Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/274

214 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 cheerful hope.

Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land

Shall not go from us, and it shall be free;

He shall possess it, free as is the wind

That passes over it. We have, thou know'st,

Another Kinsman—he will be our friend

In this distress. He is a prosperous man,

Thriving in trade—and Luke to him shall go,

And with his Kinsman's help and his own thrift

He quickly will repair this loss, and then

May come again to us. If here he stay,

What can be done? Where every one is poor

What can be gained?" At this the old man paused,

And Isabel sat silent, for her mind

Was busy, looking back into past times.

There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself,

He was a Parish-boy—at the Church-door

They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence,

And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours bought

A Basket, which they filled with Pedlar's wares;