Read o'er these lines; and then review In such diversity of hue Its history of two hundred years. 5 -When through this little wreck of fame, Cipher and syllable! thine eye Has travelled down to Matthew's name, And if a sleeping tear should wake, Which for himself he had not made. Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er, Far from the chimney's merry roar, 10 15 20 The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Yet sometimes, when the secret cup -Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! 25 30 1799. XI. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. WE walked along, while bright and red And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, "The will of God be done!" A village schoolmaster was he, With hair of glittering grey; As blithe a man as you could see And on that morning, through the grass, We travelled 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 "With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, 30 And, to the church-yard come, stopped 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 35 A very nightingale. "Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more, For so it seemed, than till that day "And, turning from her grave, I met, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet 40 "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 She seemed as happy as a wave "There came from me a sigh of pain I looked at her, and looked again: And did not wish her mine! Matthew is in his grave, yet now, As at that moment, with a bough 45 50 55 60 1799. XII. THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. We talked with open heart, and tongue A pair of friends, though I was young, We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet. "Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch 5 10 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 15 Which you last April made!" In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree; And thus the dear old Man replied, "No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears; "Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. 20 "And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think 25 How oft, a vigorous man, I lay "My eyes are dim with childish tears, For the same sound is in 66 Thus fares it still in our decay: And yet the wiser mind 30 Mourns less for what age takes Than what it leaves behind. "The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. "With Nature never do they wage 40 A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: "My days, my Friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." 55 |