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"What kind of work is that which you pursue!This is a lonesome place for one like you."He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.
His words came feebly, from a feeble chest,Yet each in solemn order follow'd each,With something of a lofty utterance drest;Choice word, and measured phrase; above the reachOf ordinary men; a stately speech!Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,Religious men, who give to God and Man their dues.
He told me that he to this pond had comeTo gather Leeches, being old and poor:Employment hazardous and wearisome!And he had many hardships to endure:From Pond to Pond he roam'd, from moor to moor,Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance:And in this way he gain'd an honest maintenance.
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