Him from my childhood have I known; and then He was so old, he seems not older now; He travels on, a solitary Man, So helpless in appearance, that for him 25 The sauntering Horseman throws not with a slack And careless hand [2] his alms upon the ground, But stops,--that he may safely lodge the coin Within the old Man's hat; nor quits him so, But still, when he has given his horse the rein, 30 Watches the aged Beggar with a look [3] Sidelong, and half-reverted. She who tends The toll-gate, when in summer at her door She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees The aged beggar coming, quits her work, 35 And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. The post-boy, when his rattling wheels o'ertake The aged Beggar in the woody lane, Shouts to him from behind; and, if thus warned [4] The old man does not change his course, the boy 40 Turns with less noisy wheels to the roadside, And passes gently by, without a curse Upon his lips, or anger at his heart. He travels on, a solitary Man; His age has no companion. On the ground 45 His eyes are turned, and, as he moves along, _They_ move along the ground; and, evermore, Instead of common and habitual sight Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, And the blue sky, one little span of earth 50 Is all his prospect. Thus, from day to day, Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground, [5] He plies his weary journey; seeing still, And seldom [6] knowing that he sees, some straw, Some scattered leaf, or marks which, in one track, 55 The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left Impressed on the white road,--in the same line, At distance still the same. Poor Traveller! His staff trails with him; scarcely do his feet [7] Disturb the summer dust; he is so still 60 In look and motion, that the cottage curs, [8] Ere he has [9] passed the door, will turn away, Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls, The vacant and the busy, maids and youths, And urchins newly breeched--all pass him by: 65 Him even the slow-paced waggon leaves behind.