Chapter III: Part 3

We were tried Friends: I from my Childhood up
Had known him.--In a little Town obscure,
A market-village, seated in a tract
Of mountains, where my school-day time was pass'd,
One room he owned, the fifth part of a house,
A place to which he drew, from time to time, 1814.

We were tried Friends: amid a pleasant vale,
In the antique market village where were pass'd
My school-days, an apartment he had own'd,
To which at intervals the Wanderer drew, 1827.
]

[Footnote 15: 1827.

On holidays, we wandered through the woods,
A pair of random travellers; we sate--
We walked; he pleas'd me with his sweet discourse 1814.
]

[Footnote 16: 1827.

... he sang 1814.
]

[Footnote 17: 1814.

Old songs brought with him from his native hills; C.
]

[Footnote 18: 1827.

The doings, observations, which his mind 1814.

His habits, observations, and the thoughts
He cherished-- ... MS.
]

[Footnote 19: 1827.

There, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 20: 1827

His Father dwelt; and died in poverty;
While He, whose lowly fortune I retrace,
The youngest of three sons, was yet a babe,
A little One--unconscious of their loss.
But ere he had outgrown his infant days
His widowed Mother, for a second Mate,
Espoused the Teacher of the Village School;
Who on her offspring zealously bestowed
Needful instruction; not alone in arts
Which to his humble duties appertained,
But in the lore of right and wrong, the rule
Of human kindness, in the peaceful ways
Of honesty, and holiness severe.
A virtuous Household ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 21: 1827.

To his Step-father's School, that stood alone, 1814.
]

[Footnote 22: 1827.

Far from the sight ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 23: 1836.

He had ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 24: 1845.

... had impressed
Great objects on his mind, with portraiture
And colour so distinct, that on his mind
They lay like substances, and almost seemed
To haunt the bodily sense. He had received 1814.

... had impressed
Upon his mind great objects so distinct
In portraiture, in colouring so vivid,
That on his mind they lay like substances,
And almost indistinguishably mixed
With things of bodily sense.... C.
]

[Footnote 25:

(Vigorous in native genius as he was)

This line appeared only in 1814 and 1820.]

[Footnote 26: 1827.

From early childhood, even, as hath been said,
From his sixth year, he had been sent abroad
In summer to tend herds: such was his task
Thenceforward 'till the later day of youth.
O then what soul was his, when, on the tops
Of the high mountains, he beheld the sun 1814.
]

[Footnote 27: 1845.

And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay
In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touch'd,
And in their silent faces did he read 1814.

... could he read 1836.
]

[Footnote 28: 1827.

... He had early learned 1814.
]

[Footnote 29: 1827.

... which ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 30: 1832.

There did he see the writing;--all things there 1814.

Responsive to the writing, all things there 1827.
]

[Footnote 31: 1827.

In many a calmer hour ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 32: 1827.

... yet to a neighbouring town 1814.
]

[Footnote 33: 1827.

... which ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 34: 1827.

His Step-father ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 35: 1827.

... What could he do
With blind endeavours, in that lonesome life,
Thus thirsting daily?... 1814.
]

[Footnote 36: 1827.

... which ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 37: 1832.

... th' altitude ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 38: 1827.

Which ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 39: 1845.

Inscribed, as with the silence of the thought,
Upon it's bleak and visionary sides, 1814.
]

[Footnote 40: 1827.

With an increasing weight; ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 41: 1827.

He asked repose; and I have heard him say
That often, failing at this time to gain 1814.
]

[Footnote 42: 1827.

A cloud of mist, which in the sunshine frames
A lasting tablet--for the observer's eye
Varying it's rainbow hues.... 1814.
]

[Footnote 43: 1827.

Thus, even from Childhood upward, was he reared;
For intellectual progress wanting much,
Doubtless, of needful help--yet gaining more; 1814.
]

[Footnote 44: 1827.

... which ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 45: 1827.

The Mother strove to make her Son perceive
With what advantage he might teach a School
In the adjoining Village; but the Youth,
Who of this service made a short essay,
Found that the wanderings of his thought were then
A misery to him; that he must resign 1814.
]

[Footnote 46: 1836.

Through dusty ways, in storm, from door to door,
A vagrant Merchant bent beneath his load! 1814.

Through hot and dusty ways, or pelting storm, 1827.
]

[Footnote 47: 1845.

... for him it bore 1814.
]

[Footnote 48: 1827.

He asked his Mother's blessing; and, with tears
Thanking his second Father, asked from him
Paternal blessings. The good Pair bestowed 1814.
]

[Footnote 49: 1827.

Which, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 50: 1827.

Upon the bounties of the year, and felt
The liberty of Nature; ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 51: 1827.

... --This active course,
Chosen in youth, through manhood he pursued,
Till due provision for his modest wants
Had been obtained;--and, thereupon, resolved 1814.
]

[Footnote 52: 1827.

... and, when the summer's warmth
Invited him, would often leave his home
And journey far, revisiting those scenes
Which to his memory were most endeared. 1814.
]

[Footnote 53: 1827.

... untouched 1814.
]

[Footnote 54: 1827.

Framed ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 55: 1836.

Or ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 56:

Nor could he bid them from his presence, tired
With questions and importunate demands:

These two lines appeared only in 1814 and 1820.]

[Footnote 57: 1827.

... He had not heard my steps
As I approached; and near him did I stand
Unnotic'd in the shade, some minutes' space. 1814.
]

[Footnote 58: 1827.

And ere the pleasant greeting that ensued
Was ended, "'Tis," said I, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 59: 1827.

... but you, I guess, 1814.
]

[Footnote 60: 1827.

... He, at the word,
Pointing towards a sweet briar, bade me climb
The fence hard by, where that aspiring shrub
Looked out upon the road ... 1814.

... He raised his hand,
And to a sweet-briar pointing, bade me climb C.
]

[Footnote 61: 1814.

The gooseberry-trees that showed their dwindled fruit
Hanging in long lank slips, or leafless strings
Of currants might have tempted to o'erleap C.
]

[Footnote 62: 1827.

... As I stooped ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 63: 1836.

Green with the moss of years; a pensive sight
That moved my heart!--recalling former days
When I could never pass that road but She
Who lived within these walls, at my approach. 1814.

