Samuel Coleridge - The Complete Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Illustrated Edition)

Recover’d heart. That evening her best fare

Did she bring forth, and all together sate

Like happy people round a Christmas fire.

Next morning Isabel resum’d her work,

And all the ensuing week the house appear’d

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 shew it to the neighbours round:

Nor was there at that time on English Land

A prouder heart than Luke’s. When Isabel

Had to her house return’d, the Old Man said,

”He shall depart tomorrow.” To this word

The House — wife answered, talking much of things

Which, if at such, short notice he should go,

Would surely be forgotten. But at length

She gave consent, and Michael was at ease.

Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Gill,

In that deep Valley, Michael had design’d

To build a Sheepfold, and, before he heard

The tidings of his melancholy loss,

For this same purpose he had gathered up

A heap of stones, which close to the brook side

Lay thrown together, ready for the work.

With Luke that evening thitherward he walk’d;

And soon as they had reach’d the place he stopp’d,

And thus the Old Man spake to him. “My Son,

Tomorrow thou wilt leave me; with full heart

I look upon thee, for thou art the same

That wert a promise to me ere thy birth,

And all thy life hast been my daily joy.

I will relate to thee some little part

Of our two histories; ‘twill do thee good

When thou art from me, even if I should speak

Of things thou caust not know of. — After thou

First cam’st into the world, as it befalls

To newborn infants, thou didst sleep away

Two days, and blessings from thy Father’s tongue

Then fell upon thee. Day by day pass’d on,

And still I lov’d thee with encreasing love.”

Never 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

Perform’d all kinds of labour for his Sheep,

And for the land his small inheritance.

And to that hollow Dell from time to time