S karandashom i knizhkoj na kolenyah Usyadutsya i chto-to strochat, strochat. Za eto vremya mozhno bylo b smelo Projti mil' desyat' ili u soseda Na pole vyzhat' celyj dobryj akr. A etot vot lenivec, chto on ishchet? CHego emu eshche tam nuzhno? Pravo, U nas na kladbishche net monumentov, Net nadpisej nadgrobnyh, - tol'ko dern Da bednye mogily". Tak zametil Svoej zhene svyashchennik v |nnerdele. Byl letnij vecher, u kryl'ca spokojno Na kamennoj pristupke on sidel I zanyat byl rabotoj mirnoj. Tut zhe Sidela i ego zhena na kamne I sherst' chesala, on zhe podaval Skvoz' zub'ya dvuh grebnej blestyashchih pryazhu Na pryalku mladshej docheri svoej, Kotoraya rabotala s nim ryadom, I koleso pod lovkimi rukami, Poslushnoe ee stupne provornoj, Vertelos' merno. Mnogo raz podryad S nedoumen'em vzglyad brosal svyashchennik Tuda, gde za stenoyu, mhom porosshej, Vidnelas' cerkov'. Nakonec on vstal, Zabotlivo slozhil vse instrumenty Na kuchu belosnezhnoj myagkoj shersti, Im zagotovlennoj, i po tropinke, Vedushchej k cerkvi ot kryl'ca, poshel, CHtob rassprosit', chto nuzhno neznakomcu, Kotoryj vse ne uhodil ottuda. Tomu davno on znal ego otlichno, To byl pastuh. V shestnadcat' let pokinul On kraj rodnoj, chtob vverit' vole vetra Svoyu sud'bu. Nazvali moryaki Ego tovarishchem, i s nimi dvadcat' let Skitalsya on, no vse zh nedarom vyros On zdes', v gorah. Po-prezhnemu ostalsya Na more burnom pastuhom v dushe. Da! Leonardu chuyalis' nevol'no Skvoz' skrip snastej rodnye otgoloski Derev'ev, vodopadov. V te chasy, Kogda vse tot zhe neprestannyj veter Pod tropikami celye nedeli S odnim i tem zhe vechnym postoyanstvom Im razduval nadezhnyj krepkij parus I dolgij put' v bezbrezhnom okeane Eshche dlinnej kazalsya, - chasto on V bezdelii tomitel'nom i skuchnom Glyadel podolgu za bort korablya; Bezhali mimo volny golubye, I s bryzgami i penoj grebnej belyh Znakomye kartiny proplyvali, V dushe rozhdalos' strastnoe zhelan'e, I v glubine morskoj on yasno videl Gor ochertan'ya, videl on stada Ovec pasushchihsya, holmy, derev'ya I pastuhov v odezhde domotkanoj, Kotoruyu nosil i on. Teper', Pokinuv zhizn' opasnuyu na more I koe-kak skopiv nemnogo deneg V dalekoj Indii, k rodnym mestam Vernulsya on, chtob snova, kak v te gody, Zazhit' v tishi. Ved' zdes' ostalsya brat, S kotorym on i v znoj, i v nepogodu Kogda-to pas stada sredi holmov Vsegda vdvoem i o kotorom chasto On vspominal v skitaniyah svoih. Drugoj rodni oni ne znali vovse. U Leonarda serdce szhalos' bol'no, Kogda on k domu tiho podhodil. I vot, o brate rassprosit' ne smeya, Na kladbishche proshel on pryamo k cerkvi. On pomnil, gde lezhat ego rodnye, I po chislu mogil uznat' on dumal, ZHiv ili net lyubimyj brat. Uvy, Odnoj mogiloj stalo bol'she. Dolgo Stoyal on zdes', no v pamyati ego Smeshalos' vse, on nachal somnevat'sya, Nadeyat'sya, byt' mozhet, on oshibsya. Byt' mozhet, etot holmik byl i ran'she I on zabyl ego. Ved' nynche v polden' On posredi polej davno znakomyh S dorogi chut' ne sbilsya... I v dushe Vospominan'ya ozhili. Kazalos', CHto vse krugom teper' glyadit inache, CHto izmenilis' kak-to les i pole, CHto dazhe prezhnih skal kak budto net. Mezh tem svyashchennik podoshel k ograde I nezametno otvoril kalitku, Smeyas' v dushe, okinul Leonarda Lukavym vzglyadom s golovy do nog. "Nu tak i est', - podumal on s ulybkoj, - Odin iz teh skital'cev nelyubimyh, Komu do nashej zhizni dela net, CH'i ruki vechno prazdnuyut. Konechno, Zashel syuda, dorogoj razmechtavshis', I budet slezy lit' v uedinen'i I do zakata durakom stoyat'". Pochtennyj pastyr' mog by ochen' dolgo Tak rassuzhdat' odin s samim soboyu, Ostanovivshis' u vorot, kogda by Ne podoshel k nemu sam neznakomec. Vikariya uznal totchas zhe on, No poklonilsya, budto by vpervye Ego on videl, i zagovoril. Leonard