Green with the moss of years, and subject only
To the soft handling of the Elements:
There let the relic lie--fond thought--vain words!
Forgive them--never did my steps approach
This humble door but she who dwelt within 1827.

Forgive them;--never--never did my steps
Approach this door but she who dwelt within 1832.

Forgive them for the sake of her who dwelt
Within these walls, who here so oft hath giv'n
To me a daughter's greeting; and I loved her MS.

Green with the moss of years. Upon the simple sight
As there it lay I could not look unmoved!
Forgive the weakness--never did step of mine
Approach this door, but she who dwelt within C.
]

[Footnote 64: 1827.

With chearful hope: but ere the second autumn
Her life's true Help-mate on a sick-bed lay, 1814.
]

[Footnote 65: 1827.

Was all consumed. Two children had they now,
One newly born. As I have said, it was
A time of trouble; shoals of Artisans
Were from their daily labour turn'd adrift
To seek their bread from public charity, 1814.
]

[Footnote 66: 1827.

That peck along the hedges, or the Kite
That makes his dwelling on the mountain Rocks! 1814.
]

[Footnote 67: 1836.

... At his door ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 68: 1836.

He blended, ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 69: 1836.

Without an errand, would direct his steps, 1814.
]

[Footnote 70: 1845.

Is filling all the air with melody; 1814.
]

[Footnote 71: 1845.

... in an Old Man's eye? 1814.
]

[Footnote 72: 1827.

There was a heart-felt chillness in my veins.--
I rose; and, turning from the breezy shade,
Went forth into the open air, and stood
To drink the comfort of the warmer sun.
Long time I had not staid, ere, looking round 1814.
]

[Footnote 73: 1814.

But ... MS.
]

[Footnote 74: 1827.

... far remote.
And glad I was, when, halting by yon gate
That leads from the green lane, once more I saw
These lofty elm-trees. Long I did not rest:
With many pleasant thoughts I chear'd my way
O'er the flat Common.--Having reached the door
I knock'd,--and, when I entered with the hope
Of usual greeting, Margaret looked at me 1814.
]

[Footnote 75: 1832.

Or ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 76: 1814.

With fervent love, and with a look of grief
Unutterable, and with a helpless look
That seemed to cling upon me, ... C.
]

[Footnote 77: 1827.

... but therein 1814.
]

[Footnote 78: 1836.

Which placed it there: and ere that day was ended,
That long and anxious day! I learned from One
Sent hither by my Husband to impart
The heavy news,--that he had joined a Troop. 1814.
]

[Footnote 79: 1827.

Towards the wane of Summer; when the wheat 1814.
]

[Footnote 80: 1827.

... only, I thought, 1814.
]

[Footnote 81: 1845.

Its pride of neatness. From the border lines
Composed of daisy and resplendent thrift,
Flowers straggling forth had on those paths encroached
Which they were used to deck:-- ... 1814.

... Daisy-flow'rs and thrift
Had broken their trim lines, and straggled o'er
The paths they used to deck:-- ... 1827.
]

[Footnote 82: 1832.

... without support. 1814.
]

[Footnote 83:

And, as I walked before the door, it chanced

This line appeared only in 1814 and 1820.]

[Footnote 84: 1827.

And, looking round, I saw the corner stones,
Till then unnotic'd, on either side the door 1814.
]

[Footnote 85: 1827.

... I have waked; ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 86: 1832.

... "that heaven 1814.
]

[Footnote 87: 1845.

... were downward cast; 1814.
]

[Footnote 88: 1827.

... to have her trust 1814.
]

[Footnote 89: 1836.

Methought ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 90: 1845.

Ere ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 91: 1814.

... sad and drooping. Time had brought
No tidings which might lead her anxious mind
To a source of quiet; if her husband lived, C.
]

[Footnote 92: 1845.

... Once again
I turned towards the garden gate, and saw, 1814.
]

[Footnote 93: 1845.

... Towards the House
Together we returned; and she enquired 1814.

... Back to the house
We turned together, silent, till she asked MS.
]

[Footnote 94: 1836.

At length towards the Cottage I returned
Fondly,--and traced, with interest more mild, 1814.
]

[Footnote 95: The lines from "Nor more would she" to "Sufferer" (934-9) were added in 1845.]

[Footnote 96: 1845.

... ask no more;
Be wise and chearful; and no longer read
The forms of things with an unworthy eye. 1814.

... ask no more:
Doubt not that oft-times in her soul she felt
The unbounded might of prayer--upon her knees
Was taught that heavenly consolation springs
From sources deeper far than deepest pain
For the meek Sufferer. Why then should we read
The forms of things with a dejected eye? C.
]

[Footnote 97: 1836.

... did to my heart convey 1814.
]

[Footnote 98: 1845.

The passing shews ... 1814.
]

[Footnote 99: 1845.

Appeared an idle dream, that could not live
Where meditation was. I turned away 1814.
]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote S: In a copy of the quarto edition of _The Excursion_ (1814) bequeathed by the Poet to his grandson, the Rev. John Wordsworth, there are numerous changes of text in his own handwriting, or that of his wife. The majority of these were incorporated in later editions. Several of them, however, were not. These are reproduced in this edition, wherever it has been thought expedient to preserve them, and are indicated as "MS." readings. On the fly-leaf of the same presentation copy of the 1814 edition, Mrs. Wordsworth wrote out Mr. R. P. Gillies' sonnet, addressed to the author of _The Excursion_.--ED.]

[Footnote T: Compare _An Evening Walk_ (vol. i. p. 9)--

When, in the south, the wan noon, brooding still,
Breathed a pale steam around the glaring hill. ED.
]

[Footnote U: Compare _An Evening Walk_ (vol. i. p. 11)--

And its own twilight softens the whole scene. ED.
]

[Footnote V: Compare the sonnet composed in boyhood, beginning--

Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane,

and printed in an Appendix to vol. viii.--ED.]

