He is informed of the track which his companions
intend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, he
perishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune to
fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or
still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work,
Hearne's _Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean_. In the high
northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern
lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a
crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem.

63. *_Ibid._

At Alfoxden, in 1798, where I read Hearne's _Journey_ with great
interest. It was composed for the volume of 'Lyrical Ballads.'

64. *_The Last of the Flock_. [XXII.]

Produced at the same time [as 'The Complaint,' No. 62] and for the same
purpose. The incident occurred in the village of Holford, close by
Alfoxden.

65. *_Repentance_ [XXIII.]

Town-End, 1804. Suggested by the conversation of our next neighbour,
Margaret Ashburner.

66. *_The Affliction of Margaret_ ----. [XXIV.]

Town-End, 1804. This was taken from the case of a poor widow who lived
in the town of Penrith. Her sorrow was well known to Mary, to my sister,
and I believe to the whole town. She kept a shop, and when she saw a
stranger passing by, she was in the habit of going out into the street
to inquire of him after her son.

67. *_The Cottager to her Infant_. [XXV.]

By my sister. Suggested to her while beside my sleeping children.

68. *_Maternal Grief_.

This was in part an overflow from the Solitary's description of his own
and his wife's feelings upon the decease of their children; and I will
venture to add, for private notice solely, is faithfully set forth from
my wife's feelings and habits after the loss of our two children, within
half a year of each other.

69. *_The Sailor's Mother_. [XXVII.]

Town-End, 1800. I met this woman near the Wishing-Gate, on the high-road
that then led from Grasmere to Ambleside. Her appearance was exactly as
here described, and such was her account, nearly to the letter.

70. *_The Childless Father_. [XXVIII.]

Town-End, 1800. When I was a child at Cockermouth, no funeral took place
without a basin filled with sprigs of boxwood being placed upon a table
covered with a white cloth in front of the house. The huntings (on foot)
which the Old Man is suffered to join as here described were