A husband and a wife.' Even so they did; and I may say Through dream and vision did she sink, That, on those lonesome floods And green savannahs, she should share But, as you have before been told, So beautiful, through savage lands 105 110 115 Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands 120 The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky Might well be dangerous food For him, a youth to whom was given So much of earth-so much of heaven, 125 Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of Nature wrought,— 135 The breezes their own languor lent; The stars had feelings, which they sent Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween 140 Pure hopes of high intent : For passions, link'd to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their share Of noble sentiment. But ill he lived, much evil saw, His genius and his moral frame A man who without self-control And yet he with no feign'd delight What could he less than love a maid Whose heart with so much nature play'd— So kind and so forlorn ? Sometimes most earnestly he said, 145 150 155 160 'O Ruth! I have been worse than dead ; False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain 165 Encompass'd me on every side When I, in confidence and pride, Had cross'd the Atlantic main. 'Before me shone a glorious world I look'd upon those hills and plains, 170 To live at liberty. 'No more of this-for now, by thee, Dear Ruth more happily set free, 175 With nobler zeal I burn; My soul from darkness is released Full soon that better mind was gone; As lawless as before. Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, But, when they thither came, the youth 180 185 God help thee, Ruth !-Such pains she had, That she in half a year was mad, And in a prison housed; And there, with many a doleful song 190 195 Made of wild words, her cup of wrong She fearfully caroused. Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 200 Nor pastimes of the May, -They all were with her in her cell; And a clear brook with cheerful knell When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 205 There came a respite to her pain; She from her prison fled; But of the Vagrant none took thought; 210 Among the fields she breathed again : Ran permanent and free; And, coming to the banks of Tone, The engines of her pain, the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, 215 The vernal leaves-she loved them still, 220 A barn her winter bed supplies; (And all do in this tale agree) She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, An innocent life, yet far astray! Be broken down and old. 225 And Ruth will, long before her day, 230 Sore aches she needs must have! but less Of mind, than body's wretchedness, If she is prest by want of food And there she begs at one steep place, That oaten pipe of hers is mute The Quantock woodman hears. 235 240 245 By spouts and fountains wild- Farewell and when thy days are told, 274 W. WORDSWORTH. WRITTEN IN THE EUGANEAN HILLS, Many a green isle needs must be 250 255 |