There stood the urchin, as you will divine,
Something between a hindrance and a help;
Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice,
Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform.
While in this sort the simple household lived From day to day, to Michael's ear there came Distressful tidings. Long before the time
Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound
In surety for his brother's son,
And old Michael now
Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,
A grievous penalty, but little less
Than half his substance.
It seemed that his sole refuge was to sell
A portion of his patrimonial fields.
Such was his first resolve; he thought again,
And his heart failed him. “Isabel,” said he,
Two evenings after he had heard the news,
"I have been toiling more than seventy years,
And in the open sunshine of God's love
Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours
Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think
That I could not lie quiet in my grave.
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel: the land
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free.
We have, thou know'st,
Another kinsman-he will be our friend
In this distress. He is a prosperous man,
Thriving in trade-and Luke to him shall go,
And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift
He quickly will repair this loss, and then
At this the old man paused,
These thoughts, and many others of like sort,
Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel,
And her face brightened. The old man was glad,
And thus resumed: .
"Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best
Buy for him more, and let us send him forth
To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night:
If he could go, the boy should go to-night."
Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth
With a light heart. The Housewife for five days
Was restless morn and night, and all day long
Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare
Things needful for the journey of her son.
At length
The expected letter from their kinsman came,
With kind assurances that he would do
His utmost for the welfare of the boy;
To which requests were added that forthwith
He might be sent to him.
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.
Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.
So many months passed on.
Meantime Luke began To slacken in his duty; and at length He in his 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.
I have conversed with more than one who well Remembered the old man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news.
And to that hollow dell from time to time
Did he repair to build the Fold of which
His Flock had need.
There by the Sheepfold, sometimes was he seen
Sitting alone, with that 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.
WE met in secret, in the depth of night
When there was none to watch us; not an eye
Save the lone dweller of the lonely sky
To gaze upon our love and pure delight;
And in that hour's unbroken solitude,
When the white moon had robed her in its beam,
I've thought some vision of a blessed dream,
Or spirit of the air before me stood,
And held communion with me. In mine ear
Her voice's sweet notes breathed not of the earth,
Her beauty seemed not of a mortal birth;
And in my heart there was an awful fear,
A thrill, like some deep warning from above,
That soothed its passion to a spirit's love.
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