Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/134

82 Three years a wanderer, often have I view'd,

In tears, the sun towards that country tend

Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude:

And now across this moor my steps I bend—

Oh! tell me whither——for no earthly friend

Have I.——She ceased, and weeping turned away,

As if because her tale was at an end

She wept;—because she had no more to say

Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay.