Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough

Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose

Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene! A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed

The banquet; or beneath the trees I sate

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Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;

A temper known to those, who, after long

And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear

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And fade, unseen by any human eye;

Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on

For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,

And with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep-
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,

And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash

And merciless ravage: and the shady nook

Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up

Their quiet being: and, unless I now

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Confound my present feelings with the past,
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch for there is a spirit in the woods.

-

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1799.

MATTHEW.

In the School of Hawkshead is a tablet, on which are inscribed, in gilt letters, the Names of the several persons who have been Schoolmasters there since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those names the Author wrote the following lines.

IF Nature, for a favourite child,

In thee hath tempered so her clay,
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray.

Read o'er these lines; and then review
This tablet, that thus humbly rears

In such diversity of hue

Its history of two hundred years.

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-When through this little wreck of fame,
Cipher and syllable! thine eye

ΙΟ

Has travelled down to Matthew's name,
Pause with no common sympathy.

And, if a sleeping tear should wake,

Then be it neither checked nor stayed:

For Matthew a request I make

Which for himself he had not made.

Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er,

Is silent as a standing pool;

Far from the chimney's merry roar,

And murmur of the village school.

The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs
Of one tired out with fun and madness;
The tears which came to Matthew's eyes
Were tears of light, the dew of gladness.

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Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup
Of still and serious thought went round,
It seemed as if he drank it up –
He felt with spirit so profound.

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Thou soul of God's best earthly mould!
Thou happy Soul! and can it be
That these two words of glittering gold

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Are all that must remain of thee?

1799.

THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.

WE walked along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;

And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said,
१९ The will of God be done! "

A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering grey ;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.

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And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills,

We travelled merrily, to pass

A day among the hills.

"Our work," said I, "was well begun,

Then, from thy breast what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a sun,

So sad a sigh has brought?"

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 purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind.

A day like this which I have left
Full thirty years behind.

ee

With rod and line I sued the sport

Which that sweet season gave,

And, to the church-yard come, stopped short
Beside my daughter's grave.

९९

Nine summers had she scarcely seen,

The pride of all the vale ;

And then she sang; - she would have been
A very nightingale.

ΙΟ

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