Volume I Part 5 (2/2)
This is a lonesome place for one like you.”
He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize; And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.
His words came feebly, from a feeble chest, Yet each in solemn order follow'd each, 100 With something of a lofty utterance drest; Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reach Of ordinary men; a stately speech!
Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use, Religious men, who give to G.o.d and Man their dues.
He told me that he to this pond had come To gather Leeches, being old and poor: Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And he had many hards.h.i.+ps to endure: From Pond to Pond he roam'd, from moor to moor, 110 Housing, with G.o.d's good help, by choice or chance: And in this way he gain'd an honest maintenance.
The Old Man still stood talking by my side; But now his voice to me was like a stream Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide; And the whole Body of the man did seem Like one whom I had met with in a dream; Or like a Man from some far region sent; To give me human strength, and strong admonishment.
My former thoughts return'd: the fear that kills; 120 The hope that is unwilling to be fed; Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said, 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; And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide He travelled; stirring thus about his feet The waters of the Ponds where they abide. 130 ”Once I could meet with them on every side; But they have dwindled long by slow decay; Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may.”
While he was talking thus, the lonely place, The Old Man's shape, and speech, all troubled me: In my mind's eye I seem'd to see him pace 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. 140
And soon with this he other matter blended, Chearfully uttered, with demeanour kind, But stately in the main; and, when he ended, I could have laugh'd myself to scorn, to find In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
”G.o.d,” said I, ”be my help and stay secure; I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor.”
SONNETS.
PREFATORY SONNET.
Nuns fret not at their Convent's narrow room; And Hermits are contented with their Cells; And Students with their pensive Citadels: Maids at the Wheel, the Weaver at his Loom, Sit blithe and happy; Bees that soar for bloom, High as the highest Peak of Furness Fells, Will murmur by the hour in Foxglove bells: In truth, the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is: and hence to me, In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground: Pleas'd if some Souls (for such there needs must be) Who have felt the weight of too much liberty, Should find short solace there, as I have found.
PART THE FIRST.
MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.
1.
How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!
An old place, full of many a lovely brood, Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocks; And Wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks, Like to a bonny La.s.s, who plays her pranks At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks, When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks The crowd beneath her. Verily I think, Such place to me is sometimes like a dream Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink, And leap at once from the delicious stream.
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