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A passionate intuition; whence the Soul,
Though bound to Earth by ties of pity and love,
From all injurious servitude was free.
The Sun, before his place of rest were reached,
Had yet to travel far, but unto us,
To us who stood low in that hollow Dell
He had become invisible,—a pomp
Leaving behind of yellow radiance spread
Upon the mountain sides, in contrast bold
With ample shadows, seemingly no less
Than those resplendent lights his rich bequest,
A dispensation of his evening power.
—Adown the path which from the Glen had led
The funeral Train, the Shepherd and his Mate
Were seen descending;—forth in transport ran
Our little Page; the rustic Pair approach;
And in the Matron's aspect may be read
A plain assurance that the words which told
How that neglected Pensioner was sent,
Before his time, into a quiet grave,
Had done to her humanity no wrong.
But we are kindly welcomed; promptly served
