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Then old, befide him, lying at his feet.

The length of full seven years, from time to time,
He at the building of this sheepfold wrought,
And left the work unfinished when he died.
Three years, or little more, did Ifabel

Survive her husband: at her death the estate

Was fold, and went into a stranger's hand.

The cottage which was named 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 befide their door; and the remains
Of the unfinished sheepfold may be seen
Befide the boisterous brook of Greenhead Ghyll.

A FAREWell.

(Written when going to bring home his Bride.)

Farewell, thou little nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
One fide of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair,

The lovelieft spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell!-We leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the cottage which thou dost surround.

Our boat is fafely anchored by the fhore,
And fafely fhe will ride when we are gone;
The flowering fhrubs that decorate our door
Will profper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none;
These narrow bounds contain our private ftore
Of things earth makes, and fun doth fhine upon;
Here are they in our fight-we have no more.

Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
For two months now in vain we fhall be fought:
We leave you here in folitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought;
Thou, like the morning, in thy faffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
Whom from the borders of the lake we brought,
And placed together near our rocky well.

We go for one to whom you will be dear;
And she will prize this bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, building without peer!
—A gentle maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,

With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer,
She 'll come to you,-to you herself will wed,—
And love the blessed life which we lead here.

Dear spot! which we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and bloffoms blown
Among the diftant mountains, flower and weed,
Which thou haft taken to thee as thy own,
Making all kindness registered and known;
Thou for our fakes, though Nature's child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,

Haft taken gifts which thou doft little need.

And O most conftant, yet most fickle place,
Thou haft thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on thy face;
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
And say'st when we forfake thee, "Let them go !'
Thou easy-hearted thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be flow,—
And travel with the year at a foft pace.

Help us to tell her tales of years gone by,

And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best ;
Joy will be flown in its mortality;

Something must stay to tell us of the rest.

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Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast

Glittered at evening like a ftarry sky;
And in this bufh our fparrow built her neft,
Of which I fang one fong that will not die.

O happy Garden! whofe feclufion deep
Hath been fo friendly to induftrious hours;
And to foft flumbers, that did gently steep
Our fpirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers,
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers!
Two burning months let Summer overleap,
And, coming back with her who will be ours,
Into thy bofom we again fhall creep.

Helvellyn.

FIDELITY.

[graphic]

BARKING found the fhepherd hears,

A cry as of a dog or fox;

He halts, and fearches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks :

And now at diftance can difcern
A ftirring in a brake of fern;
And inftantly a dog is feen,
Glancing from that covert green.

The dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and fhy;
With fomething, as the fhepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:

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