It is a work for me. But, lay one stoneHere, lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands.

Nay, Boy, be of good hope; we both may live

To see a better day. At eighty-four

I still am strong and hale; do thou thy part;

390

I will do mine. I will begin again
With many tasks that were resigned to thee:
Up to the heights, and in among the storms,
Will I without thee go again, and do

All works which I was wont to do alone, 395 Before I knew thy face. Heaven bless thee, Boy!

Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast

With many hopes; it should be so

yes yes I knew that thou couldst never have a wish To leave me, Luke: thou hast been bound to

Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour 440

He to that valley took his way, and there Wrought at the Sheep-fold. Meantime Luke began

To slacken in his duty; and, at length,
He in the dissolute city gave himself
To evil courses: ignominy and shame 445
Fell on him, so that he was driven at last
To seek a hiding-place beyond the seas.

There is a comfort in the strength of

love;

'T will make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart:

450

I have conversed with more than one who well

Remember the old Man, and what he was Years after he had heard this heavy news. His bodily frame had been from youth to

age

25

Of joy in minds that can no further go,
As high as we have mounted in delight
In our dejection do we sink as low;
To me that morning did it happen so;
And fears and fancies thick upon me came;
Dim sadness and blind thoughts, I knew
not, nor could name.

I heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful hare: 30
Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all
care;

But there may come another day to me Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and pov

So that it seems a thing endued with sense: Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf

Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;

Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead,
Nor all asleep - in his extreme old age: 65
His body was bent double, feet and head
Coming together in life's pilgrimage;
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
A more than human weight upon his frame
had cast.

70

Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face,

Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood:

And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, Upon the margin of that moorish flood Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, 75 That heareth not the loud winds when they call;

And moveth all together, if it move at all.

At length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conned, 80
As if he had been reading in a book:
And now a stranger's privilege I took;
And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
"This morning gives us promise of a glorious
day.'

The old Man still stood talking by my side; But now his voice to me was like a stream Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide:

And the whole body of the Man did seem Like one whom I had met with in a dream; 110

Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by apt admonishment.

My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;

And hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;

And mighty Poets in their misery dead.

115

Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, My question eagerly did I renew, 'How is it that you live, and what is it you do?'

He with a smile did then his words repeat; 120 And said that, gathering leeches, far and wide

He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the pools where they abide. 'Once I could meet with them on every side;

Off weight nor press on weight! - away Dark thoughts! they came, but not to stay;

With chastened feelings would I pay
The tribute due

To him, and aught that hides his clay
From mortal view.

Fresh as the flower, whose modest worth
He sang, his genius 'glinted' forth,
Rose like a star that touching earth,
For so it seems,

Doth glorify its humble birth
With matchless beams.

The piercing eye, the thoughtful brow,
The struggling heart, where be they now?
Full soon the Aspirant of the plough,
The prompt, the brave,

Slept, with the obscurest, in the low
And silent grave.

I mourned with thousands, but as one
More deeply grieved, for He was gone
Whose light I hailed when first it shone,
And showed my youth

15

20

25

30

How Verse may build a princely throne 35
On humble truth.

Alas! where'er the current tends,
Regret pursues and with it blends, ·
Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends

Through Nature's skill,

May even by contraries be joined More closely still.

The tear will start, and let it flow;

Thou 'poor Inhabitant below,'

At this dread moment

Might we together

50

even so

Have sate and talked where gowans blow, Or on wild heather.

What treasures would have then been placed

Within my reach; of knowledge graced
By fancy what a rich repast!

55

Like something fashioned in a dream;
Such Forms as from their covert peep
When earthly cares are laid asleep!
But, O fair Creature! in the light
Of common day, so heavenly bright,
I bless Thee, Vision as thou art,
I bless thee with a human heart;
God shield thee to thy latest years!
Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers;
And yet my eyes are filled with tears.
With earnest feeling I shall pray
For thee when I am far away:
For never saw I mien, or face,
In which more plainly I could trace
Benignity and home-bred sense
Ripening in perfect innocence.
Here scattered, like a random seed,
Remote from men, Thou dost not need
The embarrassed look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness:
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear
The freedom of a Mountaineer:
A face with gladness overspread!
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred!
And seemliness complete, that sways
Thy courtesies, about thee plays;
With no restraint, but such as springs
From quick and eager visitings

Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach
Of thy few words of English speech:
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life!
So have I, not unmoved in mind,
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind
Thus beating up against the wind.
What hand but would a garland cull
For thee who art so beautiful?
O happy pleasure! here to dwell
Beside thee in some heathy dell;
Adopt your homely ways, and dress,
A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess!
But I could frame a wish for thee
More like a grave reality:

Thou art to me but as a wave

Of the wild sea; and I would have
Some claim upon thee, if I could,
Though but of common neighbourhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see!
Thy elder Brother I would be,
Thy Father anything to thee!