But those [27] two
Orphans!
William Wordsworth
For eight-score winters past,
With what I've witnessed, and with what I've heard,
Perhaps I might; and, on a winter-evening, [23] 195
If you were seated at my chimney's nook,
By turning o'er these hillocks one by one,
We two could travel, Sir, through a strange round;
Yet all in the broad highway of the world.
Now there's a grave--your foot is half upon it,--200
It looks just like the rest; and yet that man
Died broken-hearted.
_Leonard_. 'Tis a common case.
We'll take another: who is he that lies
Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves? 205
It touches on that piece of native rock
Left in the church-yard wall.
_Priest_. That's Walter Ewbank. [F]
He had as white a head and fresh a cheek
As ever were produced by youth and age 210
Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore.
Through five [24] long generations had the heart
Of Walter's forefathers o'erflowed the bounds
Of their inheritance, that single cottage--
You see it yonder! and those few green fields. 215
They toiled and wrought, and still, from sire to son,
Each struggled, and each yielded as before
A little--yet a little,--and old Walter,
They left to him the family heart, and land
With other burthens than the crop it bore. 220
Year after year the old man still kept up [25]
A cheerful mind,--and buffeted with bond,
Interest, and mortgages; at last he sank,
And went into his grave before his time.
Poor Walter! whether it was care that spurred him 225
God only knows, but to the very last
He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale:
His pace was never that of an old man:
I almost see him tripping down the path
With his two grandsons after him:--but you, 230
Unless our Landlord be your host to-night,
Have far to travel,--and on [26] these rough paths
Even in the longest day of midsummer--
_Leonard_.
But those [27] two Orphans!
_Priest_. Orphans! --Such they were--235
Yet not while Walter lived:--for, though their parents
Lay buried side by side as now they lie,
The old man was a father to the boys,
Two fathers in one father: and if tears,
Shed when he talked of them where they were not, 240
And hauntings from the infirmity of love,
Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart,
This old Man, in the day of his old age,
Was half a mother to them. --If you weep, Sir,
To hear a stranger talking about strangers, 245
Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred!
Ay--you may turn that way--it is a grave
Which will bear looking at.
_Leonard_. These boys--I hope
They loved this good old Man? --250
_Priest_. They did--and truly:
But that was what we almost overlooked,
They were such darlings of each other. Yes,
Though from the cradle they had lived with Walter,
The only kinsman near them, and though he 255
Inclined to both by reason of his age,
With a more fond, familiar, tenderness;
They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare, [28]
And it all went into each other's hearts.
Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months, 260
Was two years taller: 'twas a joy to see,
To hear, to meet them! --From their house the school
Is [29] distant three short miles, and in the time
Of storm and thaw, when every water-course
And unbridged stream, such as you may have noticed 265
Crossing our roads at every hundred steps,
Was swoln into a noisy rivulet
Would Leonard then, when elder boys remained
At home, go staggering through the slippery fords, [30]
Bearing his brother on his back. I have [31] seen him, 270
On windy days, in one of those stray brooks,
Ay, more than once I have [31] seen him, mid-leg deep,
Their two books lying both on a dry stone,
Upon the hither side: and once I said,
As I remember, looking round these rocks 275
And hills on which we all of us were born,
That God who made the great book of the world
Would bless such piety--
_Leonard_. It may be then--
_Priest_. Never did worthier lads break English bread; 280
The very brightest Sunday Autumn saw [32]
With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts,
Could never keep those [33] boys away from church,
Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach.
With what I've witnessed, and with what I've heard,
Perhaps I might; and, on a winter-evening, [23] 195
If you were seated at my chimney's nook,
By turning o'er these hillocks one by one,
We two could travel, Sir, through a strange round;
Yet all in the broad highway of the world.
Now there's a grave--your foot is half upon it,--200
It looks just like the rest; and yet that man
Died broken-hearted.
_Leonard_. 'Tis a common case.
We'll take another: who is he that lies
Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves? 205
It touches on that piece of native rock
Left in the church-yard wall.
_Priest_. That's Walter Ewbank. [F]
He had as white a head and fresh a cheek
As ever were produced by youth and age 210
Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore.
Through five [24] long generations had the heart
Of Walter's forefathers o'erflowed the bounds
Of their inheritance, that single cottage--
You see it yonder! and those few green fields. 215
They toiled and wrought, and still, from sire to son,
Each struggled, and each yielded as before
A little--yet a little,--and old Walter,
They left to him the family heart, and land
With other burthens than the crop it bore. 220
Year after year the old man still kept up [25]
A cheerful mind,--and buffeted with bond,
Interest, and mortgages; at last he sank,
And went into his grave before his time.
Poor Walter! whether it was care that spurred him 225
God only knows, but to the very last
He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale:
His pace was never that of an old man:
I almost see him tripping down the path
With his two grandsons after him:--but you, 230
Unless our Landlord be your host to-night,
Have far to travel,--and on [26] these rough paths
Even in the longest day of midsummer--
_Leonard_.
But those [27] two Orphans!
_Priest_. Orphans! --Such they were--235
Yet not while Walter lived:--for, though their parents
Lay buried side by side as now they lie,
The old man was a father to the boys,
Two fathers in one father: and if tears,
Shed when he talked of them where they were not, 240
And hauntings from the infirmity of love,
Are aught of what makes up a mother's heart,
This old Man, in the day of his old age,
Was half a mother to them. --If you weep, Sir,
To hear a stranger talking about strangers, 245
Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred!
Ay--you may turn that way--it is a grave
Which will bear looking at.
_Leonard_. These boys--I hope
They loved this good old Man? --250
_Priest_. They did--and truly:
But that was what we almost overlooked,
They were such darlings of each other. Yes,
Though from the cradle they had lived with Walter,
The only kinsman near them, and though he 255
Inclined to both by reason of his age,
With a more fond, familiar, tenderness;
They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare, [28]
And it all went into each other's hearts.
Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months, 260
Was two years taller: 'twas a joy to see,
To hear, to meet them! --From their house the school
Is [29] distant three short miles, and in the time
Of storm and thaw, when every water-course
And unbridged stream, such as you may have noticed 265
Crossing our roads at every hundred steps,
Was swoln into a noisy rivulet
Would Leonard then, when elder boys remained
At home, go staggering through the slippery fords, [30]
Bearing his brother on his back. I have [31] seen him, 270
On windy days, in one of those stray brooks,
Ay, more than once I have [31] seen him, mid-leg deep,
Their two books lying both on a dry stone,
Upon the hither side: and once I said,
As I remember, looking round these rocks 275
And hills on which we all of us were born,
That God who made the great book of the world
Would bless such piety--
_Leonard_. It may be then--
_Priest_. Never did worthier lads break English bread; 280
The very brightest Sunday Autumn saw [32]
With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts,
Could never keep those [33] boys away from church,
Or tempt them to an hour of sabbath breach.