[Footnote W: Compare the _Sonnet composed at ---- Castle_, in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland," 1803 (vol. ii. p. 410)--

A brotherhood of venerable Trees. ED.
]

[Footnote W1: Hawkshead. Compare the notes to _The Prelude_, in books i. and ii. The Fenwick note tells us, "At Hawkshead, while I was a schoolboy, there occasionally resided a Packman, with whom I had frequent conversations upon what had befallen him, and what he had observed, during his wandering life; and, as was natural, we took much to each other."--ED.]

[Footnote X: Compare the _Elegiac Stansas, suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle, in a Storm_ (vol. iii. p. 54)--

The consecration, and the Poet's dream;

and the Discourse on Poetry in the Preface to the "Lyrical Ballads" of 1800. See the _Prose Works_.--ED.]

[Footnote Y: Compare Sir Henry Taylor, _Philip van Artevelde_, act 1. scene v.--

The world knows nothing of its greatest men. ED.
]

[Footnote Z: Compare Horace, _Epistles_ i. 17, 10--

Nec vixit male qui natus moriensque fefellit. ED.
]

[Footnote AA: Compare _Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle_ (vol. iii. p. 54)--

The light that never was, on sea or land. ED.
]

[Footnote AB: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, stanza xiv. (vol. ii. p. 319)--

Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
Religious men, who give to God and man their dues. ED.
]

[Footnote AC: Compare Byron, _Childe Harold_, canto iv. stanza clxxxiv.--

From a boy
I wantoned with thy breakers--they to me
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror,--'twas a pleasing fear. ED.
]

[Footnote AD: Compare _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_, stanza ix. (vol. viii.)--

those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things, etc.

and _The Prelude_, book ii. l. 350 (vol. iii. p. 164)--

what I saw
Appeared like something in myself, a dream,
A prospect in the mind. ED.
]

[Footnote AE: Compare Milton, _Il Penseroso_, l. 109--

Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold. ED.
]

[Footnote AF: Compare _Lines Written in Early Spring_ (vol. i. p. 269)--

And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes. ED.
]

[Footnote AG: Compare _The Prelude_, book ii. l. 411 (vol. iii. p. 166)--

Communing ...
With every form of creature, as it looked
Towards the Uncreated with a countenance
Of adoration, with an eye of love. ED.
]

[Footnote AH: Compare book iv. ll. 111-14; also in Robert Browning's _Old Pictures in Florence_, stanza i.--

And washed by the morning water-gold,
Florence lay out on the mountain-side. ED.
]

[Footnote AI: The sea is not visible from the hills of Athole, except from the summit of Ben y' Gloe, where it can be seen to the south-east in the clearest weather. Wordsworth did not care for local accuracy in this passage. It was quite unnecessary for his purpose. Compare his account of the morning walk near Hawkshead in _The Prelude_, and see the Appendix-note to book iv. l. 338 (vol. iii. p. 389).--ED.]

[Footnote AJ: Compare _Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey_ (vol. ii. p. 54), in which Wordsworth speaks of the rock, the mountain, and the wood, their colours and their forms, as an appetite, a feeling, and a love--

That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye. ED.
]

[Footnote AK: Compare the line in the sonnet on Milton (vol. ii. p. 346)--

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart. ED.
]

[Footnote AL: In this description of the eagle's birth-place, and the peak "familiar with forgotten years," Wordsworth probably wandered in imagination from the Athole district to Westmoreland, as this part of the poem was in all likelihood written in 1801-2. He visited the Athole country, with his sister, in 1803; going up as far as Blair, and returning: but there is no peak in that district (at least none that he would see) that shows

Inscribed upon its visionary sides,
The history of many a winter storm,
Or obscure records of the path of fire,

as does, for example, the Stob Dearg in the Buchaile Etive Mor group in Argyll, a peak which he saw in the course of his Scottish tour in that year. --ED.]

[Footnote AM: Compare _Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey_ (vol. ii. p.54)--

The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood.
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite. ED.
]

[Footnote AN: With this description of the boy and youth, compare Coleridge's words in _The Friend_, vol. iii. p. 46 (edition of 1818)--

"We have been discoursing of infancy, childhood, boyhood, and youth, of pleasures lying upon the unfolding intellect plenteously as morning dew-drops--of knowledge inhaled insensibly like the fragrance--of dispositions stealing into the spirit like music from unknown quarters--of images uncalled for and rising up like exhalations, of hopes plucked like beautiful wild flowers from the ruined tombs that border the highways of antiquity, to make a garland for a living forehead: in a word, we have been treating of nature as a teacher of truth through joy and through gladness, and as a creatress of the faculties by a process of smoothness and delight. We have made no mention of fear, shame, sorrow, nor of ungovernable and vexing thoughts; because, although these have been and have done mighty service, they are overlooked in that stage of life when youth is passing into manhood, overlooked or forgotten."--ED.]

[Footnote AO: Enterprise. Compare the poem _To Enterprise_, which, Wordsworth says, "arose out of _The Italian Itinerant, and The Swiss Goatherd_." Compare also the latter poem, No. xxv. of the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent" (1820).--ED.]

[Footnote AP: See Wordsworth's note, p. 383.]

[Footnote AQ: Compare the Preface to "Lyrical Ballads" (1800), in the _Prose Works_.--ED.]

[Footnote AR: Compare _Simon Lee_, ll. 5-8 (vol. i. p. 263)--

Full five-and-thirty years he lived
A running huntsman merry;
And still the centre of his cheek
Is red as a ripe cherry.

Also the description of Margaret, p. 60 of this volume.--ED.]

[Footnote AS: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, stanza xiii. (vol. ii. p. 318).]

[Footnote AT: Compare _Julius Cæsar_, act III. scene ii. l. 81--

The good is oft interred with their bones. ED.
]

[Footnote AU: See Moschus's epitaph on Bion, 1-7--

Αἴλινά μοι στοναχεῖτε νάπαι καὶ Δώρεον ὕδωρ,
καὶ ποταμοὶ κλαίοιτε τὸν ἰμερόεντα Βίωνα.
νῦν φυτά μοι μύρεσθε, καὶ ἄλσεα νῦν γοάοισθε.
ἄνθεα νῦν στυγνοῖσιν ἀποπνείοιτε κορύμβοις.
νῦν ῥόδα φοινίσσεσθε τὰ πένθιμα, νῦν ἀνεμῶναι,
νῦν ὑάκινθε λάλει τὰ σα γράμματα, καὶ πλέον αἲ αἲ
λάμβανε τοῖς πετάλοισι καλὸς τεθνακε μελικτάς.

