"Me," said I, "most doth it surprise, to find Such book in such a place!"--" A book it is," He answered,"to the Person suited well, Though little suited to surrounding things: 460 'Tis strange, I grant; and stranger still had been To see the Man who owned it, dwelling here,[164] With one poor shepherd, far from all the world!-- Now, if our errand hath been thrown away, As from these intimations I forebode, 465 Grieved shall I be--less for my sake than yours, And least of all for him who is no more." By this, the book was in the old Man's hand; And he continued, glancing on the leaves 469 An eye of scorn:--"The lover," said he, "doomed To love when hope hath failed him--whom no depth Of privacy is deep enough to hide, Hath yet his bracelet or his lock of hair, And that is joy to him. When change of times Hath summoned kings to scaffolds, do but give 475 The faithful servant, who must hide his head Henceforth in whatsoever nook he may, A kerchief sprinkled with his master's blood, And he too hath his comforter. How poor, Beyond all poverty how destitute, 480 Must that Man have been left, who, hither driven, Flying or seeking, could yet bring with him No dearer relique, and no better stay, Than this dull product of a scoffer's pen,[CF] Impure conceits discharging from a heart 485 Hardened by impious pride!--I did not fear To tax you with this journey;"--mildly said My venerable Friend, as forth we stepped Into the presence of the cheerful light-- "For I have knowledge that you do not shrink 490 From moving spectacles;--but let us on." So speaking, on he went, and at the word I followed, till he made a sudden stand: For full in view, approaching through a[165] gate That opened from the enclosure of green fields 495 Into the rough uncultivated ground,[CG] Behold the Man whom he had fancied dead! I knew from his deportment, mien, and dress,[166] That it could be no other; a pale face, A meagre person, tall, and in a garb[167] 500 Not rustic--dull and faded like himself! He saw us not, though distant but few steps; For he was busy, dealing, from a store Upon a broad leaf carried, choicest strings Of red ripe currants;[168] gift by which he strove, 505 With intermixture of endearing words, To soothe a Child, who walked beside him, weeping As if disconsolate.--"They to the grave Are bearing him, my Little-one," he said, "To the dark pit; but he will feel no pain; 510 His body is at rest, his soul in heaven."