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                                   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 —

                                      Happy, Sir —

        You said his kindred all were in their graves,

        And that he had one Brother —

                                      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;

      But these are all the graves of full grown men!

        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.

                                  But this youth,

        How did he die at last?

                                One sweet May morning,

        It will be twelve years since, when Spring returns,

        He had gone forth among the new-dropp'd lambs,

        With two or three companions whom it chanc'd

        Some further business summon'd to a house

        Which stands at the Dale-head. James, tir'd perhaps,

        Or from some other cause remain'd behind.

        You see yon precipice – it almost looks

        Like some vast building made of many crags,

        And in the midst is one particular rock

        That rises like a column from the vale,

        Whence by our Shepherds it is call'd, the Pillar.

        James, pointing to its summit, over which

        They all had purpos'd to return together,

        Inform'd them that he there would wait for them:

        They parted, and his comrades pass'd that way

        Some two hours after, but they did not find him

        At the appointed place, a circumstance

        Of which they took no heed: but one of them,

        Going by chance, at night, into the house

        Which at this time was James's home, there learn'd

        That nobody had seen him all that day:

        The morning came, and still, he was unheard of:

        The neighbours were alarm'd, and to the Brook

        Some went, and some towards the Lake; ere noon

        They found him at the foot of that same Rock

        Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day after

        I buried him, poor Lad, and there he lies.

        And that then is his grave! – Before his death

        You said that he saw many happy years?

      Aye, that he did —

      And all went well with him —

      If he had one, the Lad had twenty homes.

      And you believe then, that his mind was easy —

        Yes, long before he died, he found that time

        Is a true friend to sorrow, and unless

        His thoughts were turn'd on Leonard's luckless fortune,

        He talk'd about him with a chearful love.

      He could not come to an unhallow'd end!

        Nay, God forbid! You recollect I mention'd

        A habit which disquietude and grief

        Had brought upon him, and

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