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

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?

THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.

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

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

A village schoolmaster was he,

With hair of glittering gray;

As blithe a man as you could see

On a spring holiday.

And on that morning, through the grass,

And by the streaming rills,

We travelled merrily, to pass

A day among the hills.

"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:

2 F

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

A day like this which I have left
Full thirty years behind.

"And just above yon slope of corn

Such colours, and no other,

Were in the sky, that April morn,

Of this the very brother.

"With rod and line I sued the sport

Which that sweet season gave,

And, coming to the church, stopped short Beside my daughter's grave.

"Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale;

And then she sang ;-she would have been A very nightingale.

"Six feet in earth my Emma lay;

And yet I loved her more,

For so it seemed, than till that day
I e'er had loved before.

"And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the churchyard yew,

A blooming girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning dew.

"A basket on her head she bare;
Her brow was smooth and white :

To see a child so very fair,

It was a pure delight!

"No fountain from its rocky cave E'er tripped with foot so free; She seemed as happy as a wave

That dances on the sea.

"There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;

I looked at her, and looked again:
-And did not wish her mine."

Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
Methinks, I see him stand,

As at that moment, with his bough
Of wilding in his hand.

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.

"Now, Matthew! let us try to match
This water's pleasant tune

With some old border song, or catch,
That suits a summer's noon.

"Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade,

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes
Which you last April made!"

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed

The spring beneath the tree;

And thus the dear old man replied,
The gray-haired man of glee:

"Down to the vale this water steers,

How merrily it goes!

"Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.

"And here, on this delightful day,
I cannot choose but think

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay
Beside this fountain's brink.

"My eyes are dim with childish tears,

My heart is idly stirred,

For the same sound is in my ears

Which in those days I heard.

"Thus fares it still in our decay:

And yet the wiser mind

Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind.

"The blackbird in the summer trees,

The lark upon the hill,

Let loose their carols when they please Are quiet when they will.

"With Nature never do they wage

A foolish strife; they see

A happy youth, and their old age

Is beautiful and free:

"But we are pressed by heavy laws;

And often, glad no more,

We wear a face of joy, because

We have been glad of yore.

"If there is one that need bemoan

His kindred laid in earth,

The household hearts that were his own,

It is the man of mirth.

"My days, my friend, are almost gone,
My life has been approved,

And many love me; but by none
Am I enough beloved."

"Now both himself and me he wrongs,

The man who thus complains!

I live and sing my idle songs

Upon these happy plains,

And, Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!"

At this he grasped my hand, and said,
"Alas! that cannot be."

We rose up from the fountain-side;
And down the smooth descent

Of the green sheep-track did we glide ;
And through the wood we went;

And, ere we came to Leonard's Rock,
He sang those witty rhymes

About the crazy old church-clock,
And the bewildered chimes.

INCIDENT,

CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG.

ON his morning rounds the master
Goes to learn how all things fare;
Searches pasture after pasture,
Sheep and cattle eyes with care;
And, for silence or for talk,
He hath comrades in his walk;

Four dogs, each pair of different breed,

Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed.

See, a hare before him started!

-Off they fly in earnest chase;
Every dog eager-hearted,
All the four are in the race,
And the hare whom they pursue,
Hath an instinct what to do;

Her hope is rear: no turn she makes;
But like an arrow, to the river takes,

Deep the river was, and crusted
Thinly by a one-night's frost;
But the nimble hare hath trusted

To the ice, and safely crost;
She hath crost, and without heed

Are following at full speed,

When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread.

Breaks-and the greyhound, DART, is over head

Better fate have PRINCE and SWALLOW-

See them cleaving to the sport!

MUSIC has no heart to follow
Little MUSIC, she stops short.
She hath neither wish nor heart,

Hers is now another part:

A loving creature she, and brave!

And fondly strives her struggling friend to save

From the brink her paws she stretches,

Very hands as you would say !

And afflicting moans she fetches,

As he breaks the ice away.

For herself she hath no fears,

Him alone she sees and hears,—

Makes efforts and complainings; nor gives o'er
Until her fellow sank, and reappeared no more

TRIBUTE

TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG.

LIE here sequestered:-be this little mound
For ever thine, and be it holy ground!
Lie here, without a record of thy worth,
Beneath the covering of the common earth!
It is not from unwillingness to praise,

Or want of love, that here no stone we raise;
More thou deserv'st; but this man gives to man,
Brother to brother, this is all we can.

Yet they to whom thy virtues made thee dear
Shall find thee through all changes of the year:
This oak points out thy grave; the silent tree
Will gladly stand a monument of thee.

I prayed for thee, and that thy end were past;
And willingly have laid thee here at last:
For thou hadst lived, till every thing that cheers
In thee had yielded to the weight of years;
Extreme old age had wasted thee away;
And left thee but a glimmering of the day:
Thy ears were deaf; and feeble were thy knees,--
I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze,
Too weak to stand against its sportive breath,
And ready for the gentlest stroke of death.

It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed;

Both man and woman wept when thou wert dead;

Not only for a thousand thoughts that were,

Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee,

Found scarcely anywhere in like degree!

For love, that comes to all; the holy sense,

Best gift of God, in thee was most intense