Within the garden, like the rest, a bed
For her own flowers and favorite herbs
By sacred charter, holden for her use.
These, and whatever else the garden bears
Of fruit or flower, permission asked or not,
I freely gather; and my leisure draws
A not unfrequent pastime from the sigh

a space,

Of the Bees murmuring round their sheltered hives
In that Enclosure; while the mountain rill,
That sparkling thrids the rocks, attunes his voice
To the pure course of human life, which there
Flows on in solitude. But, when the gloom
Of night is falling round my steps, then most
This Dwelling charms me; often I stop short,
(Who could refrain?) and feed by stealth my sight
With prospect of the Company within,

Laid open through the blazing window; there
I see the eldest daughter at her wheel
Spinning amain, as if to overtake

The never halting Time; or, in her turn,
Teaching some Novice of the Sisterhood
That skill in this or other household work,
Which, from her Father's honored hand, herself,
While she was yet a little-one, had learned.

- Mild Man! he is not gay, but they are gay; And the whole house seems filled with gaiety.

- Thrice happy, then, the Mother may be deemed, The Wife, from whose consolatory grave I turned, that ye in mind might witness where, And how, her Spirit yet survives on Earth."

Impression of these Narratives upon the Author's mind -- Pastor invited to give account of certain graves that lie apart — - Clergyman and his Family-Fortunate influence of change of situation Activity in extreme old age- Another Clergyman, a character of resolute Virtue - Lamentations over misdirected applause - Instance of less exalted excellence in a deaf man - Elevated character of a blind man- Reflection upon blindness Interrupted by a Peasant who passes-His animal cheerfulness and careless vivacity — He occasions a digression on the fall of beautiful and interesting TreesA female Infant's Grave Joy at her Birth Sorrow at her Departure A youthful Peasant His patriotic enthusiasm distingushed qualities and untimely death-Exultation of the Wanderer, as a patriot, in this Picture Solitary, how affected Monument of a Knight Traditions concerning him- Peroration of the Wanderer on the transitoriness of things and the revolutions of society-Hinta at his own past Calling- Thanks the Pastor.

WHILE thus from theme to theme the Historian passed
The words he uttered, and the scene that lay
Before our eyes, awakened in my mind
Vivid remembrance of those long-past hours;
When, in the hollow of some shadowy Vale,

(What time the splendor of the setting sun
Lay beautiful on Snowdon's sovereign brow,
On Cader Idris, or huge Penmanmaur)

A wandering Youth, I listened with delight
To pastoral melody or warlike air,

Drawn from the chords of the ancient British harp
By some accomplished Master, while he sate
Amid the quiet of the green recess,
And there did inexhaustibly dispense
An interchange of soft or solemn tunes,
Tender or blithe; now, as the varying mood
Of his own spirit urged, — now, as a voice
From Youth or Maiden, or some honored Chief
Of his compatriot villagers (that hung
Around him, drinking in the impassioned notes
Of the time-hallowed minstrelsy) required

For their heart's ease or pleasure. Strains of power
Were they to seize and occupy the sense;

But to a higher mark than song can reach

Rose this pure eloquence. And, when the stream
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,

A consciousness remained that it had left,

Deposited upon the silent shore

Of memory, images and precious thoughts,
That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

"These grassy heaps lie amicably close," Said I, "like surges heaving in the wind Upon the surface of a mountain pool;

Whence comes it then, that yonder we behold Five graves, and only five, that rise together Unsociably sequestered, and encroaching

On the smooth play-ground of the Village-school?"

The Vicar answered. "No disdainful pride

In them who rest beneath, nor any course
Of strange or tragic accident, hath helped
To place those Hillocks in that lonely guise.

Once more look forth, and follow with your sight The length of road that from yon mountain's base Through bare enclosures stretches, till its line Is lost within a little tuft of trees,

Then reappearing in a moment, quits

The cultured fields, and up the heathy waste,
Mounts, as you see, in mazes serpentine,
Towards an easy outlet of the Vale.

That little shady spot, that sylvan tuft,
By which the road is hidden, also hides
A Cottage from our view, though I discern
(Ye scarcely can) amid its sheltering trees
The smokeless chimney-top. All unembowered
And naked stood that lowly Parsonage
(For such in truth it is, and appertains
To a small Chapel in the Vale beyond)
When hither came its last Inhabitant.

"Rough and forbidding were the choicest roads By which our Northern wilds could then be crossed And into most of these secluded Vales

Was no access for wain, heavy or light.

So, at his Dwelling-place the Priest arrived

With store of household goods, in panniers slung

On sturdy horses graced with jingling bells,

And on the back of more ignoble beast;
That, with like burthen of effects most prized
Or easiest carried, closed the motley train.
Young was I then, a school-boy of eight years ;
But still, methinks, I see them as they passed
In order, drawing tow'rd their wished-for home.
Rocked by the motion of a trusty Ass,

Two ruddy Children hung, a well-poised freight,
Each in his basket nodding drowsily;

Their bonnets, I remember, wreathed with flowers,
Which told it was the pleasant month of June;
And, close behind, the comely matron rode,
A Woman of soft speech and gracious smile,
And with a Lady's mien. From far they came,
Even from Northumbrian hills; yet theirs had been
A merry journey -- rich in pastime - cheered
By music, prank, and laughter-stirring jest;
And freak put on, and arch word dropped
The cloud of fancy and uncouth surmise

That gathered round the slowly-moving train.

to swell

'Whence do they come? and with what errand charged?

Belong they to the fortune-telling Tribe

Who pitch their tents beneath the green-wood Tree

Or are they Strollers, furnished to enact

Fair Rosamond, and the Children of the Wood,

And by that whiskered Tabby's aid, set forth

The lucky venture of sage Whittington,

When the next Village hears the Show announced
By blast of trumpet ?' Plenteous was the growth
Of such conjectures, overheard, or seen
On many a staring countenance portrayed
Of Boor or Burgher, as they marched along.
And more than once their steadiness of face
Was put to proof, and exercise supplied
To their inventive humor, by stern looks,
And questions in authoritative tone,

From some staid Guardian of the public peace,
Checking the sober steed on which he rode,
In his suspicious wisdom; oftener still,

By notice indirect, or blunt demand,

From Traveller halting in his own despite,