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Confound my present feelings with the past,
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld

The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky-
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch - for there is a spirit in the woods.

1799.

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55

MATTHEW.

In the School of Hawkshead is a tablet, on which are inscribed, in gilt letters, the Names of the several persons who have been Schoolmasters there since the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those names the Author wrote the following lines.

IF Nature, for a favourite child,

In thee hath tempered so her clay,
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray.

Read o'er these lines; and then review
This tablet, that thus humbly rears

In such diversity of hue

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Its history of two hundred years.

-When through this little wreck of fame,
Cipher and syllable! thine eye

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Has travelled down to Matthew's name,
Pause with no common sympathy.

And, if a sleeping tear should wake,

Then be it neither checked nor stayed:

For Matthew a request I make

Which for himself he had not made.

Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er,
Is silent as a standing pool;

Far from the chimney's merry roar,
And murmur of the village school.

The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs
Of one tired out with fun and madness;
The tears which came to Matthew's eyes
Were tears of light, the dew of gladness.

Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup
Of still and serious thought went round,
It seemed as if he drank it up -
He felt with spirit so profound.

- Thou soul of God's best earthly mould!
Thou happy Soul! and can it be

That these two words of glittering gold

Are all that must remain of thee?

1799.

THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.

WE walked along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;

And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said,
er The will of God be done!"

A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering grey;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.

And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills,

We travelled merrily, to pass

A day among the hills.

ee

Our work," said I, was well begun, Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun,

So sad a sigh has brought?"

A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye

Upon the eastern mountain-top,

To me he made reply:

"Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind.

A day like this which I have left

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And, to the church-yard come, stopped short
Beside my daughter's grave.

THE FOUNTAIN.

A CONVERSATION.

We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,

A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.

We lay beneath a spreading oak,
Beside a mossy seat;

And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.

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"Or of the church-clock and the chimes

Sing here beneath the shade,

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes

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Which you last April made!"

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed

The spring beneath the tree;

And thus the dear old Man replied,

The grey-haired man of glee :

"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears; How merrily it goes!

'T will murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.