Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/122

70 But when he had refused the proffered gold,

To cruel injuries he became a prey,

Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold:

His troubles grew upon him day by day,

Till all his substance fell into decay.

His little range of water was denied;

All but the bed where his old body lay,

All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side,

We sought a home where we uninjured might abide.

Can I forget that miserable hour,

When from the last hill-top, my sire surveyed,

Peering above the trees, the steeple tower

That on his marriage-day sweet music made?

Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid,

Close by my mother in their native bowers:

Bidding me trust in God, he stood and prayed,—

I could not pray:—through tears that fell in showers,

Glimmer'd our dear-loved home, alas! no longer ours!