Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800 Volume Ii Part 15

As soon as he had gather'd so much strength That he could look his trouble in the face, It seem'd that his sole refuge was to sell A portion of his patrimonial fields.

Such was his first resolve; he thought again, And his heart fail'd him. "Isabel," said he, Two evenings after he had heard the news, "I have been toiling more than seventy years, And in the open sun-shine of G.o.d's love Have we all liv'd, yet if these fields of ours Should pa.s.s into a Stranger's hand, I think That I could not lie quiet in my grave."

"Our lot is a hard lot; the Sun itself Has scarcely been more diligent than I, And I have liv'd to be a fool at last To my own family. An evil Man That was, and made an evil choice, if he Were false to us; and if he were not false, There are ten thousand to whom loss like this Had been no sorrow. I forgive him--but 'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus.

When I began, my purpose was to speak Of remedies and of a chearful hope."

"Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land Shall not go from us, and it shall be free, He shall possess it, free as is the wind That pa.s.ses over it. We have, thou knowest, Another Kinsman, he will be our friend In this distress. He is a prosperous man, Thriving in trade, and Luke to him shall go, And with his Kinsman's help and his own thrift, He quickly will repair this loss, and then May come again to us. If here he stay, What can be done? Where every one is poor What can be gain'd?" At this, the old man paus'd, And Isabel sate silent, for her mind Was busy, looking back into past times.

There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, He was a parish-boy--at the church-door They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence, And halfpennies, wherewith the Neighbours bought A Basket, which they fill'd with Pedlar's wares, And with this Basket on his arm, the Lad Went up to London, found a Master there, Who out of many chose the trusty Boy To go and overlook his merchandise Beyond the seas, where he grew wond'rous rich, And left estates and monies to the poor, And at his birth-place built a Chapel, floor'd With Marble, which he sent from foreign lands.

These thoughts, and many others of like sort, Pa.s.s'd quickly thro' the mind of Isabel, And her face brighten'd. The Old Man was glad.

And thus resum'd. "Well I Isabel, this scheme These two days has been meat and drink to me.

Far more than we have lost is left us yet.

--We have enough--I wish indeed that I Were younger, but this hope is a good hope.

--Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best Buy for him more, and let us send him forth To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night: --If he could go, the Boy should go to-night."

Here Michael ceas'd, and to the fields went forth With a light heart. The House-wife for five days Was restless morn and night, and all day long Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare Things needful for the journey of her Son.

But Isabel was glad when Sunday came To stop her in her work; for, when she lay By Michael's side, she for the two last nights Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep: And when they rose at morning she could see That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon She said to Luke, while they two by themselves Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go, We have no other Child but thee to lose, None to remember--do not go away, For if thou leave thy Father he will die."

The Lad made answer with a jocund voice, And Isabel, when she had told her fears, Recover'd heart. That evening her best fare Did she bring forth, and all together sate Like happy people round a Christmas fire.

Next morning Isabel resum'd her work, And all the ensuing week the house appear'd As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length The expected letter from their Kinsman came, With kind a.s.surances that he would do His utmost for the welfare of the Boy, To which requests were added that forthwith He might be sent to him. Ten times or more The letter was read over; Isabel Went forth to shew it to the neighbours round: Nor was there at that time on English Land A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel Had to her house return'd, the Old Man said, "He shall depart to-morrow." To this word The House--wife answered, talking much of things Which, if at such, short notice he should go, Would surely be forgotten. But at length She gave consent, and Michael was at ease.

Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Gill, In that deep Valley, Michael had design'd To build a Sheep-fold, and, before he heard The tidings of his melancholy loss, For this same purpose he had gathered up A heap of stones, which close to the brook side Lay thrown together, ready for the work.

With Luke that evening thitherward he walk'd; And soon as they had reach'd the place he stopp'd, And thus the Old Man spake to him. "My Son, To-morrow thou wilt leave me; with full heart I look upon thee, for thou art the same That wert a promise to me ere thy birth, And all thy life hast been my daily joy.

