Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/323

315 Little Dan is unbreeched, he is three birth-days old;

His Grandsire that age more than thirty times told;

There are ninety good seasons of fair and foul weather

Between them, and both go a-stealing together.

With chips is the Carpenter strewing his floor?

Is a cart-load of peats at an old Woman's door?

Old Daniel his hand to the treasure will slide;

And his Grandson's as busy at work by his side.

Old Daniel begins, he stops short—and his eye

Through the lost look of dotage is cunning and sly.

'Tis a look which at this time is hardly his own,

But tells a plain tale of the days that are flown.

Dan once had a heart which was moved by the wires

Of manifold pleasures and many desires:

And what if he cherished his purse? 'Twas no more

Than treading a path trod by thousands before.

'Twas a path trod by thousands; but Daniel is one

Who went something further than others have gone:

And now with old Daniel you see how it fares;

You see to what end he has brought his gray hairs.