Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/123

BOOK IV.] Of that sharp rising, glittered to the moon

And bore the semblance of another stream

Stealing with silent lapse to join the brook

That murmured in the vale. All else was still;

No living thing appeared in earth or air,

And, save the flowing water's peaceful voice,

Sound there was none—but, lo! an uncouth shape,

Shown by a sudden turning of the road,

So near that, slipping back into the shade

Of a thick hawthorn, I could mark him well,

Myself unseen. He was of stature tall,

A span above man's common measure, tall,

Stiff, lank, and upright; a more meagre man

Was never seen before by night or day.

Long were his arms, pallid his hands; his mouth

Looked ghastly in the moonlight: from behind,

A mile-stone propped him; I could also ken

That he was clothed in military garb,

Though faded, yet entire. Companionless,

No dog attending, by no staff sustained,

He stood, and in his very dress appeared

A desolation, a simplicity,

To which the trappings of a gaudy world

Make a strange back-ground. From his lips, ere long,

Issued low muttered sounds, as if of pain