Vam, verno, zdes' zhivetsya bezzabotno, Prohodyat gody mirnoj cheredoyu, Vstrechaete vy ih prihod radushno, Ih provozhaete bez sozhalen'ya I zabyvaete. Edva l' za celyj god Pohoronit' kogo-nibud' pridetsya. I vse-taki ne vechno vse krugom, I my, kotorym zdes' dostalos' zhizni SHest' ili sem' desyatkov let, ne bole, My ne edinstvennye zdes' podvlastny I vremeni i smerti. Prohodil ya Kogda-to ran'she etimi mestami, I pomnitsya, chto zdes' byla tropinka Vdol' po ruch'yu - ee uzhe ne vidno, I eta vot rasselina, po-moemu, Teper' glyadit inache... Svyashchennik CHto vy, net, Ona vse ta zhe, chto byla. Leonard Byt' mozhet, Vot ta? Svyashchennik Vy pravy. Vidno, vasha pamyat', Tovarishch dobryj, vam ne izmenyaet. Na teh holmah (gluhie tam mesta) Tam dva ruch'ya tekli pochti chto ryadom, Kak budto by velela im priroda Byt' sputnikami vechno. V tu skalu Udarila raz molniya. Rasselas' Ona gluboko, i odin ruchej Issyak s teh por, - drugoj zhurchit ponyne. Sobyt'ya vse u nas naperechet. Vdrug burya s livnem polgory podmoet, Uzh to-to radosti takim, kak vy, Glyadet', kak celyj akr zemli nesetsya S kamnyami vniz. Il' majskaya groza Vse zaneset yanvarskim belym snegom, I v odnu noch' dostanetsya voronam Na rasterzan'e sotni dve ovec. Umret pastuh v gorah sluchajnoj smert'yu, Vesnoyu ledohodom most sneset, Les vyrubyat dlya nashih zhe postroek, Rodiny il' krestiny, pole vspashut, Otpravyat doch' kuda-nibud' sluzhit', Tkat' konchat, starye chasy pochinyat, Vse eto pomnitsya otlichno vsemi, I po sobyt'yam schet godam vedetsya Vsegda dvojnoj - odin dlya vsej doliny, Drugoj svoj sobstvennyj v hozyajstve kazhdom. A obo mne sudili vy neverno, YA letopiscem zdes' schitayus'. Leonard Vse zhe, Prostite, ya na kladbishche ne vizhu Osobennoj zaboty ob ushedshih, Mogily materi ditya ne syshchet. Ni pamyatnikov net, ni plit nadgrobnyh, Net cherepov s kostyami, govoryashchih O tom, chto vse zdes' v nashej zhizni brenno, Net simvolov bessmert'ya, budto zdes' I ne priyut poslednij dlya umershih, A tak, prostoe pole ili lug. Svyashchennik Ot pervogo ot vas ya eto slyshu. Ne sporyu, esli b v Anglii povsyudu Pohozhi byli by kladbishchi na nashe, Kamenotesy po miru poshli by. No vy neverno sudite o nas. Nam nadpisej nadgrobnyh i ne nado, U ochaga my mertvyh vspominaem, I nas bessmert'em uteshat' izlishne, Ved' tot, kto zdes', v gorah, kak my, rodilsya, Tot tak spokojno dumaet o smerti, CHto dlya nego vse yasno i bez slov. Leonard Kak vidno, zdes' zhivut vtoroyu zhizn'yu V vospominan'yah lyudi. Verno, Vy rasskazat' mogli by ochen' mnogo Ob etih vot mogilah. Svyashchennik Nu eshche by! Za vosem'desyat let nemalo slyshal I videl ya krugom. Kogda by mogli my U moego kamina zimnij vecher V besede provesti, my verno b s vami, Perebiraya eti vot mogily I stranstvuya tak ot odnoj k drugoj, Nemalo s chem stolknulis' by v doroge. Vot eta vot u samyh vashih nog, Ona po vidu kak i vse drugie, A chelovek, shoronennyj pod neyu, Pogib s razbitym serdcem. Leonard |to sluchaj Dovol'no chastyj. Luchshe rasskazhite Pro tu mogilu vot na vozvyshen'e, Poslednyuyu iz treh pochti chto ryadom S kuskom skaly v stene. Svyashchennik Ah, eto Val'ter. Da, Val'ter Ibank. V vosem'desyat let Sedoj kak lun', no molozhavyj vidom, On byl dushoj na yunoshu pohozh. Pyat' pokolenij predkov potrudilos' Nad hizhinoj i tem klochkom zemli, Kotoryj Val'teru potom dostalsya. Rabotali ne pokladaya ruk, Stremyas' hot' chto-nibud' k nemu pribavit', Vnuk prodolzhal ostavlennoe dedom, No im bor'ba dostalas' nelegko, I Val'ter unasledoval nemnogo: Vse tu zhe strast' k rabote, eto pole, A s nim dolgi i vechnyj nedorod. Nemalo let derzhalsya staryj Val'ter, Vsegda byl bodr i vesel, ne vziraya Na vse povinnosti i zakladnye, No vse-taki ne vyderzhal vkonec I ran'she vremeni soshel v mogilu. Da, bednyj