are all the graves of full grown men!
PRIEST.
Aye, Sir, that pass’d away: we took him to us.
He was the child of all the dale — he liv’d
Three months with one, and six months with another:
And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love,
And many, many happy days were his.
But, whether blithe or sad, ‘tis my belief
His absent Brother still was at his heart.
And, when he liv’d beneath our roof, we found
(A practice till this time unknown to him)
That often, rising from his bed at night,
He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping
He sought his Brother Leonard — You are mov’d!
Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,
I judg’d you most unkindly.
LEONARD.
But this youth,
How did he die at last?
PRIEST.
One sweet May morning,
It will be twelve years since, when Spring returns,
He had gone forth among the new-dropp’d lambs,
With two or three companions whom it chanc’d
Some further business summon’d to a house
Which stands at the Dale-head. James, tir’d perhaps,
Or from some other cause remain’d behind.
You see yon precipice — it almost looks
Like some 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 call’d, the Pillar.
James, pointing to its summit, over which
They all had purpos’d to return together,
Inform’d them that he there would wait for them:
They parted, and his comrades pass’d that way
Some two hours after, but they did not find him
At the appointed place, a circumstance
Of which they took no heed: but one of them,
Going by chance, at night, into the house
Which at this time was James’s home, there learn’d
That nobody had seen him all that day:
The morning came, and still, he was unheard of:
The neighbours were alarm’d, and to the Brook
Some went, and some towards the Lake; ere noon
They found him at the foot of that same Rock
Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day after
I buried him, poor Lad, and there he lies.
LEONARD.
And that then is his grave! — Before his death
You said that he saw many happy years?
PRIEST.
Aye, that he did —
LEONARD.
And all went well with him —
PRIEST.
If he had one, the Lad 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 turn’d on Leonard’s luckless fortune,
He talk’d about him with a chearful love.
LEONARD.
He could not come to an unhallow’d end!
PRIEST.
Nay, God forbid! You recollect I mention’d
A habit which disquietude and grief
Had brought upon him, and we all conjectur’d
That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
Upon the grass, and, waiting for his comrades
He there had fallen asleep, that in his sleep
He to the margin of the precipice
Had walk’d, and from the summit had fallen headlong,
And so no doubt he perish’d: at the time,
We guess, that in his hands he must have had
His Shepherd’s staff; for midway in the cliff
It had been caught, and there for many years
It hung — and moulder’d there.
The Priest here ended —
The Stranger would have thank’d him, but he felt
Tears rushing in; both left the spot in silence,
And Leonard, when they reach’d the churchyard gate,
As the Priest lifted up the latch, turn’d round,
And, looking at the grave, he said, “My Brother.”
The Vicar did not hear the words: and now,
Pointing towards the Cottage, he entreated
That Leonard would partake his homely fare:
The other thank’d him with a fervent voice,
But added, that, the evening being calm,
He would pursue his journey. So they parted.
It
