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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 púrple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind • A day like this which I have left • Full thirty years behind.
* And on that slope of springing corn
• The self same crimson hue
• Fell from the sky that April morn,
• The same which now I view!
• With rod and line my silent sport
I plied by Derwent's wave, • And coming to the church, stopp'd short • Beside my daughter's grave.
· Nine suinmers had she scarcely seen; • The pride of all the vale; . And then she sang !-she would have been • A very nightingale.
• Six feet in earth my Emma lay,
• And yet I lov'd her more,
• For so it seem'd, than till that day
. I e'er had lov'd before.
And, turning from her grave, I met • Beside the church-yard Yew "A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet • With points of morning dew.
WE talk'd with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,
A pair of Friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two!
We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat,
And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.
Now, Matthew, let us try to match
This water's pleasant tune
With some old Border-song, or Catch
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
Which you last April made!
On silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;
And thus the dear old Man replied,
The grey-hair’d Man of glee.-
“ Down to the vale this water steers,
How merrily it goes !
'Twill murmur on a thousand years,
And flow as now it flows.
“ My eyes are dim with childish tears, ,
My heart is idly stirr’d,
For the same sound is in my ears,
Which in those days I heard.is
“ Thus fares it still in our decay:
And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind. mne si
" With Nature never do they wage
A foolish strife; they see
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free: bui
“ But we are press’d by heavy laws;
And often, glad no more, ?'
We wear a face of joy, because:
We have been glad of yore.
“ If there is one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth,
The household hearts that were his own,
It is the Man of Mirth.
“ My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approv'd, And
me, but by none Am I enough belov’d!"
Now both himself and me he wrongs,
The man who thus complains !
I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains.
And Matthew, for thy Children dead
I'll be a son to thee!
At this he grasp'd his hands, and said,
" Alas! that cannot be.”.