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 silence;
And Leonard, when they reached the church-yard
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, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed
All that the Priest had said: 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 so happy, seemed
A place in which he could not bear to live:

So he relinquished all his purposes.

He travelled on to Egremont: and thence,
That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest,

Reminding him of what had passed between them;
And adding, with a hope to be forgiven,

That it was from the weakness of his heart
He had not dared to tell him who he was.

This done, he went on shipboard, and is now
A Seaman, a gray-headed Mariner.

II.

THE SPARROW'S NEST.

BEHOLD, within the leafy shade,
Those bright blue eggs together laid!
On me the chance-discovered sight
Gleamed like a vision of delight.-
I started-seeming to espy

The home and sheltered bed,

The Sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by
My Father's House, in wet or dry,
My Sister Emmeline and I

Together visited.

She looked at it as if she feared it;
Still wishing, dreading to be near it:
Such heart was in her, being then
A little Prattler among men.
The Blessing of my later years
Was with me when a Boy:

She

gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears;

A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;

And love, and thought, and joy.

III.

TO A BUTTERFLY.

I'VE watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed

I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless! - not frozen seas

More motionless! and then

What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of Orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary ;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong;

Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song;

And summer days when we were young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now.

IV.

COMPOSED IN THE YEAR 1802.

FAREWELL, thou little Nook of mountain-ground, Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair

Of that magnificent Temple which doth bound One side of our whole Vale with grandeur rare; Sweet Garden-orchard, eminently fair,

The loveliest spot that man hath ever found, Farewell!- —we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care, Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.

Our Boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And safely she will ride when we are gone;
The flowering shrubs that decorate our door
Will prosper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes and sun doth shine upon;
Here are they in our sight we have no more.