And compare Virgil, Ecl. v. 27, 28; Georg. I. 466-488; Georg. IV. 461-463; Catullus, Carmen XXXI., _Ad Sirmionem Peninsulam_, the three last lines. See also Theocritus, Idyll 3, and compare the philosophic myths in the stories of Orpheus, Amphion, etc.--ED.]

[Footnote AV: Compare δν οἱ θεοὶ ϕιλοῦσιν, ἀποθνήσκει νέος.]

Whom the gods love, die young.

Menander, quoted (amongst others) by Plutarch, _Consol. ad Apollonium_, cap. 34. For other authorities, see Meineke's _Comicorum Græcorum Fragmenta_.--ED.]

[Footnote AW: The hand-loom was common in many of the cottages of the country, as well as in the manufacturing towns of England and Scotland, until quite recently.--ED.]

[Footnote AX: Psalm ciii. 16.--ED.]

[Footnote AY: Compare λύοντες οὐκ ἤκουον.--(Æsch. _Prom_. v. 447.)

Also S. Matt. xiii. 13-15--

They seeing, see not; and hearing, they hear not.

And Shakespeare, _Richard III_. act IV. scene iv. 1. 26--

Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal-living ghost. ED.
]

[Footnote AZ: Compare _The Waggoner_, vol. iii. p. 77--

In silence deeper far than that of deepest noon! ED.
]

[Footnote BA: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, stanza xiii. (vol. ii. p. 319)--

Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. ED.
]

[Footnote BB: Compare Burns's _Epistle to William Simpson, Ochiltree_--

Adoun some trotting burn's meander. ED.
]

[Footnote BC: Compare _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act 1. scene i. l. 211--

Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass. ED.
]

[Footnote BD: _Sedum acre_.--ED.]

[Footnote BE: _Statice armerium_.--ED.]

[Footnote BF: _Convolvulus arvensis_.--ED.]

[Footnote BG: Mr. H. H. Turner suggests that this line would be more naturally written,

Bespake a hand of sleepy negligence.

The change would have been an improvement.--ED.]

[Footnote BH: "The scene of the first book of the poem is, I must own, laid in a tract of country not sufficiently near to that which soon comes into view in the second book, to agree with the fact. All that relates to Margaret, and the ruined cottage, etc., was taken from observations made in the south-west of England; and certainly it would require more than seven-league boots to stretch in one morning, from a common in Somersetshire, or Dorsetshire, to the heights of Furness Fells, and the deep valleys they embosom."--I. F.

Compare with the first book of _The Excursion_ the first three books of _The Prelude_.--ED.]

[Footnote BI: Compare stanza xi. in the _Ode, Intimations of Immortality_ (vol. viii.)--

To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. ED.
]

=Book Second=

THE SOLITARY

ARGUMENT

_The Author describes his travels with the Wanderer, whose
character is further illustrated--Morning scene, and view of a
Village Wake--Wanderer's account of a Friend whom he purposes to
visit--View, from an eminence, of the Valley which his Friend
had chosen for his retreat[100]--Sound of singing from below--A
funeral procession--Descent into the Valley--Observations drawn
from the Wanderer at sight of a book accidentally discovered
in a recess in the Valley--Meeting with the Wanderer's friend,
the Solitary--Wanderer's description of the mode of burial
in this mountainous district--Solitary contrasts with this,
that of the individual carried a few minutes before from the
cottage[101]--The cottage entered--Description of the Solitary's
apartment--Repast there--View, from the window, of two mountain
summits; and the Solitary's description of the companionship
they afford him--Account of the departed inmate of the
cottage--Description of a grand spectacle upon the mountains,
with its effect upon the Solitary's mind--Leave[102] the house._

In days of yore how fortunately fared
The Minstrel! wandering on from hall to hall,
Baronial court or royal; cheered with gifts
Munificent, and love, and ladies' praise;
Now meeting on his road an armed knight, 5
Now resting with a pilgrim by the side
Of a clear brook;--beneath an abbey's roof
One evening sumptuously lodged; the next,
Humbly in a religious hospital;
Or with some merry outlaws of the wood; 10
Or haply shrouded in a hermit's cell.
Him, sleeping or awake, the robber spared;
He walked--protected from the sword of war
By virtue of that sacred instrument
His harp, suspended at the traveller's side; 15
His dear companion wheresoe'er he went
Opening from land to land an easy way
By melody, and by the charm of verse.
Yet not the noblest of that honoured Race
Drew happier, loftier, more empassioned, thoughts 20
From his long journeyings and eventful life,
Than this obscure Itinerant had skill
To gather, ranging through the tamer ground[103]
Of these our unimaginative days;
Both while he trod the earth in humblest guise 25
Accoutred with his burthen and his staff;
And now, when free to move with lighter pace.

What wonder, then, if I, whose favourite school
Hath been the fields, the roads, and rural lanes,
[104]Looked on this guide with reverential love? 30
Each with the other pleased, we now pursued
Our journey, under[105] favourable skies.
Turn wheresoe'er we would, he was a light
Unfailing: not a hamlet could we pass,
Rarely a house, that[106] did not yield to him 35
Remembrances; or from his tongue call forth
Some way-beguiling tale. Nor less regard
Accompanied those strains of apt discourse,
Which nature's various objects might inspire;[107]
And in the silence of his face I read 40
His overflowing spirit. Birds and beasts,
And the mute fish that glances in the stream,
And harmless reptile coiling in the sun,
And gorgeous insect hovering in the air,
The fowl domestic, and the household dog-- 45
In his capacious mind, he loved them all:
Their rights acknowledging he felt for all.
Oft was occasion given me to perceive
How the calm pleasures of the pasturing herd
To happy contemplation soothed his walk; 50
[108]How the poor brute's condition, forced to run
Its course of suffering in the public road,
Sad contrast! all too often smote his heart
With unavailing pity. Rich in love
And sweet humanity, he was, himself, 55
To the degree that he desired, beloved.
Smiles of good-will from faces that he knew
Greeted us all day long;[109] we took our seats
By many a cottage-hearth, where he received
The welcome of an Inmate from afar,[110] 60
And I at once forgot, I was a Stranger.[111]
--Nor was he loth to enter ragged huts,
Huts where his charity[112] was blest; his voice
Heard as the voice of an experienced friend. 64
And, sometimes--where the poor man held dispute
With his own mind, unable to subdue
Impatience through inaptness to perceive
General distress in his particular lot;
Or cherishing resentment, or in vain
Struggling against it; with a soul perplexed, 70
And finding in herself[113] no steady power
To draw the line of comfort that divides
Calamity, the chastisement of Heaven,
From the injustice of our brother men--
To him appeal was made as to a judge; 75
Who, with an understanding heart, allayed
The perturbation; listened to the plea;
Resolved the dubious point; and sentence gave
So grounded, so applied, that it was heard
With softened spirit, even when it condemned. 80

