But Isabel was glad when Sunday came To stop her in her work; for, when she lay By Michael's side, she for the two last nights Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep: And when they rose at morning she could see That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon She said to Luke, while they two by themselves Were sitting at the door, "Thou must not go, We have no other Child but thee to lose, None to remember--do not go away, For if thou leave thy Father he will die." The Lad made answer with a jocund voice, And Isabel, when she had told her fears, Recover'd heart. That evening her best fare Did she bring forth, and all together sate Like happy people round a Christmas fire. Next morning Isabel resum'd her work, And all the ensuing week the house appear'd As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length The expected letter from their Kinsman came, With kind assurances that he would do His utmost for the welfare of the Boy, To which requests were added that forthwith He might be sent to him. Ten times or more The letter was read over; Isabel Went forth to shew it to the neighbours round: Nor was there at that time on English Land A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel Had to her house return'd, the Old Man said, "He shall depart to-morrow." To this word The House--wife answered, talking much of things Which, if at such, short notice he should go, Would surely be forgotten. But at length She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Gill, In that deep Valley, Michael had design'd To build a Sheep-fold, and, before he heard The tidings of his melancholy loss, For this same purpose he had gathered up A heap of stones, which close to the brook side Lay thrown together, ready for the work. With Luke that evening thitherward he walk'd; And soon as they had reach'd the place he stopp'd, And thus the Old Man spake to him. "My Son, To-morrow thou wilt leave me; with full heart I look upon thee, for thou art the same That wert a promise to me ere thy birth, And all thy life hast been my daily joy. I will relate to thee some little part Of our two histories; 'twill do thee good When thou art from me, even if I should speak Of things thou caust not know of.--After thou First cam'st into the world, as it befalls To new-born infants, thou didst sleep away Two days, and blessings from thy Father's tongue Then fell upon thee. Day by day pass'd on, And still I lov'd thee with encreasing love."