Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800 Volume Ii Part 2

That's Walter Ewbank.

He had as white a head and fresh a cheek As ever were produc'd by youth and age Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore.

For five long generations had the heart Of Walter's forefathers o'erflow'd the bounds Of their inheritance, that single cottage, You see it yonder, and those few green fields.

They toil'd and wrought, and still, from sire to son, Each struggled, and each yielded as before A little--yet a little--and old Walter, They left to him the family heart, and land With other burthens than the crop it bore.

Year after year the old man still preserv'd A chearful mind, and buffeted with bond, Interest and mortgages; at last he sank, And went into his grave before his time.

Poor Walter! whether it was care that spurr'd him G.o.d only knows, but to the very last He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale: His pace was never that of an old man: I almost see him tripping down the path With his two Grandsons after him--but you, Unless our Landlord be your host to-night, Have far to travel, and in these rough paths Even in the longest day of midsummer--

LEONARD.

But these two Orphans!

PRIEST.

Orphans! such they were-- Yet not while Walter liv'd--for, though their Parents Lay buried side by side as now they lie, The old Man was a father to the boys, Two fathers in one father: and if tears Shed, when he talk'd of them where they were not, And hauntings from the infirmity of love, Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart, This old Man in the day of his old age Was half a mother to them.--If you weep, Sir, To hear a stranger talking about strangers, Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred!

Aye. You may turn that way--it is a grave Which will bear looking at.

LEONARD.

These Boys I hope They lov'd this good old Man--

PRIEST.

They did--and truly, But that was what we almost overlook'd, They were such darlings of each other. For Though from their cradles they had liv'd with Walter, The only kinsman near them in the house, Yet he being old, they had much love to spare, And it all went into each other's hearts.

Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months, Was two years taller: 'twas a joy to see, To hear, to meet them! from their house the School Was distant three short miles, and in the time Of storm and thaw, when every water-course And unbridg'd stream, such as you may have notic'd Crossing our roads at every hundred steps, Was swoln into a noisy rivulet, Would Leonard then, when elder boys perhaps Remain'd at home, go staggering through the fords Bearing his Brother on his back.--I've seen him, On windy days, in one of those stray brooks, Aye, more than once I've seen him mid-leg deep, Their two books lying both on a dry stone Upon the hither side:--and once I said, As I remember, looking round these rocks And hills on which we all of us were born, That G.o.d who made the great book of the world Would bless such piety--

LEONARD.

It may be then--

PRIEST.

Never did worthier lads break English bread: The finest Sunday that the Autumn saw, With all its mealy cl.u.s.ters of ripe nuts, Could never keep these boys away from church, Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach.

Leonard and James! I warrant, every corner Among these rocks and every hollow place Where foot could come, to one or both of them Was known as well as to the flowers that grew there.

Like roe-bucks they went bounding o'er the hills: They play'd like two young ravens on the crags: Then they could write, aye and speak too, as well As many of their betters--and for Leonard!

The very night before he went away, In my own house I put into his hand A Bible, and I'd wager twenty pounds, That, if he is alive, he has it yet.

LEONARD.

It seems, these Brothers have not liv'd to be A comfort to each other.--

PRIEST.

That they might Live to that end, is what both old and young In this our valley all of us have wish'd, And what, for my part, I have often pray'd: But Leonard--

LEONARD.

Then James still is left among you--

PRIEST.

'Tis of the elder Brother I am speaking: They had an Uncle, he was at that time A thriving man, and traffick'd on the seas: And, but for this same Uncle, to this hour Leonard had never handled rope or shroud.

For the Boy lov'd the life which we lead here; And, though a very Stripling, twelve years old; His soul was knit to this his native soil.

But, as I said, old Walter was too weak To strive with such a torrent; when he died, The estate and house were sold, and all their sheep, A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know, Had clothed the Ewbauks for a thousand years.

Well--all was gone, and they were dest.i.tute.

And Leonard, chiefly for his brother's sake, Resolv'd to try his fortune on the seas.

'Tis now twelve years since we had tidings from him.

If there was one among us who had heard That Leonard Ewbank was come home again, From the great Gavel [3], down by Leeza's Banks, And down the Enna, far as Egremont, The day would be a very festival, And those two bells of ours, which there you see Hanging in the open air--but, O good Sir!

This is sad talk--they'll never sound for him Living or dead--When last we heard of him He was in slavery among the Moors Upon the Barbary Coast--'Twas not a little That would bring down his spirit, and, no doubt, Before it ended in his death, the Lad Was sadly cross'd--Poor Leonard! when we parted, He took me by the hand and said to me, If ever the day came when he was rich, He would return, and on his Father's Land He would grow old among us.

[Footnote 3: The great Gavel, so called I imagine, from its resemblance to the Gable end of a house, is one of the highest of the c.u.mberland mountains. It stands at the head of the several vales of Ennerdale, Wastdale, and Borrowdale.

The Leeza is a River which follows into the Lake of Ennerdale: on issuing from the Lake, it changes its name, and is called the End, Eyne, or Enna. It falls into the sea a little below Egremont.]

LEONARD.

If that day Should come, 'twould needs be a glad day for him; He would himself, no doubt, be as happy then As any that should meet him--

PRIEST.

Happy, Sir--

LEONARD.

You said his kindred all were in their graves, And that he had one Brother--

PRIEST.

That is but A fellow tale of sorrow. From his youth James, though not sickly, yet was delicate, And Leonard being always by his side Had done so many offices about him, That, though he was not of a timid nature, Yet still the spirit of a mountain boy In him was somewhat check'd, and when his Brother Was gone to sea and he was left alone The little colour that he had was soon Stolen from his cheek, he droop'd, and pin'd and pin'd;

LEONARD.

But these are all the graves of full grown men!

PRIEST.

Aye, Sir, that pa.s.s'd away: we took him to us.

He was the child of all the dale--he liv'd Three months with one, and six months with another: And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love, And many, many happy days were his.

But, whether blithe or sad, 'tis my belief His absent Brother still was at his heart.

And, when he liv'd beneath our roof, we found (A practice till this time unknown to him) That often, rising from his bed at night, He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping He sought his Brother Leonard--You are mov'd!

Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you, I judg'd you most unkindly.

LEONARD.

But this youth, How did he die at last?

PRIEST.

One sweet May morning, It will be twelve years since, when Spring returns, He had gone forth among the new-dropp'd lambs, With two or three companions whom it chanc'd Some further business summon'd to a house Which stands at the Dale-head. James, tir'd perhaps, Or from some other cause remain'd behind.

You see yon precipice--it almost looks Like some vast building made of many crags, And in the midst is one particular rock That rises like a column from the vale, Whence by our Shepherds it is call'd, the Pillar.

James, pointing to its summit, over which They all had purpos'd to return together, Inform'd them that he there would wait for them: They parted, and his comrades pa.s.s'd that way Some two hours after, but they did not find him At the appointed place, a circ.u.mstance Of which they took no heed: but one of them, Going by chance, at night, into the house Which at this time was James's home, there learn'd That n.o.body had seen him all that day: The morning came, and still, he was unheard of: The neighbours were alarm'd, and to the Brook Some went, and some 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 Lad, and there he lies.

LEONARD.