Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/173

113 Upon the grass,—and, waiting for his comrades,

He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep

He to the margin of the precipice

Had walked, and from the summit had fallen headlong.

And so no doubt he perished: at the time,

We guess, that in his hands he must have had

His Shepherd's staff; for midway in the cliff

It had been caught; and there for many years

It hung—and mouldered there.

The Priest here ended—

The Stranger would have thanked him, but he felt

A gushing from his heart, that took away

The power of speech. Both left the spot in silence;

And Leonard, when they reached the church-yard gate,

As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round,—

And, looking at the grave, he said, "My Brother."

The Vicar did not hear the words: and now,

Pointing towards the Cottage, he entreated

That Leonard would partake his homely fare:

The other thanked him with a fervent voice;

But added, that, the evening being calm,

He would pursue his journey. So they parted.