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From the great Gavel*, down by Leeza's Banks,
And down the Enna, far as Egremont,

The day would be a very festival,

And those two bells of ours, which there you see

Hanging in the open air-but, O good Sir!

This is sad talk-they'll never sound for him

Living or dead-When last we heard of him
He was in slavery among the Moors

Upon the Barbary Coast-'Twas not a little
That would bring down his spirit, and, no doubt,
Before it ended in his death, the Lad

*The great Gavel, so called I imagine, from its resemblance to the Gable end of a house, is one of the highest of the Cumberland mountains. It stands at the head of the several vales of Ennerdale, Wastdale, and Borrowdale.

The Leeza is a River which follows into the Lake of Ennerdale on issuing from the Lake, it changes its name, and is called the End, Eyne, or Enna. It falls into the sea a little below Egremont.

Was sadly cross'd-Poor Leonard! when we parted,

He took me by the hand and said to me,

If ever the day came when he was rich,
He would return, and on his Father's Land
He would grow old among us.

LEONARD.

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-

You said his kindred all were in their graves,

And that he had one Brother

PRIEST.

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:

LEONARD.

But these are all the graves of full grown men !

PRIEST.

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.

LEONARD.

But this youth,

How did he die at last?

PRIEST.

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