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They found him at the foot of that same Rock
Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day after

I buried him, poor Lad, and there he lies.

LEONARD.

And that then is his grave! - Before his death
You said that he saw many happy years?

PRIEST.

Aye, that he did

LEONARD.

And all went well with him

PRIEST.

If he had one, the Lad had twenty homes.

LEONARD.

And

you

believe then, that his mind was easy

PRIEST.

Yes, long before he died, he found that time

Is a true friend to sorrow, and unless

His thoughts were turn'd on Leonard's luckless fortune, He talk'd about him with a chearful love.

LEONARD

He could not come to an unhallow'd end!

PRIEST.

Nay, God forbid! You recollect I mention'd
A habit which disquietude and grief

Had brought upon him, and we all conjectur'd
That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
Upon the grass, and, waiting for his comrades
He there had fallen asleep, that in his sleep
He to the margin of the precipice

Had walk'd, and from the summit had fallen head-lung,

And so no doubt he perish'd: at the time,

We

guess, that in his hands he must have had

His Shepherd's staff; for midway in the cliff
It had been caught, and there for many years
It hung-and moulder'd there.

The Priest here ended

The Stranger would have thank'd him, but he felt
Tears rushing in; both left the spot in silence,
And Leonard, when they reach'd the church-yard gate,
As the Priest lifted up the latch, turn'd round,
And, looking at the grave, he said, "My Brother."
The Vicar did not hear the words: and now,
Pointing towards the Cottage, he entreated
That Leonard would partake his homely fare :
The other thank'd him with a fervent voice,
But added, that, the evening being calm,
He would pursue his journey. So they parted.

It was not long ere Leonard reach'd a grove
That overhung the road: he there stopp'd short,
And, sitting down beneath the trees, review'd
All that the Priest had said: his early years

Were with him in his heart: his cherish'd hopes,
And thoughts which had been his an hour before,
All press'd on him with such a weight, that now,
This vale, where he had been so happy, seem'd
A place in which he could not bear to live:
So he relinquish'd all his purposes.

He travell'd on to Egremont; and thence,
That night, address'd a letter to the Priest
Reminding him of what had pass'd between them.
And adding, with a hope to be forgiven,

That it was from the weakness of his heart,
He had not dared to tell him, who he was.

This done, he went on shipboard, and is now
A Seaman, a grey headed Mariner.

ELLEN IRWIN,

Or the BRAES of KIRTLE.*

Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate

Upon the Braes of Kirtle,

Was lovely as a Grecian Maid
Adorn'd with wreaths of myrtle.
Young Adam Bruce beside her lay,
And there did they beguile the day
With love and gentle speeches,
Beneath the budding beeches.

The Kirtle is a River in the Southern part of Scotland, on whose banks the events here related took place.

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