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On into twilight within walls of stone,
But guilty men Triumph not always. To his hearth again, Again with honour to his hearth restored, Lo, in the accustomed chair and at the board, Thrice greeting those who most withdraw their claim, (The lowliest servant calling by his name) He reads thanksgiving in the eyes of all, All met as at a holy festival ! -On the day destined for his funeral ! Lo, there the Friend, who, entering where he lay, Breathed in his drowsy ear" Away, away! Take thou my cloak–Nay, start not, but obeyTake it and leave me.” And the blushing Maid, Who thro' the streets as thro' a desert strayed; And, when her dear, dear Father passed along, Would not be held—but, bursting through the throng, Halberd and battle-axe-kissed him o'er and o'er; Then turned and went—then sought him as before, Believing she should see his face no more! And oh, how changed at once—no heroine here, But a weak woman worn with grief and fear, Her darling Mother! 'Twas but now she smiled; And now she weeps upon her weeping child ! -But who sits by, her only wish below At length fulfilled—and now prepared to go? His hands on hers--as through the mists of night, She gazes on him with imperfect sight; Her glory now, as ever her delight!
To her, methinks, a second Youth is given;
An hour like this is worth a thousand passed
And now once more where most he loved to be, In his own fields—breathing tranquillityWe hail him—not less happy, Fox, than thee! Thee at St. Anne's so soon of Care beguiled, Playful, sincere, and artless as a child ! Thee, who wouldst watch a bird's nest on the
spray, Through the green leaves exploring, day by day.
How oft from grove to grove, from seat to seat,
-But in thy place among us we behold
'Tis the sixth hour. The village-clock strikes from the distant tower. The ploughman leaves the field; the traveller hears, And to the inn spurs forward. Nature wears Her sweetest smile; the day-star in the west Yet hovering, and the thistle's down at rest.
And such, his labour done, the calm He knows, * Whose footsteps we have followed. Round him glows An atmosphere that brightens to the last; The light, that shines, reflected from the Past, -And from the Future too! Active in Thought Among old books, old friends; and not unsought
* At illa quanti sunt, animum tanquam emeritis stipendiis libidinis, ambitionis, contentionis, inimicitiarum, cupiditatum omnium, secum esse, secumque (ut dicitur) vivere ?- Cic. De Senectute.
By the wise stranger-in his morning-hours,
At night, when all, assembling round the fire,
* Hinc ubi jam emissum caveis ad sidera cæli
Nare per æstatem liquidam suspexeris agmen,
Contemplator.Virg. + Richard the First. For the romantic story here alluded to, we are indebted to the French Chroniclers.—See Faucher. Recueil de l’Origine de la Langue et Poësie Fr.