LEONARD.
You faid his kindred all were in their graves,
And that he had one Brother—
That is but
A fellow tale of forrow. From his youth
James, though not fickly, yet was delicate;
And Leonard being always by his fide
Had done fo many offices about him,
That, though he was not of a timid nature,
Yet ftill the spirit of a mountain boy
In him was somewhat checked; and, when his Brother
Was gone to fea, and he was left alone,
The little colour that he had was foon
Stolen from his cheek; he drooped, and pined, and pined—
LEONARD.
But these are all the graves of full-grown men !
PRIEST.
Ay, Sir, that paffed away: we took him to us;
He was the child of all the dale-he lived
Three months with one, and fix months with another;
And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love :
And many, many happy days were his.
But, whether blithe or fad, 'tis my belief
His abfent Brother ftill was at his heart.
And, when he lived beneath our roof, we found
(A practice till this time unknown to him)
That often, rifing from his bed at night,
He in his fleep would walk about, and sleeping
He fought his Brother Leonard.-You are moved!
Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,
I judged you most unkindly.
LEONARD.
PRIEST.
One fweet May morning,
(It will be twelve years fince when Spring returns,)
He had gone forth among the new-dropped lambs,
With two or three companions, whom it chanced
Some further bufinefs fummoned to a house
Which stands at the dale-head. James, tired perhaps,
Or from fome other caufe, remained behind.
You fee yon precipice ;—it almost looks
Like some vast building made of many crags;
And in the midft is one particular rock
That rifes like a column from the vale,
Whence by our shepherds it is called THE PILLar. James pointed to its fummit, over which
They all had purposed to return together,
And told them that he there would wait for them;
They parted, and his comrades passed that way
Some two hours after, but they did not find him
Upon the fummit-at the appointed place.
Of this they took no heed: but one of them,
Going by chance at night into the house
Which at that time was James's home, there learned
That nobody had seen him all that day:
The morning came, and still he was unheard of:
The neighbours were alarmed, and to the brook
Some went, and fome 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 youth, and there he lies!
LEONARD.
And that, then, is his grave ?-Before his death
You say that he faw many happy years?
PRIEST.
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 forrow; and unless
His thoughts were turned on Leonard's lucklefs 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
That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
Upon the grass,—and, waiting for his comrades,
He there had fallen afleep; that, in his fleep,
He to the margin of the precipice
Had walked, and from the fummit had fallen headlong.
And fo no doubt he perished: at the time
We guess that in his hands he must have had
His fhepherd's staff; for midway in the cliff
It had been caught; and there for many years
It hung-and mouldered there.
The Prieft here ended-
The Stranger would have thanked him, but he felt
A gushing from his heart, that took away
The power of speech. Both left the spot in filence;
And Leonard, when they reached the churchyard gate,
As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned 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 thanked him with a fervent voice;
But added, that, the evening being calm,
He would pursue his journey. So they parted.
It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove
That overhung the road: he there stopped short,
And, fitting down beneath the trees, reviewed
All that the Prieft had faid: his early years
Were with him in his heart: his cherished hopes,
And thoughts which had been his an hour before,
All pressed on him with such a weight, that now,
This vale where he had been fo happy, feemed
A place in which he could not bear to live:
So he relinquished all his purposes.
He travelled on to Egremont: and thence,
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