And up and down there went, and to and fro, And to himself full oft he said, alas! From hence my hope and solace forth did pass. O would the blissful God now for his joy, And hither home I came when it was eve; ΙΟΙ Men said, what may it be, can no one guess Why Troilus hath all this heaviness? That ever dark in torment, night by night, Toward my death with wind I steer and sail1; For which upon the tenth night if thou fail With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, 125 My ship and me Charybdis will devour. As soon as he this song had thus sung through, He fell again into his sorrows old; I shall be glad if all the world be true. morrow, When hence did journey my bright Lady dear, 135 That cause is of my torment and my sorrow; All which he of himself conceited wholly For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and Out of his weakness and his melancholy. 106 Another time he took into his head, That every wight, who in the way passed by, Had of him ruth, and fancied that they said, I am right sorry Troilus will die: As one that standeth betwixt hope and dread. For which it pleased him in his songs to show The occasion of his woe, as best he might; And made a fitting song, of words but few, 115 Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light; clear, For love of God, run fast above thy sphere; For when thy horns begin once more to spring, Then shall she come, that with her bliss may bring. 140 The day is more, and longer every night Than they were wont to be-for he thought so; And that the sun did take his course not right, By longer way than he was wont to go; 146 Upon the walls fast also would he walk, To the end that he the Grecian host might see; 149 And ever thus he to himself would talk:And when he was removed from all men's Lo! yonder is my own bright Lady free; sight, With a soft voice, he of his Lady dear, That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear. O star, of which I lost have all the light, 120 With a sore heart well ought I to bewail, Or yonder is it that the tents must be; And thence does come this air which is so sweet, That in my soul I feel the joy of it. 1 With wind in stern I sail (Chaucer).—ED. POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD OF OLD AGE. I. THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR. The class of Beggars, to which the Old Man here described belongs, will probably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and, mostly, old and infirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in their neighbourhood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at different houses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly in provisions. [Composed 1797.-Published 1800.] I SAW an aged Beggar in my walk; And he was seated, by the highway side, On a low structure of rude masonry Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they Who lead their horses down the steep rough road 5 May thence remount at ease. The aged Man Approached within the length of half his staff. Him from my childhood have I known; He was so old, he seems not older now; And careless hand his alms upon the ground, But stops,-that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old Man's hat; nor quits him so, But still, when he has given his horse the rein, 30 Watches the aged Beggar with a look Had placed his staff across the broad Sidelong, and half-reverted. She who smooth stone That overlays the pile; and, from a bag All white with flour, the dole of village dames, He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; IO tends The toll-gate, when in summer at her door She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees The aged Beggar coming, quits her work, And scanned them with a fixed and And lifts the latch for him that he may Was baffled still, the crumbs in little Turns with less noisy wheels to the road showers Fell on the ground; and the small moun tain birds, side, And passes gently by, without a curse Upon his lips or anger at his heart. Instead of common and habitual sight And the blue sky, one little span of earth Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground, Some scattered leaf, or marks which, in Which man is born to-sink, howe'er de- So low as to be scorned without a sin; This old Man creeps, the villagers in him 55 The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left Impressed on the white road,-in the Past deeds and offices of charity, 90 same line, Else unremembered, and so keeps alive At distance still the same. Poor Tra- The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of veller ! His staff trails with him; scarcely do his And that half-wisdom half-experience feet Disturb the summer dust; he is so still 60 Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls, And urchins newly breeched-all pass him by : 65 Him even the slow-paced waggon leaves behind. years, gives, But deem not this Man useless.-States- By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued, men! ye Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye Who have a broom still ready in your hands To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud, Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contemplate 71 Your talents, power, or wisdom, deem A burthen of the earth! 'Tis Nature's law Some there are, By their good works exalted, lofty minds, In childhood, from this solitary Being, 110 (A thing more precious far than all that Wherewith to satisfy the human soul? books Or the solicitudes of love can do!) No-man is dear to man; the poorest poor That first mild touch of sympathy and When they can know and feel that they known, Who sits at his own door,-and, like the As needed kindness, for this single cause, pear That we have all of us one human heart. That overhangs his head from the green-Such pleasure is to one kind Being wall, Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and My neighbour, when with punctual care, young, each week, 155 The prosperous and unthinking, they who Duly as Friday comes, though pressed live 120 Though he to no one give the fortitude herself And while in that vast solitude to which The respite of the season, he, at least, 131 The tide of things has borne him, he And 'tis no vulgar service, makes them felt. Yet further. are appears 164 To breathe and live but for himself alone, Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about -Many, I believe, there The good which the benignant law of |