Never to living ear came sweeter sounds Than when I heard thee by our own fire-side First uttering without words a natural tune, When thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy Mother’s breast. Month follow’d month, And in the open fields my life was pass’d And in the mountains, else I think that thou Hadst been brought up upon thy father’s knees. –But we were playmates, Luke; among these hills, As well thou know’st, in us the old and young Have play’d together, nor with me didst thou Lack any pleasure which a boy can know.
Luke had a manly heart; but at these words He sobb’d aloud; the Old Man grasp’d his hand, 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 A kind and a good Father: and herein
I but repay a gift which I myself
Receiv’d at others’ hands, for, though now old Beyond the common life of man, I still
Remember them who lov’d me in my youth.”
Both of them sleep together: here they liv’d 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 mold. I wish’d that thou should’st live the life they liv’d. But ’tis a long time to look back, my Son, And see so little gain from sixty years. These fields were burthen’d when they came to me; ‘Till I was forty years of age, not more Than half of my inheritance was mine.
“I toil’d and toil’d; God bless’d me in my work, And ’till these three weeks past the land was free. –It looks as if it never could endure
Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good That thou should’st go.” At this the Old Man paus’d, Then, pointing to the Stones near which they stood, Thus, after a short silence, he resum’d: “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. I for the purpose brought thee to this place.”
Nay, Boy, be of good hope:–we both may live To see a better day. At eighty-four
I still am strong and stout;–do thou thy part, I will do mine.–I will begin again
With many tasks that were resign’d 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–yes– I knew that thou could’st never have a wish To leave me, Luke, thou hast been bound to me Only by links of love, when thou art gone What will be left to us!–But, I forget My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone,
As I requested, and hereafter, Luke, When thou art gone away, should evil men Be thy companions, let this Sheep-fold be Thy anchor and thy shield; amid all fear And all temptation, let it be to thee
An emblem of the life thy Fathers liv’d, Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well– When thou return’st, thou in this place wilt see A work which is not here, a covenant
‘Twill 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 stoop’d down, And as his Father had requested, laid
The first stone of the Sheep-fold; at the sight The Old Man’s grief broke from him, to his heart He press’d his Son, he kissed him and wept; And to the House together they return’d.
Next morning, as had been resolv’d, the Boy Began his journey, and when he had reach’d The public Way, he put on a bold face;
And all the Neighbours as he pass’d their doors Came forth, with wishes and with farewell pray’rs, That follow’d 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 wond’rous news, Which, as the House-wife phrased it, were throughout The prettiest letters that were ever seen.
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. So, many months pass’d 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 Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began 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; ‘Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would break the heart:–Old Michael found it so. I have convers’d 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 look’d up upon the sun. And listen’d to the wind; and as before Perform’d all kinds of labour 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. ‘Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart
For the Old Man–ands ’tis believ’d by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone.
There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he seen Sitting alone, with that 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 this Sheep-fold 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 nam’d The Evening Star Is gone, the ploughshare has been through the ground On which it stood; great changes have been wrought In all the neighbourhood, yet the Oak is left That grew beside their Door; and the remains Of the unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Gill.
NOTES TO THE POEM of THE BROTHERS.
NOTE I.
Page 26–line 20 “There were two springs that bubbled side by side.” The impressive circumstance here described, actually took place some years ago in this country, upon an eminence called Kidstow Pike, one of the highest of the mountains that surround Hawes-water. The summit of the pike was stricken by lightning; and every trace of one of the fountains disappeared, while the other continued to flow as before.
NOTE II.
Page 29–line 5 “The thought of death sits easy on the man,” &c. There is not any thing more worthy of remark in the manners of the inhabitants of these mountains, than the tranquillity, I might say indifference, with which they think and talk upon the subject of death. Some of the country church-yards, as here described, do not contain a single tombstone, and most of them have a very small number.
NOTES TO THE POEM OF MICHAEL.
NOTE I.
Page 213–line 14 “There’s Richard Bateman,” &c. This story alluded to here is well known in the country. The chapel is called Ings Chapel; and is on the right hand side of the road leading from Kendal to Ambleside.
NOTE II.
Page 217–line 4 “–had design’d to build a sheep-fold.” etc. It may be proper to inform some readers, that a sheep-fold in these mountains is an unroofed building of stone walls, with different divisions. It is generally placed by the side of a brook, for the convenience of washing the sheep; but it is also useful as a shelter for them, and as a place to drive them into, to enable the shepherds conveniently to single out one or more for any particular purpose.
END.
ERRATA.
[Transcriber’s note: the errata have all been corrected in this copy.]