Failed in him; and, not venturing to inquire Towards the church-yard he had turned aside,— He had remained; but, as he gazed, there grew That he began to doubt; and he had hopes That it was not another grave, but one He had forgotten. He had lost his path, As up the vale that afternoon he walked Through fields which once had been well known to him: And oh! what joy the recollection now Sent to his heart! He lifted up his eyes, By this the Priest, who down the field had come VOL. I. H Stopped short, and thence, at leisure, limb by limb Perused him with a gay complacency. Ay, thought the Vicar, smiling to himself, 'Tis one of those who needs must leave the path Of the world's business to go wild alone: The happy Man will creep about the fields LEONARD. You live, Sir, in these dales, a quiet life: And who would grieve and fret, if, welcome come Comes to this church-yard once in eighteen months; And yet, some changes must take place among you: And you, who dwell here, even among these rocks Can trace the finger of mortality, And see, There was a foot-way all along the fields By the brook-side-'tis gone-and that dark cleft! To me it does not seem to wear the face Which then it had. PRIEST. Nay, Sir, for aught I know, That chasm is much the same LEONARD. But, surely, yonder PRIEST. Ay, there, indeed, your memory is a friend That does not play you false-On that tall pike There were two Springs which bubbled side by side, Was rent with lightning-one is dead and gone, The other, left behind, is flowing still. For accidents and changes such as these, The old House-clock is decked with a new face; And hence, so far from wanting facts or dates To chronicle the time, we all have here A pair of diaries,-one serving, Sir, For the whole dale, and one for each fire-side * This actually took place upon Kidstow Pike at the head of Hawe's-water. Yours was a stranger's judgment: for Historians, Commend me to these valleys! LEONARD. Yet your Church-yard Seems, if such freedom may be used with you, An orphan could not find his mother's grave: Here's neither head- nor foot-stone, plate of brass, n Cross-bones or skull,-type of our earthly state ✅Or emblem of our hopes: the dead man's home PRIEST. Why, there, Sir, is a thought that's new to me! The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains. LEONARD. Your Dalesmen, then, do in each other's thoughts Possess a kind of second life: no doubt |