Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes, And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when the meal Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named) And his old Father both betook themselves To such convenient work as might employ Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to card Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe, Or other implement of house or field. Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge, That in our ancient uncouth country style With huge and black projection overbrowed Large space beneath, as duly as the light Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a lamp; An aged utensil, which had performed Service beyond all others of its kind. Early at evening did it burn-and late, Surviving comrade of uncounted hours, Which, going by from year to year, had found, And left, the couple neither gay perhaps Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, Living a life of eager industry. And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year, There by the light of this old lamp they sate, Father and Son, while far into the night The Housewife plied her own peculiar work, Making the cottage through the silent hours And from this constant light, so regular And so far seen, the House itself, by all Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, Both old and young, was named THE EVENING STAR. Thus living on through such a length of years, The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael's heart This son of his old age was yet more dear-- Less from instinctive tenderness, the same Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all— Than that a child, more than all other gifts That earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, And stirrings of inquietude, when they By tendency of nature needs must fail. Exceeding was the love he bare to him, His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, Had done him female service, not alone For pastime and delight, as is the use Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand. And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love, Albeit of a stern unbending mind, To have the Young-one in his sight, when he Wrought in the field, or on his shep herd's stool Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched Under the large old oak, that near his door Stood single, and, from matchless depth of shade, Chosen for the Shearer's covert from the sun, Thence in our rustic dialect was called The CLIPPING TREE,1 a name which yet it bears. Clipping is the word used in the North of England for shearing. (Wordsworth.) Не as a watchman oftentimes was placed At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock; And, to his office prematurely called, There stood the urchin, as you will divine, Something between a hindrance and a help; And for this cause not always, I believe, Receiving from his Father hire of praise; Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice, Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform. But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights, Not fearing toil, nor length of weary A portion of his patrimonial fields. Such was his first resolve; he thought again, And his heart failed him. "Isabel," said he, Two evenings after he had heard the news. "I have been toiling more than seventy years, And in the open sunshine of God's love Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think That I could not lie quiet in my grave. false, There are ten thousand to whom loss like this Had been no sorrow. I forgive him ;but "Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. He quickly will repair this loss, and then He may return to us. If here he stay, What can be done? Where every one is poor, What can be gained?" At this the old Man paused, And Isabel sat silent, for her mind Was busy, looking back into past times. There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, He was a parish-boy-at the church-door They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbors bought A basket, which they filled with pedlar's And left estates and monies to the poor And, at his birthplace, built a chapel, floored With marble which he sent from foreign lands. These thoughts, and many others of like sort. Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, And her face brightened. The old Man was glad. And thus resumed:-"Well, Isabel! this scheme These two days, has been meat and drink to me. Far more than we have lost is left us yet. -We have enough-I wish indeed that I Were younger;-but this hope is a good hope. -Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best Buy for him more, and let us send him forth To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: -If he could go, the boy should go tonight." Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth With a light heart. The Housewife for five days Was restless morn and night, and all day long Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare Things needful for the journey of her son. Near the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll, In that deep valley, Michael had designed To build a Sheepfold; and, before he heard The tidings of his melancholy loss, For this same purpose he had gathered up A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge Lay thrown together, ready for the work. With Luke that evening thitherward he walked : And soon as they had reached the place he stopped, And thus the old Man spake to him:"My Son, To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with And said, "Nay, do not take it so I see That these are things of which I need not speak. -Even to the utmost I have been to thee Beyond the common life of man, I still Remember them who loved me in my youth. Both of them sleep together: here they lived, As all their Forefathers had done; and when At length their time was come, they were not loth To give their bodies to the family mould. I wished that thou should'st live the life Thus, after a short silence, he resumed: "This was a work for us; and now, my Son, It is a work for me. But, lay one stone-Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands. Nay, Boy, be of good hope;-we both may live To see a better day. At eighty-four I still am strong and hale ;-do thou thy part; I will do mine.--I will begin again With many tasks that were resigned to thee: Up to the heights, and in among the storms, Will I without thee go again, and do All works which I was wont to do alone," Before I knew thy face.-Heaven bless thee, Boy! Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast With many hopes; it should be so-yes The old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart He pressed his Son, he kissed him and wept ; And to the house together they returned. -Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace, Ere the night fell :-with morrow's dawn the Boy Began his journey, and when he had reached The public way, he put on a bold face; And all the neighbors, as he passed their doors, Came forth with wishes and with fare well prayers, That followed him till he was out of sight. A good report did from their Kinsman |