Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/220

212 And his heart fail'd him. "Isabel," said he,

Two evenings after he had heard the news,

"I have been toiling more than seventy years,

And in the open sun-shine of God's love

Have we all liv'd, yet if these fields of ours

Should pass into a Stranger's hand, I think

That I could not lie quiet in my grave.

Our lot is a hard lot; the Sun itself

Has scarcely been more diligent than I,

And I have liv'd to be a fool at last

To my own family. An evil Man

That was, and made an evil choice, if he

Were false to us; and if he were not false,

There are ten thousand to whom loss like this

Had been no sorrow. I forgive him—but

'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus.

When I began, my purpose was to speak

Of remedies and of a chearful hope.

Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land