314 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
And lives alone ; men sneering pass thee by,
And yet, old man, methinks I can descry
Somewhat humane and wise within thy clear, gray eye.
'Tis true, the proud, the great, Disdain thy low estate ; They lawfully that rob the poor, And scorn the humble, call thee boor. Perhaps yon factor, deaf to sighs and prayers, Yon usurer grown lean to feed his heirs, Deem worthless one like thee, who only dreams and bears.
Honest thou art and civil. Dreading nor man nor devil. No patron hast thou in the great ; Why shouldst thou care for church and state 1 None knocking at thy door I ever see, Save those that come for taxes, tithes, or fee. Why, since thou'rt nought to men, should men be aught to thee?
Yet this, old man, thou provest : Them that love thee thou lovest I Or else thou wert not there alone, So long upon thy mossy stone. Plainly so full of joy from morn till night. Gazing on nature's face with such delight. That I feel friendly grown with thee, even at the sight.
The sighing breezes woo thee, The light brook babbles to thee. The fearless squirrels round thee leap, And birds come singing thee to sleep : The shagbarks their ripe nuts around thee shed, While whispering oaks and murmuring pines d'erhead, To make thy couch more soft, the earth with dry leaves spread.
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