Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/168

160 Duly as Friday comes, though press'd herself

By her own wants, she from her chest of meal

Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip

Of this old Mendicant, and, from her door

Returning with exhilarated heart,

Sits by her fire and builds her hope in heav'n.

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head!

And while, in that vast solitude to which

The tide of things has led him, he appears

To breathe and live but for himself alone,

Unblam'd, uninjur'd, let him bear about

The good which the benignant law of heaven

Has hung around him, and, while life is his,

Still let him prompt the unlettered Villagers

To tender offices and pensive thoughts.

Then let him pass, a blessing on his head!

And, long as he can wander, let him breathe