306 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
The way with solemn shade was fraught, And for a while no words they spoke ; Each for some well known object sought ; Each mused, but neither told his thought, Nor silence broke.
But, when the hermit's hut they reach,
Fixed in the mountain's deepest hollows, Each to himself thus framed his speech — The grave, the gay ; but each from each Concealed what follows.
��THE GAY.
There stands the ancient hermit man, Still dreaming lone beneath the hill ! Where first his worthless life began, There lives he yet ; he hath no plan. An idler still.
He moves as if he were in doubt
Which way to go, and 'mongst the trees For squirrel-holes he hunts about. Sees some go in and some come out — Smiles as he sees.
Thus, crutch in hand, he jogs alone. Now stops on silly flowers to pore. Now with his staff he strikes a stone, Now moralizes on a bone, But nothing more.
Thou selfish soul ! 'Tis life's abuse To spend thy time in such a way ; Thy dreams are but a poor excuse For one who might have been of use In his long dav.
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