X. Such seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead, A more than human weight upon his frame had cast. XI. Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, XII. At length, himself unsettling, he the pond XIII. A gentle answer did the old Man make, In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise XIV. His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to God and man their dues. XV. He told, that to these waters he had come From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor; XVI. The old Man still stood talking by my side; Or like a man from some far region sent, To give me human strength, by apt admonishment. XVII. My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills; And hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; "How is it that you live, and what is it you XVIII. do ?" He with a smile did then his words repeat; XIX. While he was talking thus, the lonely place, Wandering about alone and silently. While I these thoughts within myself pursued, XX. 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!" XXIII. THE THORN. [WRITTEN at Alfoxden. Arose out of my observing, on the ridge of Quantock Hill, on a stormy day, a thorn which I had often past, in calm and bright weather, without noticing it. I said to myself, "Cannot I by some invention do as much to make this Thorn permanently an impressive object as the storm has made it to my eyes at this moment?" I began the poem accordingly, and composed it with great rapidity. Sir George Beaumont painted a picture from it which Wilkie thought his best. He gave it me; though when he saw it several times at Rydal Mount afterwards, he said, "I could make a better, and would like to paint the same subject over again." The sky in this picture is nobly done, but it reminds one too much of Wilson. The only fault, however, of any consequence is the female figure which is too old and decrepit for one likely to frequent an eminence on such a call.] I. "THERE is a Thorn-it looks so old, Not higher than a two years' child With lichens is it overgrown. II. Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown, And hung with heavy tufts of moss, Up from the earth these mosses creep, And all have joined in one endeavour III. High on a mountain's highest ridge, Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds Not five yards from the mountain path, This Thorn you on your left espy; And to the left, three yards beyond, You see a little muddy pond Of water-never dry Though but of compass small, and bare To thirsty suns and parching air. IV. And, close beside this aged Thorn, All lovely colours there you see, |