He took his way, impatient to accost The Stranger, whom he saw still lingering there. 'Twas one well known to him in former days, Through twenty seasons; but he had been reared Was half a Shepherd on the stormy seas. Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds Of caves and trees :-and, when the regular wind Between the tropics filled the steady sail, And blew with the same breath through days and weeks, Lengthening invisibly its weary line Along the cloudless Main, he, in those hours Of tiresome indolence, would often hang Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze; And, while the broad green wave and sparkling foam Flashed round him images and hues that wrought In union with the employment of his heart, He, thus by feverish passion overcome, Below him, in the bosom of the deep, Saw mountains, saw the forms of sheep that grazed And shepherds clad in the same country gray Which he himself had worn *. And now at last From perils manifold, with some small wealth To his paternal home he is returned, The life which he lived there; both for the sake In all his hardships, since that happy time *This description of the Calenture is sketched from an imperfect recollection of an admirable one in prose, by Mr. Gilbert, author of The Hurricane. Failed in him; and, not venturing to inquire Towards the church-yard he had turned aside,- He had remained; but, as he gazed, there grew That he began to doubt; and he had hopes That it was not another grave, but one As up the vale that afternoon he walked Through fields which once had been well known to him: And oh! what joy the recollection now Sent to his heart! He lifted up his eyes, By this the Priest, who down the field had come VOL. I. H Stopped short, and thence, at leisure, limb by limb Perused him with a gay complacency. Ay, thought the Vicar, smiling to himself, "Tis one of those who needs must leave the path Of the world's business to go wild alone; The happy Man will creep about the fields Of this rude church-yard, till the stars appeared LEONARD. You live, Sir, in these dales, a quiet life : Your years make up one peaceful family; And who would grieve and fret, if, welcome come Comes to this church-yard once in eighteen months; And see, that with our threescore years and ten There was a foot-way all along the fields By the brook-side-'tis gone-and that dark cleft! To me it does not seem to wear the face Which then it had. PRIEST. Nay, Sir, for aught I know, That chasm is much the same— LEONARD. But, surely, yonder PRIEST. Ay, there, indeed, your memory is a friend That does not play you false-On that tall pike There were two Springs which bubbled side by side, |