For this poor crawling, helpless wretch Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground, It chanced that Andrew passed that way 66 He stooped and took the penny up: And hence, I say, that Andrew's boys XV. In the school of - 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 one of those names the Author wrote the following lines. IF nature, for a favourite child Read o'er these lines; and then review In such diversity of hue Its history of two hundred years. -When through this little wreck of fame-- Has travelled down to Matthew's name, And if a sleeping tear should wake, Poor Matthew-all his frolics o'er- Far from the chimney's merry roar, The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup Thou soul of God's best earthly mould! XVI. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. We walked along, while bright and red And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, "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. And on that morning, through the grass, And by the streaming rills, We travelled merrily, to pass A day among the hills. "Our work," said I, ". 'was well begun ; Then, from thy breast what thought, So sad a sigh has brought?" A second time did Matthew stop, And fixing still his eye Upon the eastern mountain-top, XVII. THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. We talked with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, We lay beneath a spreading oak, And from the turf a fountain broke, 66 Now, Matthew! let us try to match This water's pleasant tune With some old border song, or catch, Or of the church-clock and the chimes That hali-mad thing of witty rhymes In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The grey-haired man of glee : "Down to the vale this water steers; How merrily it goes! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. And here, on this delightful day, My eyes are dim with childish tears, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away Than what it leaves behind. The blackbird in the summer trees, The lark upon the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. With Nature never do they wage A happy youth, and their old age But we are pressed by heavy laws, We wear a face of joy because If there is one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own, It is the man of mirth. My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved." "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains; And, Matthew, for thy children dead At this he grasped my hand, and said, We rose up from the fountain-side, And, ere we came to Leonard's Rock, XVIII. LINES WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENING. How richly glows the water's breast |