Far from the chimney's merry roar, 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 Thou Soul of God's best earthly mould! 1799. XI. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. WE walked along, while bright and red And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, "The will of God be done!" A village schoolmaster was he, As blithe a man as you could see And on that morning, through the grass. And by the steaming 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; Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply: "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 colors, and no other, Of this the very brother. “With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, to the churchyard come, 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, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet "A basket on her head she bare; "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: Matthew is in his grave, yet now. 1799. XII. THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. We talked with open heart, and tongue 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!" said I, "let us 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 In silence Matthew lay, and eyed And thus the dear old man replied, "No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears; How merrily it goes! 'T will 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. 66 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 decav And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away, Than what it leaves behind. |