In our dejection do we sink as low, To me that morning did it happen so; And fears, and fancies, thick upon me came; Dim sadness, & blind thoughts I knew not nor could name.. I heard the Sky-lark singing in the sky; My whole life I have liv'd in pleasant thought, Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all! I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy, We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness. Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, up and down my fancy thus was driven, And I with these untoward thoughts had striven, I saw a Man before me unawares : The oldest Man he seem'd that ever wore grey hairs. My course I stopped as soon as I espied He stood alone: a minute's space I guess As a huge Stone is sometimes seen to lie By what means it could thither come, and whence; Like a Sea-beast crawl'd forth, which on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself. Such seem'd this Man, not all alive nor dead, As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage Himself he propp'd, his body, limbs, and face, And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, Motionless as a Cloud the Old Man stood; At length, himself unsettling, he the Pond And now such freedom as I could I took; "This morning gives us promise of a glorious day." A gentle answer did the Old Man make, In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew: "What kind of work is that which you pursue! 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, 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 God and Man their dues. He told me that he to this pond had come From Pond to Pond he roam'd, from moor to moor, |