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This is the very spirit in which they deal
With the whole compass of the universe:
They from their native selves can send
abroad

Kindred mutations; for themselves create
A like existence; and, whene'er it dawns
Created for them, catch it, or are caught
By its inevitable mastery,

Like angels stopped upon the wing by sound
Of harmony from Heaven's remotest
spheres.

Them the enduring and the transient both Serve to exalt; they build up greatest things

ΙΟΥ

From least suggestions; ever on the watch,
Willing to work and to be wrought upon,
They need not extraordinary calls

To rouse them; in a world of life they
live,

By sensible impressions not enthralled,
But by their quickening impulse made more
prompt

To hold fit converse with the spiritual world,
And with the generations of mankind
Spread over time, past, present, and to

come,

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Age after age, till Time shall be no more.
Such minds are truly from the Deity,
For they are Powers; and hence the high-
est bliss

That flesh can know is theirs - the con

sciousness

Of Whom they are, habitually infused
Through every image and through every

thought,

And all affections by communion raised
From earth to heaven, from human to di-

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And to that simple object appertains

A story

20

unenriched with strange events, Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, Or for the summer shade. It was the first Of those domestic tales that spake to me Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men Whom I already loved; not verily

For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills

Where was their occupation and abode.
And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy
Careless of books, yet having felt the power
Of Nature, by the gentle agency
Of natural objects, led me on to feel
For passions that were not my own, and
think

30

(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life.
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.

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boy grew up

A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek
Two steady roses that were five years old;
Then Michael from a winter coppice cut 180
With his own hand a sapling, which he
hooped

With iron, making it throughout in all
Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff,
And gave it to the Boy; wherewith equipt
He 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, 190
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 ways,

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In surety for his brother's son, a man
Of an industrious life, and ample means;
But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly
Had prest upon him; and old Michael now
Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,
A grievous penalty, but little less

Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim,

At the first hearing, for a moment took More hope out of his life than he supposed That any old man ever could have lost. 220 As soon as he had armed himself with strength

To look his trouble in the face, it seemed The Shepherd's sole resource to sell at once 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

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Had been no sorrow. I forgive him; - but
'T were better to be dumb than to talk thus.
When I began, my purpose was to speak
Of remedies and of a cheerful hope.
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free;
He shall possess it, free as is the wind
That passes over it. We have, thou know'st,
Another kinsman - he will be our friend
In this distress. He is a prosperous man,
Thriving in trade and Luke to him shall

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And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift

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,

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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

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She said to Luke, while they two by them

selves

Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not

go:

We have no other Child but thee to lose
None to remember do not go away,
For if thou leave thy Father he will die."
The Youth made answer with a jocund
voice;

And Isabel, when she had told her fears, Recovered heart. That evening her best fare

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Did she bring forth, and all together sat Like happy people round a Christmas fire. With daylight Isabel resumed her work; And all the ensuing week the house appeared

As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length The expected letter from their kinsman

came,

With kind assurances that he would do
His utmost for the welfare of the Boy;
To which, requests were added, that forth-
with

310

He might be sent to him. Ten times or

more

The letter was read over; Isabel

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