Val'ter. Vedaet Gospod', Kak zhizn' emu davalas' trudno; vse zhe Takoj pohodki legkoj v |nnerdele Ne pomnyu ya, i kak sejchas ya vizhu, Kak bystro on idet vniz po tropinke I dvoe vnukov sledom... Vam, odnako, Po krajnej mere, esli nash vladelec Vam ne okazhet zdes' gostepriimstva, Dalekij put' segodnya predstoit. A zdes' mesta gluhie dazhe letom. Leonard A dvoe sirot? Svyashchennik Sirot? Zdes' lezhat Bok o bok ih roditeli, no Val'ter, Poka byl zhiv, im zamenyal oboih, Vdvojne im byl otcom; a esli slezy I nezhnost' serdca starogo, s kotoroj On govoril o nih, nazvat' k tomu zhe Lyubov'yu materinskoj - pravo, Val'ter Byl mater'yu napolovinu im. Vot vy chuzhoj, a kak rodnogo, vidno, Vas moj rasskaz zastavil proslezit'sya. I eta vot mogila tozhe stoit Vniman'ya vashego. Leonard Nadeyus', CHto mal'chiki lyubili starika. Svyashchennik I kak eshche! No mezh soboyu tozhe Oni vsegda dusha s dushoyu zhili. Ih iz pelenok staryj Val'ter vzyal, Edinstvennoj rodnej dlya nih ostalsya, Lyubil ih vseyu starcheskoj lyubov'yu, No vse zh u mal'chikov ostalos' v serdce Dovol'no chuvstva, chtoby udelit' Drug drugu. Byl, dolzhno byt', Leonard Na poltora lish' goda starshe brata, No vyshe byl, i raznica kazalas' Zametnej. Verite l', pri vide ih I na dushe otradnej stanovilos'. Im ot domu, dolzhno byt', mili tri Idti do nashej shkoly nuzhno bylo, A v dozhd' u nas doroga - ne projti. Vidali sami - kazhdaya rechonka Potokom burnym razol'etsya srazu. V takie dni nikto ne vyhodil, A Leonard sazhal na plechi brata I otpravlyalsya vbrod shagat'. YA videl Dovol'no chasto, kak pereplavlyalis' CHerez ruchej oni. Voda inoj raz Byla im po koleno, a ih knigi Na kamne byli slozheny suhom. I, pomnitsya, odnazhdy ya podumal, Vzglyanuv na nashi skaly i holmy, CHto Bog, kotoryj sozdal etu knigu, Voznagradit zabotlivost' takuyu. Leonard Byt' mozhet... Svyashchennik Pravo, Angliya vskormila Sebe vpolne dostojnyh synovej. Poverite l', no ih i v voskresen'e Pod osen' grozd'ya speyushchih orehov I solnechnye dni ne otvlekali Ot cerkvi i ot dolga hrist'yanina. Da! Leonard i Dzhems! B'yus' ob zaklad, CHto im v gorah znakom byl kazhdyj kamen', CHto kazhduyu lozhbinu, kazhdyj vystup, Kuda proniknut' tol'ko mozhno, znali Oni nichut' ne huzhe rezvyh lanej, Srodnilis' s nimi, kak cvety s zemleyu, Kak voronyata, po skalam rezvilis', I vse-taki i v chten'e i v pis'me Ot sverstnikov oni ne otstavali. Pered ot®ezdom samym Leonard Zashel ko mne. YA Bibliyu v dorogu Togda emu na pamyat' podaril, I golovu dayu na otsechen'e, CHto esli zhiv on - eta kniga s nim. Leonard No ne prishlos', kak vidno, brat'yam vmeste ZHit' do konca! Svyashchennik Nam vsem hotelos' strashno, I starikam, i molodym, chtob oba U nas ostalis' zhit', i ya molilsya V dushe o tom zhe samom. Leonard... Leonard Tak Dzhems eshche ostalsya zdes'? Svyashchennik O starshem YA govoryu sejchas. U nih byl dyadya Bogach, kak raz v tu poru zanimalsya Morskoj torgovlej. Esli by ne on, To Leonard ne vzyalsya b za kanaty. No staryj Val'ter byl uzh slishkom slab, CHtoby rabotat'. Posle ego smerti Vse bylo prodano - i dom, i pole, I stado, odevavshee semejstvo Iz roda v rod, byt' mozhet, sotni let, Vse s molotka poshlo, vsego lishilis'. I vzdumal radi brata Leonard V moryah dalekih ispytat' udachi. Dvenadcat' let ne shlet on nam vestej. Kogda b o nem zaslyshali my tol'ko, CHto on vernulsya i idet syuda, - My v tot zhe den' ustroili by prazdnik, I eti vot kolokola togda by Oni - uvy! mne strashno i podumat', CHto ne pridetsya im zvonit' o nem, Ni o zhivom, ni dazhe ob umershem. Poslednij raz peredavali nam, CHto v Afrike on negram v plen popalsya. Nemalo tam on ispytal, dolzhno byt', Neschastnyj mal'chik! Rasstavayas', on Vzyal za ruku menya i obeshchal mne, CHto, esli tol'ko on razbogateet, On vnov' syuda