---

Скачать книгу

---

Was swoln into a noisy rivulet,

       Would Leonard then, when elder boys perhaps

       Remain’d at home, go staggering through the fords

       Bearing his Brother on his back. — I’ve seen him,

       On windy days, in one of those stray brooks,

       Aye, more than once I’ve seen him mid-leg deep,

       Their two books lying both on a dry stone

       Upon the hither side: — and once I said,

       As I remember, looking round these rocks

       And hills on which we all of us were born,

       That God who made the great book of the world

       Would bless such piety —

      LEONARD.

      It may be then —

      PRIEST.

      Never did worthier lads break English bread:

       The finest Sunday that the Autumn saw,

       With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts,

       Could never keep these boys away from church,

       Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach.

       Leonard and James! I warrant, every corner

       Among these rocks and every hollow place

       Where foot could come, to one or both of them

       Was known as well as to the flowers that grew there.

       Like roe-bucks they went bounding o’er the hills:

       They play’d like two young ravens on the crags:

       Then they could write, aye and speak too, as well

       As many of their betters — and for Leonard!

       The very night before he went away,

       In my own house I put into his hand

       A Bible, and I’d wager twenty pounds,

       That, if he is alive, he has it yet.

      LEONARD.

      It seems, these Brothers have not liv’d to be

       A comfort to each other. —

      PRIEST.

      That they might

       Live to that end, is what both old and young

       In this our valley all of us have wish’d,

       And what, for my part, I have often pray’d:

       But Leonard —

      LEONARD.

      Then James still is left among you —

      PRIEST.

      ’Tis of the elder Brother I am speaking:

       They had an Uncle, he was at that time

       A thriving man, and traffick’d on the seas:

       And, but for this same Uncle, to this hour

       Leonard had never handled rope or shroud.

       For the Boy lov’d the life which we lead here;

       And, though a very Stripling, twelve years old;

       His soul was knit to this his native soil.

       But, as I said, old Walter was too weak

       To strive with such a torrent; when he died,

       The estate and house were sold, and all their sheep,

       A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know,

       Had clothed the Ewbauks for a thousand years.

       Well — all was gone, and they were destitute.

       And Leonard, chiefly for his brother’s sake,

       Resolv’d to try his fortune on the seas.

       ’Tis now twelve years since we had tidings from him.

       If there was one among us who had heard

       That Leonard Ewbank was come home again,

       From the great Gavel , down by Leeza’s Banks,

       And down the Enna, far as Egremont,

       The day would be a very festival,

       And those two bells of ours, which there you see

       Hanging in the open air — but, O good Sir!

       This is sad talk — they’ll never sound for him

       Living or dead — When last we heard of him

       He was in slavery among the Moors

       Upon the Barbary Coast—’Twas not a little

       That would bring down his spirit, and, no doubt,

       Before it ended in his death, the Lad

       Was sadly cross’d — Poor Leonard! when we parted,

       He took me by the hand and said to me,

       If ever the day came when he was rich,

       He would return, and on his Father’s Land

       He would grow old among us.

      LEONARD.

      If that day

       Should come, ‘twould needs be a glad day for him;

       He would himself, no doubt, be as happy then

       As any that should meet him —

      PRIEST.

      Happy, Sir —

      LEONARD.

      You said his kindred all were in their graves,

       And that he had one Brother —

      PRIEST.

      That is but

       A fellow tale of sorrow. From his youth

       James, though not sickly, yet was delicate,

       And Leonard being always by his side

       Had done so many offices about him,

       That, though he was not of a timid nature,

       Yet still the spirit of a mountain boy

       In him was somewhat check’d, and when his Brother

       Was gone to sea and he was left alone

       The little colour that he had was soon

       Stolen from his cheek, he droop’d, and pin’d and pin’d;

      LEONARD.

      But these are all the graves of full grown men!

      PRIEST.

      Aye, Sir, that pass’d away: we took him to us.

       He was the child of all the dale — he liv’d

       Three months with one, and six months with another:

       And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love,

       And many, many happy days were his.

       But, whether blithe or sad, ‘tis my belief

       His absent Brother still was at his heart.

       And, when he liv’d beneath our roof, we found

       (A practice till this time unknown to him)

       That often, rising from his bed at night,

       He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping

       He sought his Brother Leonard — You are mov’d!

       Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you,

       I judg’d you most unkindly.

      LEONARD.

      But this youth,

      

---

Скачать книгу