All works which I was wont to do alone Before I knew thy face.-Heaven bless thee, Boy!

Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast

With many hopes-it should be so-ycsyes

I knew that thou could'st never have a wish
To leave me, Luke, thou hast been bound to me
Only by links of love, when thou art gone
What will be left to us!-But, I forget
My purposes, Lay now the corner-stone,
As I requested, and hereafter, Luke,
When thou art gone away, should evil men
Be thy companions, let this Sheep-fold be
Thy anchor and thy shield; amid all fear
And all temptation, let it be to thee
An emblem of the life thy Fathers liv'd,
Who being innocent, did for that cause
Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee
well-

When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see
A work which is not here, a Covenant
'Twill be between us--but whatever fate
Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last,
And bear thy memory with me to the grave."

The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stoop'd. down,

And as his Father had requested, laid
The first stone of the sheep-fold; at the sight
The Old Man's grief broke from him, to his heart
He press'd his Son, he kissed him, and wept;
And to the House together they return'd.

Next morning, as had been resolv❜d, the Boy
Began his journey, and when he had reach'd
The public Way, he put on a bold face;
And all the Neighbours as he pass'd their doors
Came forth, with wishes and with farewell
pray'rs,

That follow'd him till he was out of sight.

A good Report did from their Kinsman come,
Of Luke and his well-doing; and the Boy
Wrote loving letters, full of wond'rous news,
Which, as the Housewife phras'd it, were
throughout

The prettiest letters that were ever seen.
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.
So, many months pass'd on: And once again
The Shepherd went about his daily work
With confident and chearful thoughts; and now
Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour
He to that valley took his way, and there
Wrought at the sheep-fold. Meantime Luke
began

To slacken in his duty, and at length
He in the dissolute city gave himself
To evil courses; ignominy and shame
Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.

There is a comfort in the strength of love; Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would break the heart:-Old Michael found

it so.

I have convers'd with more than one who well
Remember the Old Man, and what he was
Years after he had heard this heavy news.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks
He went, and still look'd
up upon the sun,
and as before

And listen'd to the wind;

Perform'd all kinds of labour for his sheep,
And for the land his small inheritance.
And to that hollow Dell from time to time
Did he repair, to build the Fold of which
His flock had need, 'Tis not forgotten yet
The pity which was then in every heart
For the Old Man-and 'tis believ'd by all
That many and many a day he thither went
And never lifted up a single stone.

There, by the Sheep-fold, sometimes was he

seen

Sitting alone, with that his faithful Dog,
Then old, beside him, lying at his feet.
The length of full seven years from time to time
He at the building of this Sheep-fold wrought
And left the work unfinish'd when he died.

Three years, or little more, did Isabel, Survive her Husband: At her death the estate Was sold, and went into a Stranger's hand. The Cottage, which was nam'd the Evening Star,

Is gone, the ploughshare has been through the ground

On which it stood; great changes have been wrought

In all the neighbourhood, yet the Oak is left That grew beside their door; and the remains Of the unfinish'd Sheep-fold may be seen

Beside the boisterous brook of Green head Gill,

NOTE to the THORN, V. I. p. 95. This Poem ought to have been preceded by an introductory Poem, which I have been prevented from writing by never having felt myself in a mood when it was probable that I should write it well.The character which I have here introduced speaking is sufficiently common. The Reader will perhaps have a general notion of it, if he has ever known a man, a Captain of a small trading vessel for example, who being past the middle age of life, had retired upon an annuity, or small independent income, to some village or country town of which he was not a native, or in which he had not been accustomed to live. Such men having little to do become credulous and talkative from indolence; and from the same cause, and other pre-disposing causes by which it is probable that such men may have been affected, they are prone to superstition. On which account it appeared to me proper to select a character like this, to exhibit some of the general laws by which superstition acts upon the mind. Superstitious men are almost always men of slow faculties and deep feelings, their minds are not loose but adhesive; they have a reasonable share of imagination, by which word mean the faculty which produces impressive effects out of simple elements; but they are utterly destitute of fancy, the power by which pleasure and surprise are excited by sudden varieties of situation, and by accumulated imagery.

It was my wish in this Poem to shew the manner in which such men cleave to the same ideas; and to follow the turns of passion, always different, yet not palpably different, by which their conversation is swayed. I had two objects to attain; first, to represent a picture which should not be unimpressive yet consistent with the character that should describe it; secondly, while I adhered to the style in which such persons described, to take care that words, which in their minds are impregnated with passion, should likewise convey passion to Readers who