Was swoln into a noisy rivulet, Would Leonard then, when elder boys remained That God, who made the great book of the world Leonard. It may be then Priest. Never did worthier lads break English bread; The very brightest Sunday Autumn saw With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts, Could never keep those boys away from church, The very night before he went away, In my own house I put into his hand A bible, and I'd wager house and field That, if he be alive, he has it yet. Leonard. It seems, these brothers have not lived to be A comfort to each other Priest. That they might Leonard. Then James still is left among you! Priest. 'Tis of the elder brother I am speaking: They had an uncle;-he was at that time A thriving man, and trafficked on the seas: But, as I said, old Walter was too weak Twelve years are past since we had tidings from him. The day would be a joyous festival; And those two bells of ours, which there you see The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from its resemblance to the gable end of a house, is one of the highest of the Cumberland mountains. It stands at the head of the several vales of Ennerdale, Wastdale, and Borrowdale. The Leeza is a river which flows into the Lake of Ennerdale: on issuing from the Lake it changes its name, nnd is called the End, Eyne, or Enna. It falls into the sea a little below Egremont. Hanging in the open air-but, O good Sir, Upon the Barbary coast.-T was not a little He took me by the hand, and said to me, And lay his bones among us. Leonard. If that day we Should come, 't would needs be a glad day for him; He would himself, no doubt, be happy then As any that should meet him Priest. Happy! Sir Leonard. You said his kindred all were in their graves, And that he had one Brother Priest. That is but A fellow-tale of sorrow. From his youth Had done so many offices about him, That, though he was not of a timid nature, Yet still the spirit of a mountain-boy In him was somewhat checked; and, when his Brother Was gone to sea, and he was left alone, The little color that he had was soon Stolen from his cheek; he drooped, and pined, and pined Leonard. But these are all the graves of full grown men ! Priest. Aye, Sir, that passed away we took him to us; He was the child of all the dale-he lived Three months with one, and six months with another; He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping I judged you most unkindly. Leonard. How did he die at last? But this Youth, One sweet May-morning Priest. (It will be twelve years since when Spring returns), He had gone forth among the new-dropped lambs, With two or three companions whom their course Of occupation led from height to height Under a cloudless sun-till he, at length, Through weariness, or haply, to indulge The humor of the moment, lagged behind. You see yon precipice;-it wears the shape Of a vast building made of many crags; And in the midst is one particular rock That rises like a column from the vale, Whence by our shepherds it is called, THE PILLAR. Upon its aëry summit crowned with heath, The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades, Lay stretched at ease; but, passing by the place The morning came, and still he was unheard of: You say that he saw many happy years? Priest. Aye, that he did Leonard. And all went well with him?Priest. If he had one, the youth had twenty homes. Leonard. And you believe, then, that his mind was easy?— Priest. Yes, long before he died, he found that time Is a true friend to sorrow; and unless His thoughts were turned on Leonard's luckless fortune, He talked about him with a cheerful love. Leonard. He could not come to an unhallowed end! Priest. Nay, God forbid !-You recollect I mentioned A habit which disquietude and grief Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured |