Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/72

46 That bars the Traveller's road, she often stood,

And when a stranger Horseman came the latch

Would lift, and in his face look wistfully;

Most happy, if, from aught discovered there

Of tender feeling, she might dare repeat

The same sad question. Meanwhile her poor Hut

Sank to decay: for he was gone—whose hand,

At the first nipping of October frost,

Closed up each chink, and with fresh bands of straw

Chequered the green-grown thatch. And so she lived

Through the long winter, reckless and alone;

Until her House by frost, and thaw, and rain,

Was sapped; and while she slept the nightly damps

Did chill her breast; and in the stormy day

Her tattered clothes were ruffled by the wind;

Even at the side of her own fire. Yet still

She loved this wretched spot, nor would for worlds

Have parted hence; and still that length of road,

And this rude bench, one torturing hope endeared,

Fast rooted at her heart: and here, my Friend,

In sickness she remained; and here she died,

Last human Tenant of these ruined Walls."