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Page 3, A summer forenoon.—4, The Author reaches a ruined Cottage
upon a Common, and there meets with a revered Friend, the Wanderer, of whose education and course of life he gives an account.21, The Wanderer, while resting under the shade of the Trees that surround the Cottage, relates the History of its last Inhabitant.
'Twas summer, and the sun had mounted high :
scene, By power of that impending covert thrown To finer distance. Other lot was mine;
Yet with good hope that soon I should obtain
Upon that open level stood a grove, The wished-for port to which my course was bound. Thither I came, and there, amid the gloom Spread by a brotherhood of lofty elms, Appeared a roofless Hut; four naked walls That stared upon each other!-I looked round, And to my wish and to my hope espied Him whom I sought; a Man of reverend age, But stout and hale, for travel unimpaired. There was he seen upon the cottage-bench, Recumbent in the shade, as if asleep; An iron-pointed staff lay at his side.
Him had I marked the day before alone And stationed in the public way, with face Turned toward the sun then setting, while that staff Afforded to the figure of the man Detained for contemplation or repose, Graceful support ; his countenance meanwhile Was hidden from my view, and he remained Unrecognised; but, stricken by the sight,
With slackened footsteps I advanced, and soon
We were tried Friends : amid a pleasant vale, In the antique market-village where were passed My school-days, an apartment he had owned, To which at intervals the Wanderer drew, And found a kind of home or harbour there. He loved me; from a swarm of rosy boys Singled out me, as he in sport would say, For my grave looks, too thoughtful for my years. As I grew up, it was my best delight To be his chosen comrade. Many a time, On holidays, we rambled through the woods : We sate—we walked; he pleased me with report Of things which he had seen; and often touched Abstrusest matter,/reasonings of the mind Turned inward; or at my request would sing Old songs, the product of his native hills; A skilful distribution of sweet sounds, Feeding the soul, and eagerly imbibed As cool refreshing water, by the care Of the industrious husbandman, diffused Through a parched meadow-ground, in time of drought. Still deeper welcome found his pure
How precious when in riper days I learned
Oh! many are the Poets that are sown