With eager eyes the Master pries; Looks in and out, and through and through; Says nothing--till at last he spies A wound upon the Mastiff's head, 760 A wound, where plainly might be read What feats an Ass's hoof can do! But drop the rest:--this aggravation, This complicated provocation, A hoard of grievances unsealed; 765 All past forgiveness it repealed; And thus, and through distempered blood On both sides, Benjamin the good, The patient, and the tender-hearted, Was from his team and waggon parted; 770 When duty of that day was o'er, Laid down his whip--and served no more.-- Nor could the waggon long survive, Which Benjamin had ceased to drive: It lingered on;--guide after guide 775 Ambitiously the office tried; But each unmanageable hill Called for _his_ patience and _his_ skill;-- And sure it is, that through this night, And what the morning brought to light, 780 Two losses had we to sustain, We lost both WAGGONER and WAIN! * * * * * Accept, O Friend, for praise or blame, The gift of this adventurous song; A record which I dared to frame, 785 Though timid scruples checked me long; They checked me--and I left the theme Untouched;--in spite of many a gleam Of fancy which thereon was shed, Like pleasant sunbeams shifting still 790 Upon the side of a distant hill: But Nature might not be gainsaid; For what I have and what I miss I sing of these;--it makes my bliss! Nor is it I who play the part, 795 But a shy spirit in my heart, That comes and goes--will sometimes leap From hiding-places ten years deep; Or haunts me with familiar face, [67] Returning, like a ghost unlaid, 800 Until the debt I owe be paid. Forgive me, then; for I had been On friendly terms with this Machine: [M] In him, while he was wont to trace Our roads, through many a long year's space, 805 A living almanack had we; We had a speaking diary, That in this uneventful place, Gave to the days a mark and name By which we knew them when they came. 810 --Yes, I, and all about me here, Through all the changes of the year, Had seen him through the mountains go, In pomp of mist or pomp of snow, Majestically huge and slow: 815 Or, with a milder grace [68] adorning The landscape of a summer's morning; While Grasmere smoothed her liquid plain The moving image to detain; And mighty Fairfield, with a chime 820 Of echoes, to his march kept time; When little other business stirred, And little other sound was heard;