vernetsya konchit' zhizn' I lech' v mogilu s nami. Leonard Esli tol'ko Nastanet etot den' kogda-nibud', Schastlivej vseh on sam, konechno, budet. Svyashchennik Eshche by! Leonard Vy skazali mne sejchas, CHto vsya rodnya ego lezhit v mogile, No u nego byl brat eshche. Svyashchennik O da, No eto tozhe povest' iz pechal'nyh. Dzhems smolodu zdorov'em nezhen byl, I gorca duh skazalsya v nem slabee, Hotya i robkim tozhe ne byl on. Brat okruzhal ego svoej zabotoj. Kogda zh s ego ot®ezdom Dzhems ostalsya Sovsem odin, on na glazah stal chahnut', Soshel rumyanec bystro s yunyh shchek. Leonard No detskih zdes' mogil ya ne zametil. Svyashchennik Da, verno. On opravilsya potom, Ego k sebe my vzyali. Nash poselok Usynovil ego, i tak on zhil Gde mesyac, dva, gde dazhe i polgoda. On byl odet, nakormlen i lyubim, Byt' mozhet, dazhe schastliv byl otchasti, No mne vsegda kazalos', chto v dushe O brate on toskuet neprestanno. Dzhems dolgo zhil pod krovom u menya, I ya zametil, kak on chasto noch'yu (CHego do sej pory s nim ne byvalo) Vstaval s posteli i vo sne hodil Po komnate i brata zval k sebe. Vas tronul moj rasskaz? Prostite, sudar', Nespravedlivo ya sudil o vas. Leonard A kak zhe umer yunosha? Svyashchennik Odnazhdy (S teh por proshlo dvenadcat' let, ne men'she) On majskim utrom pas v gorah yagnyat S tovarishchami vmeste. Solnce yarko V bezoblachnyh svetilo nebesah. S holma na holm oni perebiralis'. Ustal li on il' prosto otdal dan' Sluchajnoj leni, tol'ko on otstal Ot nih dorogoj. Vidite obryv? Nad nim podnyalis' skaly, tochno zamok, I vysitsya utes poseredine, Ego Stolpom prozvali pastuhi. Tovarishchi zametit' ne uspeli, Kak Dzhems ostalsya na ego vershine I tam v kustah ulegsya otdohnut'. Kogda oni obratno prohodili, Ego tam ne bylo. Bedy ne chaya, Oni v selo vernulis'. No odin Zashel sluchajno v dom, gde v eto vremya ZHil bednyj mal'chik. On ne vozvrashchalsya. Ves' den' ego nikto nigde ne videl. Nastalo utro. Dzhemsa net kak net. Vse brosilis' na poiski totchas zhe, Kto k ozeru, kto k rechke. Tol'ko v polden' Ego nashli pod etim zhe utesom. On ne dyshal, on ves' byl iskalechen, Tri dnya spustya ya horonil ego. Bednyazhka, pravo, vot ego mogila. Leonard Tak vot ego mogila! Vy skazali, CHto on byl schastliv? Svyashchennik Schastliv? Da, ruchayus'. Leonard I vse ego lyubili? Svyashchennik On povsyudu Vsegda byl vstrechen tochno syn rodnoj. Leonard V dushe ego nichto ne tyagotilo? Svyashchennik O net. Imel on sluchaj ubedit'sya, CHto vremya luchshij vrach dlya serdca. Pravda, On do konca o brate Leonarde Vsegda s lyubov'yu prezhnej govoril. Leonard I strashnyj greh ne mog on vzyat' na sovest'? Svyashchennik Izbavi Bozhe! YA vam govoril, CHto u nego privychka poyavilas', Ot gorya ili prosto tak sluchajno, Brodit' vo sne. I my reshili vse, CHto on, prigretyj solncem na trave, Usnul, druzej prihoda dozhidayas'. I sonnyj vstal i podoshel k obryvu I vniz sorvalsya. Zdes' somnenij net. Dolzhno byt', on za posoh uhvatilsya I padal s nim. Visel potom on dolgo Nad propast'yu - tak i istlel v kustah. Svyashchennik konchil svoj rasskaz, i putnik Blagodarit' hotel ego, no serdce Tak bol'no szhalos', chto ne stalo sily Skazat' hot' slovo. Molcha k vorotam Napravilis' oni. Poka svyashchennik Otodvigal zasov, v poslednij raz Okinul vzglyadom Leonard mogily I vymolvil chut' slyshno: "Milyj brat!" Svyashchennik etih slov ego ne slyshal I, ukazav na dom svoj neznakomcu, Gostepriimno predlozhil nochleg. No Leonard skazal emu uchtivo, CHto vecher tih i on predpochitaet Pustit'sya v put', - i bystro proch' poshel. Do blizhnej roshchi bylo nedaleko, I tam v teni razvesistyh derev'ev Prisel neschastnyj putnik. Pered nim Rasskaz nedavnij ozhil vdrug nevol'no, On detstvo vspomnil, dolgie skitan'ya. On vspomnil vse. Tesnilis' pered nim Nadezhd i myslej prezhnih verenicy, Kotorye on tak leleyal nezhno V dushe vsego lish' chas tomu nazad. I v etot mig emu tak yasno stalo, CHto dlya nego teper' uzh nevozmozhno Vernut'sya snova v mirnuyu dolinu, Gde protekli vse luchshie goda. V dushe sozrelo novoe reshen'e, I on, dojdya opyat' do |nnerdela, Svyashchenniku otpravil v tu zhe noch' Pis'mo, gde on prosil ego proshchen'ya, CHto vecherom vo vremya ih besedy Po slabosti dushevnoj ne nazvalsya I imya skryl svoe. Potom on snova Na svoj korabl' vernulsya i teper', Sedoj moryak, navek srodnilsya s morem. MICHAEL A Pastoral Poem If from the public way you turn your steps Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll, You will suppose that with an upright path Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. But, courage! for around that boisterous brook The mountains have all opened out themselves, And made a hidden valley of their own. No habitation can be seen; but they Who journey thither find themselves alone With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites That overhead are sailing in the sky. It is in truth an utter solitude; Nor should I have made mention of this Dell But for one object which you might pass by Might see and notice not. Beside the brook Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones! And to that simple object appertains A story-unenriched with strange events, Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, Or for the summer shade. It was the first Of those domestic tales that spake to me Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men Whom I already loved; not verily For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills Where was their occupation and abode. And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy Careless of books, yet having felt the power Of Nature, by the gentle agency Of natural objects, led me on to feel For passions that were not my own, and think (At random and imperfectly indeed) On man, the heart of man, and human life. Therefore, although it be a history Homely and rude, I will relate the same For the delight of a few natural hearts; And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake Of youthful Poets, who among these hills Will be my second self when I am gone. Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name; An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb. His bodily frame had been from youth to age Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen, Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs, And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt And watchful more than ordinary men. Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds, Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes, When others heeded not, He heard the South Make subterraneous music, like the noise Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock Bethought him, and he to himself would say, "The winds are now devising work for me!" And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives The traveller to a shelter, summoned him Up to ths mountains: he had been alone Amid the heart of many thousand mists, That came to him, and left him, on the heights. So lived he till his eightieth year was past. And grossly that man errs, who should suppose That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks, Were things indifferent to the Shepherd's thoughts. Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed The common air; hills, which with vigorous step He had so often climbed: which had impressed So many incidents upon his mind Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear; Which, like a book, preserved the memory Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved, Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts The certainty of honourable gain; Those fields, those hills-what could they less? had laid Strong hold on his affections, were to him A pleasurable feeling of blind love, The pleasure which there is in life itself. His days had not been passed in singleness. His Helpmate was a comely matron, old - Though younger than himself full twenty years. She was a woman of a stirring life, Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had Of antique form; this large, for spinning wool; That small, for flax; and if one wheel had rest It was because the other was at work. The Pair had but one inmate in their house, An only Child, who had been born to them When Michael, telling o'er his years, began To deem that he was old, - in shepherd's phrase, With one foot in the grave. This only Son, With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm, The one of an inestimable worth, Made all their household. I may truly say, That they were as a proverb in the vale For endless industry. When day was gone, And from their occupations out of doors The Son and Father were come home, even then, Their labour did not cease; unless when all Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and there, Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk, Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes, And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when the meal Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named) And his old Father both betook themselves To such convenient work as might employ Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to card Wool for the Housewife's spindle, or repair Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe, Or other implement of house or field. Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge, That in our ancient uncouth country style With huge and black projection overbrowed Large space beneath, as duly as the light Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a lamp; An aged utensil, which had performed Service beyond all others of its kind. Early at evening did it bum-and late, Surviving comrade of uncounted hours, Which, going by from year to year, had found, And left, the couple neither gay perhaps Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, Living a life of eager industry. And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year, There by the light of this old lamp they sate, Father and Son, while far into the night The Housewife plied her own peculiar work, Making the cottage through the silent hours Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. This light was famous in its neighbourhood, And was a public symbol of the life That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced, Their cottage on a plot of rising ground Stood single, with large prospect, north and south, High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise, And westward to the village near the lake; And from this constant light, so regular And so far seen, the House itself, by all Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. Thus living on through such a length of years, The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael's heart This son of his old age was yet more dear - Less from instinctive tenderness, the same Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all - Than that a child, more than all other gifts That earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, And stirrings of inquietude, when they By tendency of nature needs must fail. Exceeding was the love he bare to him, His heart and his heart's joy! For oftentimes Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, Had done him female service, not alone For pastime and delight, as is the use Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand. And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love, Albeit of a stern unbending mind, To have the Young-one in his sight, when he Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's stool Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched Under the large old oak, that near his door Stood single, and, from matchless depth of shade, Chosen for the Shearer's covert from the sun, Thence in our rustic dialect was called The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears. There, while they two were sitting in the shade With others round them, earnest all and blithe, Would Michael exercise his heart with looks Of fond correction and reproof bestowed Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep By catching at their legs, or with his shouts Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears. And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek Two steady roses that were five years old; Then Michael from a winter coppice cut With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped With iron, making it throughout in all Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, And gave it to the Boy; wherewith equipt He as a watchman oftentimes was placed At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock; And, to his office prematurely called, There stood the urchin, as you will divine, Something between a hindrance and a help; And for this cause not always, I believe, Receiving from his Father hire of praise; Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice, Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform. But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights, Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways, He with his Father daily went, and they Were as companions, why should I relate That objects which the Shepherd loved before Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came Feelings and emanations - things which were Light to the sun and music to the wind; And that the old Man's heart seemed born again? Thus in his Father's sight the Boy grew up: And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year He was his comfort and his daily hope. 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, a man Of an industrious life, and ample means; But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly Had prest upon him; and old Michael now Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, A grievous penalty, but little less Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim, At the first hearing, for a moment took More hope out of his life than he supposed That any old man ever could have lost. As soon as he had armed himself with strength To look his trouble in the face, it seemed The Shepherd's sole resource to sell at once 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 be quiet in my grave. Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself Has scarcely been more diligent than I; And I have lived to be a fool at last To my own family. An evil man That was, and made an evil choice, if he Were false to us; and if he were not false, There are ten thousand to whom loss like this Had been no sorrow. I forgive him; - but Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. When I began, my purpose was to speak Of remedies and of a cheerful hope. Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land Shall not go from us, and it shall be free; He shall possess it, free as is the wind That passes over it. 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 He may return to us. If here he stay, What can be done? Where every one is poor, What can be gained?" At this the old Man paused, And Isabel sat silent, for her mind Was busy, looking back into past times.