185
  At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock;
  And, to his office prematurely called,
  There stood the urchin, as you will divine,
  Something between a hindrance and a help;
  And for this cause not always, I believe, 190
  Receiving from his Father hire of praise;
  Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice,
  Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform.

  But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand
  Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights, 200
  Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways,
  He with his Father daily went, and they
  Were as companions, why should I relate
  That objects which the Shepherd loved before
  Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came 205
  Feelings and emanations—­things which were
  Light to the sun and music to the wind;
  And that the old Man’s heart seemed born again?

  Thus in his Father’s sight the Boy grew up: 
  And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year, 210
  He was his comfort and his daily hope. [D]

  While in this sort the simple household lived [28]
  From day to day, to Michael’s ear there came
  Distressful tidings.  Long before the time
  Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound 215
  In surety for his brother’s son, a man
  Of an industrious life, and ample means;
  But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly
  Had prest upon him; and old Michael now
  Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture, 220
  A grievous penalty, but little less
  Than half his substance.  This unlooked-for claim,
  At the first hearing, for a moment took
  More hope out of his life than he supposed
  That any old man ever could have lost. 225
  As soon as he had armed himself with strength
  To look his trouble in the face, it seemed
  The Shepherd’s sole resource to sell at once [29]
  A portion of his patrimonial fields. 
  Such was his first resolve; he thought again, 230
  And his heart failed him.  “Isabel,” said he,
  Two evenings after he had heard the news,
  “I have been toiling more than seventy years,
  And in the open sunshine of God’s love
  Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours 235
  Should pass into a stranger’s hand, I think
  That I could not lie quiet in my grave. 
  Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself [30]
  Has scarcely been more diligent than I;
  And I have lived to be a fool at last 240
  To my own family.  An evil man
  That was, and made an evil choice, if he
  Were false to us; and if he were not false,
  There are ten thousand to whom loss like this
  Had been no sorrow.  I forgive him;—­but 245
  ’Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus.