannot be."

We rose up from the fountain-side,
And down the smooth descent

Of the green sheep-track did we glide,
And through the wood we went;

And, ere we came to Leonard's Rock.
He sang those witty rhymes

About the crazy old church-clock,
And the bewilder'd chimes.

LINES

WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENIMA.

How richly glows the water's breast
Before us, tinged with evening hues,
While, facing thus the crimson west,
The boat her silent course pursues !
And see how dark the backward stream:
A little moment past so smiling!
And still, perhaps, with faithless gleam,
Some other loiterers beguiling.

Such views the youthful bard allure;
But, heedless of the following gloom,
He deems their colours shall endure
Till peace go with him to the tomb.
And let him nurse his fond deceit.
And what if he must die in sorrow!
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet,
Though grief and pain may come to-morrow!

REMEMBRANCE OF COLLINS.

WRITTEN UPON THE THAMES, NEAR RICHMOND.
GLIDE gently, thus for ever glide,

O Thames! that other bards may see
As lovely visions by thy side
As now, fair river! come to me.
O glide, fair stream, for ever so!
Thy quiet soul on all bestowing,
Till all our minds for ever flow,
As thy deep waters now are flowing.
Vain thought! Yet be as now thou art,
That in thy waters may be seen

The image of a poet's heart,

How bright, how solemn, how serene!

Such as did once the poet bless,

Who, murm'ring here a later* ditty,

Could find no refuge from distress
But in the milder grief of pity.

Now let us, as we float along,
For him suspend the dashing oar,
And pray that never child of song
May know that poet's sorrows more.
How calm-how still! the only sound,
The dripping of the oar suspended!
The evening darkness gathers round
By virtue's holiest powers attended.

PERSONAL TALK.

I.

I AM not one who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk,-
Of friends who live within an easy walk,
Or neighbours daily, weekly, in my sight:
And, for my chance acquaintance, ladies bright,
Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk;
These all wear out of me, like forms with chalk
Painted on rich men's floors for one feast-night.
Better than such discourse doth silence long,

*Collins's Ode on the death of Thomson, the last written, I believe, of the poems which were published during his lifetime. This Ode is also alluded to in another stanza.

Long, barren silence, square with my desire;
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,
In the loved presence of my cottage fire,
And listen to the flapping of the flame,
Or kettle, whisp'ring its faint undersong,

II.

"Yet life," you say, "is life; we have seen and sce And with a living pleasure we describe;

And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe

The languid mind into activity.

Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee,
Are foster'd by the comment and the gibe."
E'en be it so; yet still, among your tribe,
Our daily world's true worldlings, rank not me!
Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies
More justly balanced; partly at their feet
And part far from them: sweetest melodies
Are those that are by distance made more sweet.
Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes,
He is a slave-the meanest we can meet !

THEE.

Wings have we-and as far as we can go,
We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood,
Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood
Which, with the lofty, sanctifies the low;

Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,

Are a substantial world, both pure and good:

Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow.

There do I find a never-failing store

Of personal themes, and such as I love best;

Matter wherein right voluble I am :

Two will I mention, dearer than the rest:

The gentle lady married to the Mcor;

And heavenly Una, with her milk-white lamb.

IV.

Nor can I not believe but that hereby
Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote
From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought,
Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie.
Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought :
And thus, from day to day, my little boat
Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably.
Blessings be with them-and eternal praise,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares,
The poets-who on earth have made us heirs
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!
Oh! might my name be number'd among theirs,
Then gladly would I end my mortal days.