When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see
A work which is not here: a covenant
T will be between us; but, whatever fate
Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last,

And bear thy memory with me to the grave."

The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down,

And, as his Father had requested, laid

The first stone of the Sheepfold. At the sight
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 farewell prayers,
That followed him till he was out of sight.

A good report did from their Kinsman come, Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were through

out

"The prettiest letters that were ever seen." Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. So, many months passed on: and once again

The Shepherd went about his daily work
With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now
Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour
He to that valley took his way, and there
Wrought at the Sheepfold. Meantime Luke begar
To slacken in his duty; and, at length,
He in the dissolute city gave himself
To evil courses: ignominy and shame
Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.

There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'T will make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart : I have conversed with more than one who well Remember the old Man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, And listened to the wind; and, as before, Performed all kinds of labor for his sheep, And for the land, his small inheritance. And to that hollow dell from time to time Did he repair, to build the Fold of which His flock had need. "T is not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old Man, and 't is believed by all,

That many and many a day he thither went,
And never lifted up a single stone.

There, by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen Sitting alone, or with his faithful dog,

Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.

The length of full seven years, from time to time,
He at the building of the Sheepfold wrought,
And left the work unfinished when he died.
Three years, or little more, did Isabel
Survive her husband: at her death the estate
Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand.

The Cottage which was named the EVENING STAR
Is gone, the ploughshare has been through the

ground

On which it stood; great changes have been wrought
In all the neighborhood:- yet the oak is left
That grew beside their door; and the remains
Of the unfinished Sheepfold may be seen
Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll

1800.

XXXIII.

THE WIDOW ON WINDERMERE SIDE.

I.

How beautiful when up a lofty height

Honor ascends among the humblest poor,

And feeling sinks as deep! See there the door Of one, a Widow, left beneath a weight

Of blameless debt. On evil Fortune's spite

She wasted no complaint, but strove to make
A just repayment, both for conscience' sake
And that herself and hers should stand upright
In the world's eye. Her work when daylight failed
Paused not, and through the depth of night she kept
Such earnest vigils, that belief prevailed
With some, the noble creature never slept ;
But, one by one, the hand of death assailed
Her children from her inmost heart bewept.

II.

The Mother mourned, nor ceased her tears to flow
Till a winter's noonday placed her buried Son
Before her eyes, last child of many gone,-
His raiment of angelic white, and lo!
His very feet bright as the dazzling snow
Which they are touching; yea, far brighter, even
As that which comes, or seems to come, from heaven,
Surpasses aught these elements can show.
Much she rejoiced, trusting that from that hour,
Whate'er befell, she could not grieve or pine;
But the Transfigured, in and out of season,
Appeared, and spiritual presence gained a power
Over material forms that mastered reason.
O gracious Heaven, in pity make her thine!

But why that prayer? as if to her could come
No good but by the way that leads to bliss
Thro' Death, so judging we should judge amiss.

Since reason failed, want is her threatened doom,
Yet frequent transports mitigate the gloom:
Nor of those maniacs is she one that kiss

The air or laugh upon a precipice;

No, passing through strange sufferings toward the tomb,

She smiles as if a martyr's crown were won: Oft, when light breaks through clouds or waving trees,

With outspread arms, and fallen upon her knees,
The Mother hails in her descending Son

An Angel, and in earthly ecstasies
Her own angelic glory seems begun.

XXXIV

THE ARMENIAN LADY'S LOVE

[The subject of the following poem is from the Orlandus of the author's friend, Kenelm Henry Digby: and the liberty is taken of inscribing it to him as an acknowledgment, how ever unworthy, of pleasure and instruction derived from his numerous and valuable writings, illustrative of the piety and chivalry of the olden time.]

You have heard " a Spanish Lady

How she wooed an Englishman":

*See, in Percy's Reliques, that fine old ballad," The Spanish Lady's Love"; from which poem the form of stanza, as suitable to dialogue, is adopted.