'Tis a common case, We'll take another: who is he that lies Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves;-- It touches on that piece of native rock Left in the church-yard wall. PRIEST. That's Walter Ewbank. He had as white a head and fresh a cheek As ever were produc'd by youth and age Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore. For five long generations had the heart Of Walter's forefathers o'erflow'd the bounds Of their inheritance, that single cottage, You see it yonder, and those few green fields. They toil'd and wrought, and still, from sire to son, Each struggled, and each yielded as before A little--yet a little--and old Walter, They left to him the family heart, and land With other burthens than the crop it bore. Year after year the old man still preserv'd A chearful mind, and buffeted with bond, Interest and mortgages; at last he sank, And went into his grave before his time. Poor Walter! whether it was care that spurr'd him God only knows, but to the very last He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale: His pace was never that of an old man: I almost see him tripping down the path With his two Grandsons after him--but you, Unless our Landlord be your host to-night, Have far to travel, and in these rough paths Even in the longest day of midsummer-- LEONARD. But these two Orphans! PRIEST. Orphans! such they were-- Yet not while Walter liv'd--for, though their Parents Lay buried side by side as now they lie, The old Man was a father to the boys, Two fathers in one father: and if tears Shed, when he talk'd of them where they were not, And hauntings from the infirmity of love, Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart, This old Man in the day of his old age Was half a mother to them.--If you weep, Sir, To hear a stranger talking about strangers, Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred! Aye. You may turn that way--it is a grave Which will bear looking at. LEONARD. These Boys I hope They lov'd this good old Man-- PRIEST.