Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/71

45 She lingered in unquiet widowhood;

A Wife and Widow. Needs must it have been

A sore heart-wasting! I have heard, my Friend,

That in yon arbour oftentimes she sate

Alone, through half the vacant Sabbath-day,

And if a dog passed by she still would quit

The shade, and look abroad. On this old Bench

For hours she sate; and evermore her eye

Was busy in the distance, shaping things

That made her heart beat quick. You see that path,

Now faint,—the grass has crept o'er its grey line;

There, to and fro, she paced through many a day

Of the warm summer, from a belt of hemp

That girt her waist, spinning the long drawn thread

With backward steps. Yet ever as there pass'd

A man whose garments shewed the Soldiers red,

Or crippled Mendicant in Sailor's garb,

The little Child who sate to turn the wheel

Ceas'd from his task; and she with faultering voice

Made many a fond enquiry; and when they,

Whose presence gave no comfort, were gone by,

Her heart was still more sad. And by yon gate,