XXI

5 0 00

XXI

The Pilgrim

For an Album

There stray’d awhile, amid the woods of Dart,

One who could love them, but who durst not love.

A vow had bound him, ne’er to give his heart

To streamlet bright, or soft secluded grove.

’Twas a hard humbling task, onwards to move

His easy-captured eyes from each fair spot,

With unattach’d and lonely step to rove

O’er happy meads, which soon its print forgot:⁠—

Yet kept he safe his pledge, prizing his pilgrim-lot.