I will relate to thee some little part Of our two histories; 'twill do thee good When thou art from me, even if I should speak Of things thou caust not know of.--After thou First cam'st into the world, as it befalls To new-born infants, thou didst sleep away Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue Then fell upon thee. Day by day pa.s.s'd on, And still I lov'd thee with encreasing love."

Never to living ear came sweeter sounds Than when I heard thee by our own fire-side First uttering without words a natural tune, When thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy Mother's breast. Month follow'd month, And in the open fields my life was pa.s.s'd And in the mountains, else I think that thou Hadst been brought up upon thy father's knees.

--But we were playmates, Luke; among these hills, As well thou know'st, in us the old and young Have play'd together, nor with me didst thou Lack any pleasure which a boy can know.

Luke had a manly heart; but at these words He sobb'd aloud; the Old Man grasp'd his hand, And said, "Nay do not take it so--I see That these are things of which I need not speak.

--Even to the utmost I have been to thee A kind and a good Father: and herein I but repay a gift which I myself Receiv'd at others' hands, for, though now old Beyond the common life of man, I still Remember them who lov'd me in my youth."

Both of them sleep together: here they liv'd As all their Forefathers had done, and when At length their time was come, they were not loth To give their bodies to the family mold.

I wish'd that thou should'st live the life they liv'd.

But 'tis a long time to look back, my Son, And see so little gain from sixty years.

These fields were burthen'd when they came to me; 'Till I was forty years of age, not more Than half of my inheritance was mine.

"I toil'd and toil'd; G.o.d bless'd me in my work, And 'till these three weeks past the land was free.

--It looks as if it never could endure Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good That thou should'st go." At this the Old Man paus'd, Then, pointing to the Stones near which they stood, Thus, after a short silence, he resum'd: "This was a work for us, and now, my Son, It is a work for me. But, lay one Stone-- Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.

I for the purpose brought thee to this place."

Nay, Boy, be of good hope:--we both may live To see a better day. At eighty-four I still am strong and stout;--do thou thy part, I will do mine.--I will begin again With many tasks that were resign'd to thee; Up to the heights, and in among the storms, Will I without thee go again, and do 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--yes--yes-- 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 pa.s.s'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 House-wife phrased it, were throughout The prettiest letters that were ever seen.

Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.

So, many months pa.s.s'd on: and once again The Shepherd went about his daily work With confident and cheerful 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 listen'd to the wind; and as before 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--ands '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 unfinished 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 unfinished Sheep-fold may be seen Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Gill.

NOTES TO THE POEM of THE BROTHERS.

NOTE I.

Page 26--line 20 "There were two springs that bubbled side by side."

The impressive circ.u.mstance here described, actually took place some years ago in this country, upon an eminence called Kidstow Pike, one of the highest of the mountains that surround Hawes-water. The summit of the pike was stricken by lightning; and every trace of one of the fountains disappeared, while the other continued to flow as before.

NOTE II.

Page 29--line 5 "The thought of death sits easy on the man," &c.

There is not any thing more worthy of remark in the manners of the inhabitants of these mountains, than the tranquillity, I might say indifference, with which they think and talk upon the subject of death. Some of the country church-yards, as here described, do not contain a single tombstone, and most of them have a very small number.

NOTES TO THE POEM OF MICHAEL.

NOTE I.

Page 213--line 14 "There's Richard Bateman," &c. This story alluded to here is well known in the country. The chapel is called Ings Chapel; and is on the right hand side of the road leading from Kendal to Ambleside.

NOTE II.

Page 217--line 4 "--had design'd to build a sheep-fold." etc. It may be proper to inform some readers, that a sheep-fold in these mountains is an unroofed building of stone walls, with different divisions. It is generally placed by the side of a brook, for the convenience of washing the sheep; but it is also useful as a shelter for them, and as a place to drive them into, to enable the shepherds conveniently to single out one or more for any particular purpose.

END.