"What, you are stepping westward?" "Yea."--'Twould be a wildish destiny If we who thus together roam In a strange land and far from home Were in this place the guests of chance: Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, Though home or shelter he had none, With such a sky to lead him on? The dewy ground was dark and cold; Behind, all gloomy to behold: And stepping westward seemed to be A kind of heavenly destiny: I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound Of something without place and bound, And seemed to give me spiritual right To travel through that region bright. The voice was soft and she who spake Was walking by her native lake: The salutation had to me The very sound of courtesy: Its power was felt; and while my eye Was fixed upon the glowing sky, The echo of the voice enwrought A human sweetness with the thought Of traveling through the world that lay Before me in my endless way.--WORDSWORTH. The End