Such intercourse I witnessed, while we roved,
Now as his choice directed, now as mine;
Or both, with equal readiness of will,
Our course submitting to the changeful breeze
Of accident. But when the rising sun 85
Had three times called us to renew our walk,
My Fellow-traveller, with earnest voice,
As if the thought were but a moment old,
Claimed absolute dominion for the day.[114]
We started--and he led me toward the hills,[115] 90
Up through an ample vale, with higher hills
Before us, mountains stern and desolate;[BJ]
But, in the majesty of distance, now
Set off, and to our ken appearing fair
Of aspect, with aërial softness clad, 95
And beautified with morning's purple beams.

The wealthy, the luxurious, by the stress
Of business roused, or pleasure, ere their time,
May roll in chariots, or provoke the hoofs
Of the fleet coursers they bestride, to raise 100
From earth the dust of morning, slow to rise;
And they, if blest with health and hearts at ease,
Shall lack not their enjoyment:--but how faint
Compared with ours! who, pacing side by side,
Could, with an eye of leisure, look on all 105
That we beheld; and lend the listening sense
To every grateful sound of earth and air;
Pausing at will--our spirits braced, our thoughts
Pleasant as roses in the thickets blown,
And pure as dew bathing their crimson leaves. 110

Mount slowly, sun! that we may journey long,
By this dark hill protected from thy beams![116]
Such is the summer pilgrim's frequent wish;
But quickly from among our morning thoughts[117]
'Twas chased away: for, toward[118] the western side
Of the broad vale, casting a casual glance, 116
We saw a throng of people;--wherefore met?
Blithe notes of music, suddenly let loose
On the thrilled ear, and flags uprising, yield[119]
Prompt answer; they proclaim the annual Wake,[BK] 120
Which the bright season favours.--Tabor and pipe
In purpose join to hasten or[120] reprove
The laggard Rustic; and repay with boons
Of merriment a party-coloured knot,
Already formed upon the village-green. 125
--Beyond the limits of the shadow cast
By the broad hill,[BL] glistened upon our sight
That gay assemblage. Round them and above,
Glitter, with dark recesses interposed,
Casement, and cottage-roof, and stems of trees 130
Half-veiled in vapoury cloud, the silver steam
Of dews fast melting on their leafy boughs
By the strong sunbeams smitten. Like a mast
Of gold, the Maypole shines; as if the rays
Of morning, aided by exhaling dew, 135
With gladsome influence could re-animate
The faded garlands dangling from its sides.

Said I, "The music and the sprightly scene
Invite us; shall we quit our road, and join
These festive matins?"--He replied, "Not loth 140
To linger I would here[121] with you partake,
Not one hour merely, but till evening's close,
The simple pastimes of the day and place.
By the fleet Racers, ere the sun be set,
The turf of yon large pasture will be skimmed; 145
There, too, the lusty Wrestlers shall[122] contend:
But know we not that he, who intermits
The appointed task and duties of the day,
Untunes full oft the pleasures of the day;
Checking the finer spirits that refuse 150
To flow, when purposes are lightly changed?
A length of journey yet remains untraced:
Let us proceed."[123] Then, pointing with his staff
Raised toward those craggy summits,[124] his intent
He thus imparted:--
"In a spot that lies 155
Among yon mountain fastnesses concealed,[BM]
You will receive, before the hour of noon,
Good recompense, I hope, for this day's toil,
From sight of One who lives secluded there,
Lonesome and lost: of whom, and whose past life, 160
(Not to forestall such knowledge as may be
More faithfully collected from himself)
This brief communication shall suffice.

"Though now sojourning there, he, like myself,
Sprang from a stock of lowly parentage 165
Among the wilds of Scotland, in a tract
Where many a sheltered and well-tended plant,
Bears, on the humblest ground of social life,
Blossoms of piety and innocence.[125]
Such grateful promises his youth displayed: 170
And, having shown in study forward zeal,
He to the Ministry was duly called;
And straight, incited by a curious mind
Filled with vague hopes, he undertook the charge[126]
Of Chaplain to a military troop[BN] 175
Cheered by the Highland bagpipe, as they marched
In plaided vest,--his fellow-countrymen.
This office filling, yet[127] by native power
And force of native inclination made
An intellectual ruler in the haunts 180
Of social vanity, he walked the world,
Gay, and affecting graceful gaiety;
Lax, buoyant--less a pastor with his flock
Than a soldier among soldiers--lived and roamed 184
Where Fortune led:--and Fortune, who oft proves
The careless wanderer's friend, to him made known
A blooming Lady--a conspicuous flower,
Admired for beauty, for her sweetness praised;
Whom he had sensibility to love,
Ambition to attempt, and skill to win. 190

"For this fair Bride, most rich in gifts of mind,
Nor sparingly endowed with worldly wealth,
His office he relinquished; and retired
From the world's notice to a rural home.
Youth's season yet with him was scarcely past, 195
And she was in youth's prime. How free their love,
How full their joy! 'Till, pitiable doom![128]
In the short course of one undreaded year,
Death blasted all. Death suddenly o'erthrew
Two lovely Children--all that they possessed! 200
The Mother followed:--miserably bare
The one Survivor stood; he wept, he prayed
For his dismissal, day and night, compelled
To hold communion with the grave, and face
With pain the regions of eternity.[129] 205
An uncomplaining apathy displaced
This anguish; and, indifferent to delight,
To aim and purpose, he consumed his days,
To private interest dead, and public care.
So lived he; so he might have died.
"But now, 210
To the wide world's astonishment, appeared
A[130] glorious opening, the unlooked-for dawn,
That promised everlasting joy to France![BO]
Her voice of social transport[131] reached even him!
He broke from his contracted bounds, repaired 215
To the great City, an emporium then
Of golden expectations, and receiving
Freights every day from a new world of hope.
Thither his popular talents he transferred;
And, from the pulpit, zealously maintained 220
The cause of Christ and civil liberty,
As one, and moving to one glorious end.
Intoxicating service! I might say
A happy service; for he was sincere
As vanity and fondness for applause, 225
And new and shapeless wishes, would allow.

