REUBEN
Amid those broad boughs more. The storms are done,
The winter past, each other last year’s growth
Replenish’d is, and hidden seed finds birth.
Life warm and closely laps it—but the tree
Is dead, and dead will lie:
So was it now
With Reuben. Comfort from far off and near
Pour’d on him. Sarah’s tale, by alter’d lips
In altering ears now told, to eager aid
Arous’d the oft unready, ever real
Kindliness of an English countryside.
The poorer neighbours, this with food, and that
With fuel, each one with the shy excuse,
“Wishing to spare you toil and trouble,” came;
And what more rescue lay within their reach
The rest procured. Money indeed none dared
To offer, but the agent, a hard man,
Whose master was abroad, was given cause
To stay the seizure of the goods until
Forth from that dwelling to her last should fare
Their sometime mistress. And a place for him,
A home and tendance, long as he should need,
Soon as he wish’d them, waited the old man—
Sarah’s; the unwonted stirring of whose heart
Her wonted reason troubled, and perhaps
Deceiv’d. But Reuben’s mind was steady. “No:
I thank ye kindly, but the House is best.
We’d only fret each other. I’ve paid rates
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