The little hedgerow birds,
That peck along the roads, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression: every limb,
His look and bending figure, all bespeakA man who does not move with pain, but
With thought.—He is insensibly
To settled quiet: he is one by
All effort seems forgotten; one to
Long patience hath such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing of
He hath no need.
He is by nature
To peace so perfect that the young
With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels.
A
CH.
Extra lines - found sked him whither he was bound, and
The object of his journey; he
That he was going many miles to takeA last leave of his son, a mariner,
Who from a sea-fight had been brought to Falmouth,
And there was lying in an hospital.