"That righteous cause (such power hath freedom) bound,
For one hostility, in friendly league,[132]
Ethereal natures and the worst of slaves;
Was served by rival advocates that came 230
From regions opposite as heaven and hell.
One courage seemed to animate them all:
And, from the dazzling conquests daily gained
By their united efforts, there arose
A proud and most presumptuous confidence 235
In the transcendent wisdom of the age,
And her[133] discernment; not alone in rights,
And in the origin and bounds of power
Social and temporal; but in laws divine,
Deduced by reason, or to faith revealed. 240
An overweening trust was raised; and fear
Cast out, alike of person and of thing.
Plague from this union spread, whose subtle bane
The strongest did not easily escape;
And He, what wonder! took a mortal taint. 245
How shall I trace the change, how bear to tell
That he broke faith with them[134] whom he had laid
In earth's dark chambers, with a Christian's hope!
An infidel contempt of holy writ
Stole by degrees upon his mind; and hence 250
Life, like that Roman Janus, double-faced;
Vilest hypocrisy--the laughing, gay
Hypocrisy, not leagued with fear, but pride.
Smooth words he had to wheedle simple souls;
But, for disciples of the inner school, 255
Old freedom was old servitude, and they
The wisest whose opinions stooped the least
To known restraints; and who most boldly drew
Hopeful prognostications from a creed,
That,[135] in the light of false philosophy, 260
Spread like a halo round a misty moon,
Widening its circle as the storms advance.

"His sacred function was at length renounced;
And every day and every place enjoyed
The unshackled layman's natural liberty; 265
Speech, manners, morals, all without disguise.
I do not wish to wrong him; though the course
Of private life licentiously displayed
Unhallowed actions--planted like a crown
Upon the insolent aspiring brow 270
Of spurious notions--worn as open signs
Of prejudice subdued--still he[136] retained,
'Mid much[137] abasement, what he had received
From nature, an intense and glowing mind.
Wherefore, when humbled Liberty grew weak, 275
And mortal sickness on her face appeared,
He coloured objects to his own desire
As with a lover's passion. Yet his moods
Of pain were keen as those of better men,
Nay keener, as his fortitude was less: 280
And he continued, when worse days were come,
To deal about his sparkling eloquence,
Struggling against the strange reverse with zeal
That showed like happiness. But, in despite
Of all this outside bravery, within, 285
He neither felt encouragement nor hope:
For moral dignity, and strength of mind,
Were wanting; and simplicity of life;
And reverence for himself; and, last and best,
Confiding thoughts, through[138] love and fear of Him
Before whose sight the troubles of this world 291
Are vain, as billows in a tossing sea.

"The glory of the times fading away--
The splendour, which had given a festal air
To self-importance, hallowed it, and veiled 295
From his own sight--this gone, he forfeited[139]
All joy in human nature; was consumed,
And vexed, and chafed, by levity and scorn,
And fruitless indignation; galled by pride;
Made desperate by contempt of men who throve 300
Before his sight in power or fame, and won,
Without desert, what he desired; weak men,
Too weak even for his envy or his hate!
Tormented thus, after a wandering course
Of discontent, and inwardly opprest[140] 305
With malady--in part, I fear, provoked
By weariness of life--he fixed his home,
Or, rather say, sate down by very chance,
Among these rugged hills; where now he dwells,
And wastes the sad remainder of his hours, 310
Steeped in a self-indulging spleen, that wants not[141]
Its own voluptuousness;--on this resolved,
With this content, that he will live and die
Forgotten,--at safe distance from 'a world
Not moving to his mind.'"[BP]
These serious words 315
Closed the preparatory notices
That served my Fellow-traveller to beguile[142]
The way, while we advanced up that wide vale.[BQ]
Diverging now (as if his quest had been[143]
Some secret of the mountains, cavern, fall 320
Of water, or some lofty eminence,[144]
Renowned for splendid prospect far and wide)
We scaled, without a track to ease our steps,
A steep ascent;[BR] and reached a dreary plain,[145][BS]
With a tumultuous waste of huge hill tops 325
Before us;[BT] savage region! which I paced
Dispirited:[146] when, all at once, behold!
Beneath our feet, a little lowly vale,[BU]
A lowly vale, and yet uplifted high
Among the mountains; even as if the spot 330
Had been from eldest time by wish of theirs
So placed, to be shut out from all the world!
Urn-like it was in shape, deep as an urn;[BU]
With rocks encompassed, save that to the south 334
Was one small opening,[BV] where a heath-clad ridge
Supplied a boundary less abrupt and close;
A quiet treeless nook, with two green fields,[BW]
A liquid pool that glittered in the sun,[BX]
And one bare dwelling; one abode, no more![BY]
It seemed the home of poverty and toil, 340
Though not of want: the little fields, made green
By husbandry of many thrifty years,
Paid cheerful tribute to the moorland house.
--There crows the cock, single in his domain:
The small birds find in spring no thicket there 345
To shroud them; only from the neighbouring vales
The cuckoo, straggling up to the hill tops,
Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place.

