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to living ear came sweeter sounds

       Than when I heard thee by our own fireside

       First uttering without words a natural tune,

       When thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy

       Sing at thy Mother’s breast. Month follow’d month,

       And in the open fields my life was pass’d

       And in the mountains, else I think that thou

       Hadst been brought up upon thy father’s knees.

       — But we were playmates, Luke; among these hills,

       As well thou know’st, in us the old and young

       Have play’d together, nor with me didst thou

       Lack any pleasure which a boy can know.

      Luke had a manly heart; but at these words

       He sobb’d aloud; the Old Man grasp’d his hand,

       And said, “Nay do not take it so — I see

       That these are things of which I need not speak.

       — Even to the utmost I have been to thee

       A kind and a good Father: and herein

       I but repay a gift which I myself

       Receiv’d at others’ hands, for, though now old

       Beyond the common life of man, I still

       Remember them who lov’d me in my youth.”

      Both of them sleep together: here they liv’d

       As all their Forefathers had done, and when

       At length their time was come, they were not loth

       To give their bodies to the family mold.

       I wish’d that thou should’st live the life they liv’d.

       But ‘tis a long time to look back, my Son,

       And see so little gain from sixty years.

       These fields were burthen’d when they came to me;

       ’Till I was forty years of age, not more

       Than half of my inheritance was mine.

      ”I toil’d and toil’d; God bless’d me in my work,

       And ‘till these three weeks past the land was free.

       — It looks as if it never could endure

       Another Master. Heaven forgive me, Luke,

       If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good

       That thou should’st go.” At this the Old Man paus’d,

       Then, pointing to the Stones near which they stood,

       Thus, after a short silence, he resum’d:

       ”This was a work for us, and now, my Son,

       It is a work for me. But, lay one Stone —

       Here, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.

       I for the purpose brought thee to this place.”

      Nay, Boy, be of good hope: — we both may live

       To see a better day. At eighty-four

       I still am strong and stout; — do thou thy part,

       I will do mine. — I will begin again

       With many tasks that were resign’d to thee;

       Up to the heights, and in among the storms,

       Will I without thee go again, and do

       All works which I was wont to do alone,

       Before I knew thy face. — Heaven bless thee, Boy!

       Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast

       With many hopes — it should be so — yes — yes —

       I knew that thou could’st never have a wish

       To leave me, Luke, thou hast been bound to me

       Only by links of love, when thou art gone

       What will be left to us! — But, I forget

       My purposes. Lay now the cornerstone,

       As I requested, and hereafter, Luke,

       When thou art gone away, should evil men

       Be thy companions, let this Sheepfold be

       Thy anchor and thy shield; amid all fear

       And all temptation, let it be to thee

       An emblem of the life thy Fathers liv’d,

       Who, being innocent, did for that cause

       Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare thee well —

       When thou return’st, thou in this place wilt see

       A work which is not here, a covenant

       ’Twill be between us — but whatever fate

       Befall thee, I shall love thee to the last,

       And bear thy memory with me to the grave.

      The Shepherd ended here; and Luke stoop’d down,

       And as his Father had requested, laid

       The first stone of the Sheepfold; at the sight

       The Old Man’s grief broke from him, to his heart

       He press’d his Son, he kissed him and wept;

       And to the House together they return’d.

      Next morning, as had been resolv’d, the Boy

       Began his journey, and when he had reach’d

       The public Way, he put on a bold face;

       And all the Neighbours as he pass’d their doors

       Came forth, with wishes and with farewell pray’rs,

       That follow’d 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 wond’rous news,

       Which, as the Housewife phrased it, were throughout

       The prettiest letters that were ever seen.

      Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts.

       So, many months pass’d on: and once again

       The Shepherd went about his daily work

       With confident and cheerful thoughts; and now

       Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour

       He to that valley took his way, and there

       Wrought at the Sheepfold. Meantime Luke began

       To slacken in his duty, and at length

       He in the 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.

      There is a comfort in the strength of love;

       ’Twill make a thing endurable, which else

       Would break the heart: — Old Michael found it so.

       I have convers’d with more than one who well

       Remember the Old Man, and what he was

       Years after he had heard this heavy news.

       His bodily frame had been from youth to age

       Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks

       He went, and still look’d up upon the sun.

       And listen’d to the wind; and as before

      

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