Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/124

102 Or some uneasy thought; yet still his form

Kept the same awful steadiness—at his feet

His shadow lay, and moved not. From self-blame

Not wholly free, I watched him thus; at length

Subduing my heart's specious cowardice,

I left the shady nook where I had stood

And hailed him. Slowly from his resting-place

He rose, and with a lean and wasted arm

In measured gesture lifted to his head

Returned my salutation; then resumed

His station as before; and when I asked

His history, the veteran, in reply,

Was neither slow nor eager; but, unmoved,

And with a quiet uncomplaining voice,

A stately air of mild indifference,

He told in few plain words a soldier's tale—

That in the Tropic Islands he had served,

Whence he had landed scarcely three weeks past;

That on his landing he had been dismissed,

And now was travelling towards his native home.

This heard, I said, in pity, "Come with me."

He stooped, and straightway from the ground took up

An oaken staff by me yet unobserved—

A staff which must have dropt from his slack hand

And lay till now neglected in the grass.