In very pity--but that boy was I. With pain my mother would my tales receive, And say, ‘my Richard, do not learn to grieve.’ “One wretched hour had past before we knew Whom they had saved! Alas! they were but two, An orphan’d lad and widow’d man--no more! And they unnoticed stood upon the shore, 390 With scarce a friend to greet them--widows view’d This man and boy, and then their cries renew’d;-- ’Twas long before the signs of wo gave place To joy again; grief sat on every face. “Sure of my mother’s kindness, and the joy She felt in meeting her rebellious boy, I at my pleasure our new seat forsook, And, undirected, these excursions took: I often rambled to the noisy quay, Strange sounds to hear, and business strange to me; 400 Seamen and carmen, and I know not who, A lewd, amphibious, rude, contentious crew-- Confused as bees appear about their hive, Yet all alert to keep their work alive. “Here, unobserved as weed upon the wave, My whole attention to the scene I gave; I saw their tasks, their toil, their care, their skill, Led by their own and by a master-will; And, though contending, toiling, tugging on, The purposed business of the day was done. 410 “The open shops of craftsmen caught my eye, And there my questions met the kind reply: Men, when alone, will teach; but, in a crowd, The child is silent, or the man is proud; But, by themselves, there is attention paid To a mild boy, so forward, yet afraid. “I made me interest at the inn’s fire-side, Amid the scenes to bolder boys denied; For I had patrons there, and I was one, They judged, who noticed nothing that was done. 420 ‘A quiet lad!’ would my protector say; ‘To him, now, this is better than his play: Boys are as men; some active, shrewd, and keen, They look about if aught is to be seen; And some, like Richard here, have not a mind That takes a notice--but the lad is kind.’ “I loved in summer on the heath to walk, And seek the shepherd--shepherds love to talk. His superstition was of ranker kind, And he with tales of wonder stored my mind; 430 Wonders that he in many a lonely eve Had seen, himself, and therefore must believe. His boy, his Joe, he said, from duty ran, Took to the sea, and grew a fearless man: ‘On yonder knoll--the sheep were in the fold-- His spirit past me, shivering-like and cold! I felt a fluttering, but I knew not how, And heard him utter, like a whisper, ‘now!’ Soon came a letter from a friend--to tell That he had fallen, and the time he fell.’ 440 “Even to the smugglers’ hut the rocks between, I have, adventurous in my wandering, been. Poor, pious Martha served the lawless tribe, And could their merits and their faults describe;