When thou art from me, even if I should touch On things thou canst not know of. After thou First cam'st into the world-as oft befalls
To new-born infants-thou didst sleep away Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on, And still I loved thee with increasing love. Never to living ear came sweeter sounds
Than when I heard thee by our own fireside First uttering, without words, a natural tune: While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy Mother's breast. Month followed month, And in the open fields my life was passed And on the mountains; else I think that thou Hadst been brought up upon thy Father's knees. But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills, As well thou knowest, in us the old and young Have played together, nor with me didst thou Lack any pleasure which a boy can know.' Luke had a manly heart; but at these words He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand, And said, ‘Nay, do not take it so I see
That these are things of which I need not speak. -Even to the utmost I have been to thee
A kind and a good Father: and herein I but repay a gift which I myself
Received at others' hand; for, though now old Beyond the common life of man, I still Remember them who loved me in my youth. Both of them sleep together; here they lived, As all their Forefathers had done; and when At length their time was come, they were not loth To give their bodies to the family mould.
I wished that thou shouldst live the life they lived: But, 'tis a long time to look back, my Son And see so little gained from threescore years. These fields were burthened when they came to me; Till I was forty years of age, not more
Than half of my inheritance was mine.
I toiled and toiled; God blessed me in my work,
And till these three weeks past the land was free.
-It looks as if it never could endure
Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good
That thou shouldst go.'
At this the old Man paused;
Then, pointing to the stones near which they stood, Thus, after a short silence, he resumed:
'This was a work for us; and now, my Son,
But, lay one stone- Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands. Nay, Boy, be of good hope;-we both may live To see a better day. At eighty-four
I still am strong and hale;-do thou thy part; I will do mine.-I will begin again
With many tasks that were resigned to thee: Up to the heights, and in among the storms, Will I without thee go again, and do
All works which I was wont to do alone,
Before I knew thy face.-Heaven bless thee, Boy! Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast With many hopes; it should be so-yes-yes- I knew that thou couldst never have a wish To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to me Only by links of love: when thou art gone, What will be left to us!-But, I forget My purposes: Lay now the corner-stone, As I requested; and hereafter, Luke, When thou art gone away, should evil men Be thy companions, think of me, my Son, And of this moment; hither turn thy thoughts, And God will strengthen thee: amid all fear And all temptations, Luke, I pray that thou May'st bear in mind the life thy Fathers lived, Who, being innocent, did for that cause Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well- When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see
A work which is not here: a covenant
'Twill be between us; but, whatever fate
Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last,
And bear thy memory with me to the grave.'
The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stooped down, And, as his Father had requested, laid
The first stone of the Sheepfold. At the sight
The old Man's grief broke from him; to his heart
He pressed his Son, he kissèd him and wept;
And to the house together they returned.
-Hushed was that House in peace, or seeming peace, Ere the Night fell:-with morrow's dawn the Boy Began his journey, and when he had reached The public way, he put on a bold face;
And all the neighbours, as he passed their doors, Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, That followed him till he was out of sight.
A good report did from their kinsman come, Of Luke and his well-doing: and the Boy Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout 'The prettiest letters that were ever seen.' Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. So, many months passed on: and once again The Shepherd went about his daily work With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour He to that valley took his way, and there Wrought at the Sheep fold. Meantime Luke began To slacken in his duty; and, at length, He in the dissolute city gave himself To evil courses: ignominy and shame Fell on him, so that he was driven at last To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.
There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart: I have conversed with more than one who well Remember the old Man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks He went, and still looked up to sun and cloud, (K) HC XLI
And listened to the wind; and, as before, Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep, And for the land, his small inheritance. And to that hollow dell from time to time Did he repair, to build the Fold of which His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet The pity which was then in every heart For the old Man-and 'tis believed by all That many and many a day he thither went, And never lifted up a single stone.
There, by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen Sitting alone, or with his faithful Dog,
Then old, beside 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 Isabel
Survive her Husband: at her death the estate Was sold, 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 beside their door; and the remains Of the unfinished Sheepfold may be seen
Beside the boisterous brook of Greenhead Ghyll.
FROM Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravell'd,
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travell'd; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my 'winsome Marrow,' 'Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow.'
'Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow; But we will downward with the Tweed, Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
'There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us;
And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed The lintwhites sing in chorus;
There's pleasant Teviotdale, a land
Made blythe with plough and harrow: Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow?
'What's Yarrow but a river bare
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder.'
-Strange words they seem'd of slight and
My true-love sigh'd for sorrow,
And look'd me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow!
'O green,' said I, 'are Yarrow's holms.
And sweet is Yarrow flowing!
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, But we will leave it growing.
O'er hilly path and open strath
We'll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn Into the dale of Yarrow.
'Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake
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