With daylight Isabel resumed her work; And all the ensuing week the house appeared 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 show 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 returned, the old man said, "He shall depart to-morrow." To this word The housewife 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 Ghyll, In that deep valley, Michael had designed To build a sheepfold; and, before he heard The tidings of his melancholy loss, For this same purpose he had gathered up A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge Lay thrown together, ready for the work. With Luke that evening thitherward he walked; And soon as they had reached the place he stopped. 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 canst not know of.----After thou First cam'st into the world--as oft befals To new-born infants--thou didst sleep away Two days, and blessings from thy father's tongue Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on, And still I loved thee with increasing love. Never to living ear came sweeter sounds Than when I heard thee by our own fireside First uttering, without words, a natural tune; When thou, a feeble babe, didst in thy joy Sing at thy mother's breast. Month followed month, And in the open fields my life was passed, And on the mountains, else I think that thou Had'st been brought up upon thy father's knees. But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills, As well thou know'st in us, the old and young Have played together, nor with me didst thou Lack any pleasure which a boy can know." Luke had a manly heart; but at these words He sobbed aloud. The old man grasped his hand, And said, "Nay, do not take it so: I see That these are things of which I need not speak. Even to the utmost I have been to thee A kind and a good father; and herein I but repay a gift which I myself Received at others' hands; for, though now old Beyond the common life of man, I still Remember them who loved me in my youth.