25 
29. 
180 
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say 
Oft have we seen bim at the peed ol dawn 
Brusbing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 
There, at the foot of yonder nodding beceh, 
That wreathes its old fantastie roots so bigh, 
His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch 
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. 
Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; 
Now drooping woefal-=wan like one forlorn, 
Or eraz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 
One morn fmiss'd him, on the custom'd hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; 
Another came; not yet beside the rill, 
Nor ud the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 
The next with dirges due in sad array, 
Slow thro” the church-way path we saw him borne, 
Approach and read (for thon canst read) the lay, 
Gray'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. 
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