Ah! what a sweet Recess, thought I, is here!
Instantly throwing down my limbs at ease 350
Upon a bed of heath;--full many a spot
Of hidden beauty have I chanced to espy
Among the mountains; never one like this;
So lonesome, and so perfectly secure;
Not melancholy--no, for it is green, 355
And bright, and fertile, furnished in itself
With the few needful things that[147] life requires.
--In rugged arms how softly does it lie,[148]
How tenderly protected! Far and near
We have an image of the pristine earth, 360
The planet in its nakedness: were this
Man's only dwelling, sole appointed seat,
First, last, and single, in the breathing world,
It could not be more quiet: peace is here
Or nowhere; days unruffled by the gale 365
Of public news or private; years that pass
Forgetfully; uncalled upon to pay
The common penalties of mortal life,
Sickness, or accident, or grief, or pain.

On these and kindred thoughts intent I lay 370
In silence musing by my Comrade's side,[149]
He also silent; when from out the heart
Of that profound abyss a solemn voice,
Or several voices in one solemn sound,
Was heard ascending; mournful, deep, and slow 375
The cadence, as of psalms--a funeral dirge![BZ]
We listened, looking down upon the hut,[150]
But seeing no one: meanwhile from below
The strain continued, spiritual as before;
And now distinctly could I recognise 380
These words:--'_Shall in the grave thy love be known,_
_In death thy faithfulness?_'--"God rest his soul!"[151]
Said the old man,[152] abruptly breaking silence,--
"He is departed, and finds peace at last!"
This scarcely spoken, and those holy strains 385
Not ceasing, forth appeared in view a band
Of rustic persons, from behind the hut
Bearing a coffin in the midst, with which
They shaped their course along the sloping side
Of that small valley, singing as they moved;[CA] 390
A sober company and few, the men
Bare-headed, and all decently attired!
Some steps when they had thus advanced, the dirge
Ended; and, from the stillness that ensued
Recovering, to my Friend I said, "You spake, 395
Methought, with apprehension that these rites
Are paid to Him upon whose shy retreat
This day we purposed to intrude."--"I did so,
But let us hence, that we may learn the truth:
Perhaps it is not he[153] but some one else 400
For whom this pious service is performed;
Some other tenant of the solitude."

So, to a steep and difficult descent
Trusting ourselves, we wound from crag to crag,
Where passage could be won;[CB] and, as the last 405
Of the mute train, behind[154] the heathy top
Of that off-sloping outlet,[CC] disappeared,
I, more impatient in my downward course,[155]
Had landed upon easy ground; and there
Stood waiting for my Comrade. When behold 410
An object that enticed my steps aside!
A narrow, winding, entry opened out[156]
Into a platform--that lay, sheepfold-wise,
Enclosed between an upright[157] mass of rock
And one old moss-grown wall;--a cool recess, 415
And fanciful! For where the rock and wall
Met in an angle, hung a penthouse, framed
By thrusting two rude staves into the wall[158]
And overlaying them with mountain sods;
To weather-fend a little turf-built seat 420
Whereon a full-grown man might rest, nor dread
The burning sunshine, or a transient shower;
But the whole plainly wrought by children's hands![CD]
Whose skill had thronged the floor with a proud show[159]
Of baby-houses, curiously arranged; 425
Nor wanting ornament of walks between,
With mimic trees inserted in the turf,
And gardens interposed. Pleased with the sight,
I could not choose but beckon to my Guide, 429
Who, entering, round him threw a careless glance,
Impatient to pass on, when I exclaimed,[160]
"Lo! what is here?" and, stooping down, drew forth
A book, that, in the midst of stones and moss
And wreck of party-coloured earthen-ware,[CE]
Aptly disposed, had lent its help to raise 435
One of those petty structures. "His it must be!"
Exclaimed the Wanderer, "cannot but be his,[161]
And he is gone!"[162] The book, which in my hand
Had opened of itself (for it was swoln
With searching damp, and seemingly had lain 440
To the injurious elements exposed
From week to week,) I found to be a work
In the French tongue, a Novel of Voltaire,
His famous Optimist. "Unhappy Man!" 444
Exclaimed my Friend: "here then has been to him
Retreat within retreat, a sheltering-place
Within how deep a shelter! He had fits,
Even to the last, of genuine tenderness,
And loved the haunts of children: here, no doubt,
Pleasing and pleased, he shared their simple sports,
Or sate companionless; and here the book, 451
Left and forgotten in his careless way,
Must by the cottage-children have been found:[163]
Heaven bless them, and their inconsiderate work!
To what odd purpose have the darlings turned 455
This sad memorial of their hapless friend!"

"Me," said I, "most doth it surprise, to find
Such book in such a place!"--" A book it is,"
He answered,"to the Person suited well,
Though little suited to surrounding things: 460
'Tis strange, I grant; and stranger still had been
To see the Man who owned it, dwelling here,[164]
With one poor shepherd, far from all the world!--
Now, if our errand hath been thrown away,
As from these intimations I forebode, 465
Grieved shall I be--less for my sake than yours,
And least of all for him who is no more."

By this, the book was in the old Man's hand;
And he continued, glancing on the leaves 469
An eye of scorn:--"The lover," said he, "doomed
To love when hope hath failed him--whom no depth
Of privacy is deep enough to hide,
Hath yet his bracelet or his lock of hair,
And that is joy to him. When change of times
Hath summoned kings to scaffolds, do but give 475
The faithful servant, who must hide his head
Henceforth in whatsoever nook he may,
A kerchief sprinkled with his master's blood,
And he too hath his comforter. How poor,
Beyond all poverty how destitute, 480
Must that Man have been left, who, hither driven,
Flying or seeking, could yet bring with him
No dearer relique, and no better stay,
Than this dull product of a scoffer's pen,[CF]
Impure conceits discharging from a heart 485
Hardened by impious pride!--I did not fear
To tax you with this journey;"--mildly said
My venerable Friend, as forth we stepped
Into the presence of the cheerful light--
"For I have knowledge that you do not shrink 490
From moving spectacles;--but let us on."

So speaking, on he went, and at the word
I followed, till he made a sudden stand:
For full in view, approaching through a[165] gate
That opened from the enclosure of green fields 495
Into the rough uncultivated ground,[CG]
Behold the Man whom he had fancied dead!
I knew from his deportment, mien, and dress,[166]
That it could be no other; a pale face,
A meagre person, tall, and in a garb[167] 500
Not rustic--dull and faded like himself!
He saw us not, though distant but few steps;
For he was busy, dealing, from a store
Upon a broad leaf carried, choicest strings
Of red ripe currants;[168] gift by which he strove, 505
With intermixture of endearing words,
To soothe a Child, who walked beside him, weeping
As if disconsolate.--"They to the grave
Are bearing him, my Little-one," he said,
"To the dark pit; but he will feel no pain; 510
His body is at rest, his soul in heaven."

