Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/217

157 —They all were with her in her cell;

And a wild brook with cheerful knell

Did o'er the pebbles play.

When Ruth three seasons thus had lain

There came a respite to her pain,

She from her prison fled;

But of the Vagrant none took thought;

And where it liked her best she sought

Her shelter and her bread.

Among the fields she breathed again:

The master-current of her brain

Ran permanent and free;

And, coming to the banks of Tone ,

There did she rest; and dwell alone

Under the greenwood tree.

The engines of her pain, the tools

That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools,

And airs that gently stir