Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced
To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked.
His cradle, as with a woman's gentle hand.
And, in a later time, ere yet the boy
Had put on man's attire, did Michael love,
Albeit of a stern unbending mind,

To have the Young-one in his sight, when he
Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd's stool
Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched
Under the large old oak, that near his door

Stood single, and from matchless depth of shade,
Chosen for the Shearer's covert from the sun,
Thence in our rustic dialect was called
The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears.
There while they two were sitting in the shade,
With others round them, earnest all and blithe
Would Michael exercise his heart with looks
Of fond correction, and reproof bestowed
Upon the child, if he disturbed the sheep
By catching at their legs, or with his shouts

160

165

170

175

Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears. And when by Heaven's good grace the boy grew up

A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek

Two steady roses that were five years old;
Then Michael from a winter coppice cut
With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped
With iron, making it throughout in all
Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff,
And gave it to the boy; wherewith equipt
He as a watchman oftentimes was placed
At gate or gap to stem or turn the flock;
And, to his office prematurely called,
There stood the urchin, as you will divine,

180

185

Something between a hindrance and a help;
And for this cause not always, I believe,
Receiving from his father hire of praise;

Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice,
Or looks or threatening gestures, could perform.

But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand
Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights,
Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways,
He with his father daily went, and they
Were as companions, why should I relate
That objects which the shepherd loved before
Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came
Feelings and emanations- things which were
Light to the sun and music to the wind;

And that the old Man's heart seemed born again?
Thus in his father's sight the Boy grew up;

190

195

200

And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year, 205 He was his comfort and his daily hope.

While in this sort the simple household lived From day to day, to Michael's ear there came Distressful tidings. Long before the time

Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound
In surety for his brother's son, a man

210

Of an industrious life, and ample means;

But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly

Had prest upon him; and old Michael now

Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,

215

A grievous penalty, but little less

Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim,
At the first hearing, for a moment took

More hope out of his life than he supposed
That any old man ever could have lost.

220

As soon as he had armed himself with strength

To look his troubles in the face, it seemed
The Shepherd's sole resource to sell at once
A portion of his patrimonial fields.

Such was his first resolve; he thought again,
And his heart failed him. Isabel," said he,
Two evenings after he had heard the news,
"I have been toiling more than seventy years,
And in the open sunshine of God's love
Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours
Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think
That I could not lie quiet in my grave.
Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself
Has scarcely been more diligent than I;
And I have lived to be a fool at last
To my own family. An evil man
That was, and made an evil choice, if he
Were false to us; and if he were not false,
There are ten thousand to whom loss like this
Had been no sorrow. I forgive him; - but
"Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus.
When I began, my purpose was to speak
Of remedies and of a cheerful hope.
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free;
He shall possess it, free as is the wind
That passes over it.
Another kinsman

We have, thou know'st,
he will be our friend

225

230

235

240

245

In this distress. He is a prosperous man,
Thriving in trade and Luke to him shall go, 250
And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift
He quickly will repair
He may return to us.
What can be done?

this loss, and then

If here he stay,
Where every one is poor,

What can be gained?"

At this the old Man paused, 255

And Isabel sat silent, for her mind

Was busy, looking back into past times.
There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself,
He was a parish-boy at the church-door
They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence
And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbors bought
A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares;
And, with this basket on his arm, the lad
Went up to London, found a master there,
Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy
To go and overlook his merchandise

Beyond the seas; where he grew wondrous rich,
And left estates and monies to the poor,
And, at his birthplace, built a chapel, floored
With marble which he sent from foreign lands.
These thoughts, and many others of like sort,
Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel,
And her face brightened. The old Man was glad,
And thus resumed: - Well, Isabel! this scheme
These two days, has been meat and drink to me.
Far more than we have lost is left us yet.

66

We have enough — I wish indeed that I
Were younger;-but this hope is a good hope.
-Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best
Buy for him more, and let us send him forth
To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night:
-If he could go, the Boy should go to-night."
Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth
With a light heart. The Housewife for five days
Was restless morn and night, and all day long
Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare

260

265

270

275

280

285

295

Things needful for the journey of her son.
But Isabel was glad when Sunday came
To stop her in her work: for, when she lay
By Michael's side, she through the last two nights 290
Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep;
And when they rose at morning she could see
That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon
She said to Luke, while they two by themselves
Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go:
We have no other Child but thee to lose,
None to remember do not go away,
For if thou leave thy Father, he will die."
The Youth made answer with a jocund voice;
And Isabel, when she had told her fears,
Recovered heart. That evening her best fare
Did she bring forth, and all together sat
Like happy people round a Christmas fire.

With daylight Isabel resumed her work;
And all the ensuing week the house appeared
As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length
The expected letter from their kinsman came,
With kind assurances that he would do
His utmost for the welfare of the boy;
To which, requests were added, that forthwith
He might be sent to him. Ten times or more
The letter was read over; Isabel
Went forth to show it to the neighbors round;
Nor was there at that time on English land
A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel

Had to her house returned, the old Man said,
"He shall depart to-morrow." To this word
The Housewife answered, talking much of things
Which, if at such short notice he should go,

300

305

310

315