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Happy! Sir


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—


But these are all the graves of full-grown men !


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.


How did he die at laft?

But this youth,


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!


And that, then, is his grave ?-Before his death
You say that he faw many happy years?


Ay, that he did—


And all went well with him


If he had one, the youth had twenty homes.


And you believe, then, that his mind was easy ?——


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.


He could not come to an unhallowed end!


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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