A simple curiosity to ease:

Of which adventures, that beguiled and cheered Their grave migration, the good pair would tell, With undiminished glee, in hoary age.

"A Priest he was by function; but his course
From his youth up, and high as manhood's noon,
(The hour of life to which he then was brought)
Had been irregular, I might say, wild;
By books unsteadied, by his pastoral care
Too little checked. An active, ardent mind;
A fancy pregnant with resource and scheme
To cheat the sadness of a rainy day;
Hands apt for all ingenious arts and games;
A generous spirit, and a body strong

To cope with stoutest Champions of the bowl;
Had earned for him sure welcome, and the rights
Of a prized Visitant, in the jolly hall

Of country squire; or at the statelier board
Of Duke or Earl, from scenes of courtly pomp
Withdrawn, to while away the summer hours
In condescension among rural guests.

"With these high comrades he had revelled long, Frolicked industriously, a simple Clerk

By hopes of coming patronage beguiled
Till the heart sickened. So each loftier aim
Abandoning, and all his showy Friends,
For a life's stay, though slender yet assured,
He turned to this secluded Chapelry;
That had been offered to his doubtful choice
By an unthought-of Patron. Bleak and bare
They found the Cottage, their allotted home
Naked without, and rude within; a spot
With which the scantily provided Cure

Not long had been endowed; and far remote
The Chapel stood, divided from that House
By an unpeopled tract of mountain waste.

Yet cause was none, whate'er regret might hang
On his own mind, to quarrel with the choice
Or the necessity that fixed him here;
Apart from old temptations, and constrained
To punctual labor in his sacred charge.
See him a constant Preacher to the Poor!
And visiting, though not with saintly zeal,
Yet, when need was, with no reluctant will,
The sick in body, or distrest in mind

And, by as salutary change, compelled
To rise from timely sleep, and meet the day
With no engagement, in his thoughts, more proud
Or splendid than his garden could afford,

His fields, or mountains by the heath-cock ranged,
Or the wild brooks; from which he now returned
Contented to partake the quiet meal

Of his own board, where sate his gentle Mate
And three fair Children, plentifully fed

Though simply, from their little household farm;
With acceptable treat of fish or fowl
By nature yielded to his practised hand
To help the small but certain comings-in
Of that spare Benefice. Yet not the less
Theirs was a hospitable board, and theirs
A charitable door. So days and years
Passed on;
the inside of that rugged House
Was trimmed and brightened by the Matron's care,
And gradually enriched with things of price,

Which might be lacked for use or ornament.
What, though no soft and costly sofa there
Insidiously stretched out its lazy length,
And no vain mirror glittered on the walls,

Yet were the windows of the low Abode
By shutters weather-fended, which at once
Repelled the storm and deadened its loud roar.
There snow-white curtains hung in decent folds;
Tough moss, and long-enduring mountain plants,
That creep along the ground with sinuous trail,
Were nicely braided, and composed a work
Like Indian mats, that with appropriate grace
Lay at the threshold and the inner doors;
And a fair carpet, woven of homespun wool,
But tinctured daintily with florid hues,

For seemliness and warmth, on festal days,
Covered the smooth blue slabs of mountain stone
With which the parlor-floor, in simplest guise
Of pastoral homesteads, had been long inlaid.
-These pleasing works the Housewife's skill produced
Meanwhile the unsedentary Master's hand
Was busier with his task to rid, to plant,
To rear for food, for shelter, and delight,
A thriving covert! And when wishes, formed
In youth, and sanctioned by the riper mind,
Restored me to my native Valley, here
To end my days; well pleased was I to see
The once-bare Cottage, on the mountain-side,
Screened from assault of every bitter blast;
While the dark shadows of the summer leaves
Danced in the breeze, upon its mossy roof.
Time, which had thus afforded willing help
To beautify with Nature's fairest growth
This rustic Tenement, had gently shed,
Upon its Master's frame, a wintry grace;
The comeliness of unenfeebled age.
But how could I say, gently? for he still
Retained a flashing eye, a burning palm,
A stirring foot a head which beat at nights

Upon its pillow with a thousand schemes.
Few likings had he dropped, few pleasures lost;
Generous and charitable, prompt to serve;
And still his harsher passions kept their hold,
Anger and indignation; still he loved

The sound of titled names, and talked in glee
Of long-past banquetings with high-born Friends:
Then, from those lulling fits of vain delight
Uproused by recollected injury, railed

At their false ways disdainfully,

and oft

In bitterness, and with a threatening eye

Of fire, incensed beneath its hoary brow.

These transports, with staid looks of pure good-will And with soft smile, his Consort would reprove,

She, far behind him in the race of years,

Yet keeping her first mildness, was advanced
Far nearer, in the habit of her soul,

To that still region whither all are bound.
- Him might we liken to the setting Sun
As seen not seldom on some gusty day,
Struggling and bold, and shining from the west
With an inconstant and unmellowed light;
She was a soft attendant Cloud, that hung
As if with wish to veil the restless orb;
From which it did itself imbibe a ray
Of pleasing lustre. - But no more of this;

I better love to sprinkle on the sod

That now divides the Pair, or rather say

That still unites them, praises, like heaven's dew.
Without reserve descending upon both.

'Our very first in eminence of years

This old Man stood, the Patriarch of the Vale!

And, to his unmolested mansion, Death

Had never come, through space of forty years

Sparing both old and young in that Abode.
Suddenly then they disappeared: not twice

Had summer scorched the fields; not twice had fallen
On those high Peaks, the first autumnal snow,
Before the greedy visiting was closed,

And the long-privileged House left empty-swept
As by a plague: yet no rapacious plague
Had been among them; all was gentle death,
One after one, with intervals of peace.

A happy consummation! an accord

Sweet, perfect to be wished for! save that here
Was something which to mortal sense might sound
Like harshness, that the old gray-headed Sire,
The oldest, he was taken last, - survived
When the meek Partner of his age, his Son,
His Daughter, and that late and high-prized gift,
His little smiling Grandchild, were no more.

"All gone, all vanished! he deprived and bare,
How will he face the remnant of his life?
What will become of him?' we said, and mused
In sad conjectures-'Shall we meet him now
Haunting with rod and line the craggy brooks?
Or shall we overhear him, as we pass,
Striving to entertain the lonely hours
With music?' (for he had not ceased to touch
The harp or viol which himself had framed,
For their sweet purposes, with perfect skill.)
'What titles will he keep? will he remain
Musician, Gardener, Builder, Mechanist,
A Planter, and a rearer from the Seed?
A Man of hope and forward-looking mind
Even to the last!' Such was he, unsubdued.
But Heaven was gracious; yet a little while,
And this Survivor, with his cheerful throng