More might have followed--but my honoured Friend
Broke in upon the Speaker with a frank
And cordial greeting.--Vivid was the light 514
That flashed and sparkled from the other's eyes;[169][CH]
He was all fire: no shadow on his brow
Remained, nor sign of sickness on his face.[170]
Hands joined he with his Visitant,--a grasp,
An eager grasp; and many moments' space--
When the first glow of pleasure was no more, 520
And, of the sad appearance which at once
Had vanished, much was come and coming back--[171]
An amicable smile retained the life
Which it had unexpectedly received,
Upon his hollow cheek. "How kind," he said, 525
"Nor could your coming have been better timed;
For this, you see, is in our narrow[172] world
A day of sorrow. I have here a charge"--
And, speaking thus, he patted tenderly
The sun-burnt forehead of the weeping child-- 530
"A little mourner, whom it is my task
To comfort;--but how came ye?--if yon track
(Which doth at once befriend us and betray)
Conducted hither your most welcome feet,
Ye could not miss the funeral train--they yet 535
Have scarcely disappeared." "This blooming Child,"
Said the old Man, "is of an age to weep
At any grave or solemn spectacle,
Inly distressed or overpowered with awe,
He knows not wherefore;--but the boy to-day, 540
Perhaps is shedding orphan's tears; you also[173]
Must have sustained a loss."--"The hand of Death,"
He answered, "has been here; but could not well
Have fallen more lightly, if it had not fallen
Upon myself."--The other left these words 545
Unnoticed, thus continuing--
"From yon crag,
Down whose steep sides we dropped into the vale,
We heard the hymn they sang--a solemn sound
Heard any where; but in a place like this
'Tis more than human! Many precious rites 550
And customs of our rural ancestry
Are gone, or stealing from us; this, I hope,
Will last for ever.[CI] Oft on my way have I
Stood still, though but a casual passenger,
So much I felt the awfulness of life,[174] 555
In that one moment when the corse is lifted
In silence, with a hush of decency;
Then from the threshold moves with song of peace,
And confidential yearnings, tow'rds its home,
Its final home on earth.[175] What traveller--who-- 560
(How far soe'er a stranger) does not own
The bond of brotherhood, when he sees them go,
A mute procession on the houseless road;
Or passing by some single tenement
Or clustered dwellings, where again they raise 565
The monitory voice? But most of all
It touches, it confirms, and elevates,
Then, when the body, soon to be consigned
Ashes to ashes, dust bequeathed to dust,
Is raised from the church-aisle, and forward borne 570
Upon the shoulders of the next in love,
The nearest in affection or in blood;
Yea, by the very mourners who had knelt
Beside the coffin, resting on its lid
In silent grief their unuplifted heads,[CJ] 575
And heard meanwhile the Psalmist's mournful plaint,
And that most awful scripture which declares
We shall not sleep, but we shall all be changed!
--Have I not seen--ye likewise may have seen--
Son, husband, brothers--brothers side by side, 580
And son and father also side by side,
Rise from that posture:--and in concert move,
On the green turf following the vested Priest,
Four dear supporters of one senseless weight,
From which they do not shrink, and under which 585
They faint not, but advance towards the open grave[176]
Step after step--together, with their firm
Unhidden faces: he that suffers most,
He outwardly, and inwardly perhaps,
The most serene, with most undaunted eye!-- 590
Oh! blest are they who live and die like these,
Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourned!"

"That poor Man taken hence to-day," replied
The Solitary, with a faint sarcastic smile
Which did not please me, "must be deemed, I fear,
Of the unblest; for he will surely sink 596
Into his mother earth without such pomp
Of grief, depart without occasion given
By him for such array of fortitude.
Full seventy winters hath he lived, and mark! 600
This simple Child will mourn his one short hour,
And I shall miss him; scanty tribute! yet,
This wanting, he would leave the sight of men,
If love were his sole claim upon their care,
Like a ripe date which in the desert falls 605
Without a hand to gather it."
At this
I interposed, though loth to speak, and said,
"Can it be thus among so small a band
As ye must needs be here? in such a place
I would not willingly, methinks, lose sight 610
Of a departing cloud."--"'Twas not for love"
Answered the sick Man with a careless voice--
"That I came hither; neither have I found
Among associates who have power of speech,
Nor in such other converse as is here, 615
Temptation so prevailing as to change
That mood, or undermine my first resolve."
Then, speaking in like careless sort, he said
To my benign Companion,--"Pity 'tis
That fortune did not guide you to this house 620
A few days earlier; then would you have seen
What stuff the Dwellers in a solitude,
That seems by Nature hollowed out to be
The seat and bosom of pure innocence,[177]
Are made of, an ungracious matter this! 625
Which, for truth's sake, yet in remembrance too
Of past discussions with this zealous friend
And advocate of humble life, I now
Will force upon his notice; undeterred
By the example of his own pure course, 630
And that respect and deference which a soul
May fairly claim, by niggard age enriched
In what she most doth value, love of God[178]
And his frail creature Man;--but ye shall hear.
I talk--and ye are standing in the sun 635
Without refreshment!"
Quickly had he spoken,
And, with light steps still quicker than his words,
Led toward the Cottage. Homely was the spot;[179]
And, to my feeling, ere we reached the door,
Had almost a forbidding nakedness; 640
Less fair, I grant, even painfully less fair,
Than it appeared when from the beetling rock[180]
We had looked down upon it. All within,
As left by the[181] departed company,
Was silent; save the solitary clock 645
That on mine ear ticked with a mournful sound.--[182]
Following our Guide, we clomb the cottage-stairs
And reached a small apartment dark and low,
Which was no sooner entered than our Host
Said gaily, "This is my domain, my cell, 650
My hermitage, my cabin, what you will--
I love it better than a snail his house.
But now ye shall be feasted with our best."[CK]