He told me that he to this pond had come From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance : And in this way he gained an honest maintenance. The Old Man still stood talking by my side; Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide ; To give me human strength, by strong admonishment. My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills ; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; "How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" He with a smile did then his words repeat; While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: mind's eye I seemed to see him pace In my About the weary moors continually, Wandering about alone and silently. While I these thoughts within myself pursued, He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. And soon with this he other matter blended, God," said I, "be my help and stay secure; I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!" XXXI. THE THORN. "THERE is a Thorn it looks so old, In truth, you'd find it hard to say Not higher than a two years' child It stands erect, and like a stone With lichens it is overgrown. Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown And hung with heavy tufts of moss, Up from the earth these mosses creep, And all had joined in one endeavour High on a mountain's highest ridge, Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds It sweeps from vale to vale; Not five yards from the mountain path, And to the left, three yards beyond, Of water, never dry; Though but of compass small, and bare And, close beside this aged Thorn, All lovely colours there you see, The work had woven been; And cups, the darlings of the eye, Ah me! what lovely tints are there! This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, Is like an infant's grave in size, As like as like can be: But never, never any where, An infant's grave was half so fair. |