Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/37

29 We have no need of names and epitaphs,

We talk about the dead by our fire-sides.

And then for our immortal part, we want

No symbols, Sir, to tell us that plain tale:

The thought of death sits easy on the man

Who has been born and dies among the mountains:

LEONARD.

Your dalesmen, then, do in each others thoughts

Possess a kind of second life: no doubt

You, Sir, could help me to the history

Of half these Graves?

PRIEST.

With what I've witness'd, and with what I've heard,

Perhaps I might, and, on a winter's evening,

If yon were seated at my chimney's nook

By turning o'er these hillocks one by one,

We two could, travel, Sir, through a strange round,

Yet all in the broad high-way of the world.

Now there's a grave—your foot is half upon it,