No More Learning

70

XI Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, [17]
Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood:
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace,
Upon the margin of that moorish flood [18]
Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, 75
That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
And moveth all together, if it move [19] at all.
[20]


XII At length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conned, 80
As if he had been reading in a book:
And now a stranger's privilege I took; [21]
And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
"This morning gives us promise of a glorious day. "

XIII A gentle answer did the old Man make, 85
In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
And him with further words I thus bespake,
"What occupation do you there pursue? [22
This is a lonesome place for one like [23] you. "
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise 90
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. [24] [B]

XIV His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
But [25] each in solemn order followed each,
With something of a lofty [26] utterance drest--
Choice word [27] and measured phrase, above [27] the reach 95
Of ordinary men; a stately speech;
Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.

XV He told, that to these waters he had come [28]
To gather leeches, being old and poor: 100
Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And he had many hardships to endure: [29]
From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor;
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance;
And in this way he gained an honest maintenance. 105

XVI The old Man still stood talking by my side;
But now [30] his voice to me was like a stream
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
And the whole body of the Man did seem
Like one whom I had met with in a dream; 110
Or like a man from some far region sent,
To give me human strength, by apt admonishment. [31]

XVII My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;
And [32] hope that is unwilling to be fed;
Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills; 115
And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
--Perplexed, and longing to be comforted, [33]
My question eagerly did I renew,
"How is it that you live, and what is it you do? " [34]

XVIII He with a smile did then his words repeat; 120
And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the pools where they abide. [35]
"Once I could meet with them on every side;
But they have dwindled long by slow decay; 125
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may. " [36]

XIX While he was talking thus, the lonely place,
The old Man's shape, and speech--all troubled me:
In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace
About the weary moors continually, 130
Wandering about alone and silently.
While I these thoughts within myself pursued,
He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.
XX And soon [37] with this he other matter blended,
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind, 135
But stately in the main; and when he ended, [38]
I could have laughed myself to scorn to find
In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor! " 140


* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1827.

. . . which, . . . 1807.

And in MS. letter from Coleridge to Sir George Beaumont, 1802. [i]]



[Variant 2:

1820.

. . .