When her life's Helpmate on a sick-bed lay, He found the little he had stored, to meet pier far 560 Could they have lived as do the little birds That peck along the hedge-rows, or the kite That makes her dwelling on the mountain rocks! A sad reverse it was for him who long Had filled with plenty, and possessed in peace, A while on trivial things we held discourse, Her homely tale with such familiar power, A heart-felt chillness crept along my veins; I rose; and, having left the breezy shade, Stood drinking comfort from the warmer steps; Ere this an hour Back I turned my restless 731 A stranger passed; and, guessing whom I sought, He said that she was used to ramble far. The sun was sinking in the west; and now I sate with sad impatience. From within Her solitary infant cried aloud; Then, like a blast that dies away selfstilled, The voice was silent. From the bench I rose; But neither could divert nor soothe my thoughts. The spot, though fair, was very desolate The longer I remained, more desolate: 741 And, looking round me, now I first observed The corner stones, on either side the porch, With dull red stains discoloured, and stuck o'er With tufts and hairs of wool, as if the sheep, That fed upon the Common, thither came Familiarly, and found a couching-place Even at her threshold. Deeper shadows fell From these tall elms; the cottage-clock struck eight; I turned, and saw her distant a few steps. Her face was pale and thin-her figure, too, 751 And sometimes-to my shame I speak — have need Of my best prayers to bring me back again.' While on the board she spread our evening meal, She told me-interrupting not the work Which gave employment to her listless hands 761 That she had parted with her elder child, I have been travelling far; and many days And to this helpless infant. I have slept Have flowed as if my body were not such Will give me patience to endure the things It would have grieved Your very soul to see her. Sir, I feel The story linger in my heart; I fear 'T is long and tedious; but my spirit clings To that poor Woman:- so familiarly Do I perceive her manner, and her look, And presence; and so deeply do I feel Her goodness, that, not seldom, in my walks 780 And, when she at her table gave me food, She did not look at me. Her voice was low, Her body was subdued. In every act Pertaining to her house-affairs, appeared The careless stillness of a thinking mind |