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 ; Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by strong admo nishment. My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; 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; The waters of the Ponds where they abide. While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: I seemed to see him pace In mind's my eye 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 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, This Thorn you on your left espy ; And to the left, three yards beyond, Though but of compass small, and bare And, close beside this aged Thorn, All lovely colours there you see, Ah me! what lovely tints are there! This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss, So fresh in all its beauteous dyes, Is like an infant's grave As like as like can be: in size, But never, never any where, An infant's grave was half so fair. |