He had stepped forth, in time of urgent need,
The generous Surety of a Friend: and now
The widowed Father found that all his rights
In his paternal fields were undermined.
Landless he was and pennyless.-The dews
Of night and morn that wet the mountain sides,
The bright stars twinkling on their dusky tops,
Were conscious of the pain that drove him forth
From his own door, he knew not when-to range
He knew not where; distracted was his brain,
His heart was cloven; and full oft he prayed,
In blind despair, that God would take them all.
-But suddenly, as if in one kind moment
To encourage and reprove, a gleam of light
Broke from the very bosom of that cloud
Which darkened the whole prospect of his days.
For He, who now possessed the joyless right
To force the Bondsman from his house and lands,

In pity, and by admiration urged

Of his unmurmuring and considerate mind
Meekly submissive to the law's decree,

Lightened the penalty with liberal hand.

-The desolate Father raised his head, and looked
On the wide world in hope. Within these walls,

In course of time was solemnized the vow

Whereby a virtuous Woman, of grave years
And of prudential habits, undertook

The sacred office of a wife to him,
Of Mother to his helpless family.

-Nor did she fail, in nothing did she fail,
Through various exercise of twice ten years,
Save in some partial fondness for that Child
Which at the birth she had received, the Babe
Whose heart had known no Mother but herself.
-By mutual efforts; by united hopes;
By daily-growing help of boy and girl,
Trained early to participate that zeal
Of industry, which runs before the day
And lingers after it; by strong restraint
Of an economy which did not check

The heart's more generous motions tow'rds themselves

Or to their neighbours; and by trust in God;

This Pair insensibly subdued the fears

And troubles that beset their life: and thus

Did the good Father and his second Mate
Redeem at length their plot of smiling fields.
These, at this day, the eldest Son retains:
The younger Offspring, through the busy world,
Have all been scattered wide, by various fates;
But each departed from the native Vale,
In beauty flourishing, and moral worth."

END OF THE SIXTH BOOK.

BOOK THE SEVENTH.

THE CHURCHYARD AMONG THE MOUNTAINS

CONTINUED.

WHILE thus from theme to theme the Historian passed,

The words he uttered, and the scene that lay
Before our eyes, awakened in my mind
Vivid remembrance of those long-past hours;
When, in the hollow of some shadowy Vale,
(What time the splendour of the setting sun
Lay beautiful on Snowdon's craggy top,
On Cader Idris, or huge Penmanmaur)

A wandering Youth, I listened with delight

To pastoral melody or warlike air,

Drawn from the chords of the ancient British harp

By some accomplished Master; while he sate
Amid the quiet of the green recess,

And there did inexhaustibly dispense

An interchange of soft or solemn tunes
Tender or blithe; now, as the varying mood
Of his own spirit urged,-now, as a voice
From Youth or Maiden, or some honoured Chief
Of his compatriot villagers (that hung

Around him, drinking in the empassioned notes
Of the time-hallowed minstrelsy) required

For their heart's ease or pleasure. Strains of power
Were they, to seize and occupy the sense;

But to a higher mark than song can reach
Rose this pure eloquence. And, when the stream
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,

A consciousness remained that it had left,
Deposited upon the silent shore

Of memory, images and precious thoughts;
That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

“These grassy heaps lie amicably close," Said I," like surges heaving in the wind Upon the surface of a mountain pool;