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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540152" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Old Cumberland Beggar</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw an aged Beggar in my walk; <br>And he was seated, by the highway side, <br>On a low structure of rude masonry <br>Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they <br>Who lead their horses down the steep rough road <br>May thence remount at ease. The aged Man <br>Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone <br>That overlays the pile; and, from a bag <br>All white with flour, the dole of village dames, <br>He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one; <br>And scanned them with a fixed and serious look <br>Of idle computation. In the sun, <br>Upon the second step of that small pile, <br>Surrounded by those wild unpeopled hills, <br>He sat, and ate his food in solitude: <br>And ever, scattered from his palsied hand, <br>That, still attempting to prevent the waste, <br>Was baffled still, the crumbs in little showers <br>Fell on the ground; and the small mountain birds, <br>Not venturing yet to peck their destined meal, <br>Approached within the length of half his staff. <br>Him from my childhood have I known; and then <br>He was so old, he seems not older now; <br>He travels on, a solitary Man, <br>So helpless in appearance, that for him <br>The sauntering Horseman throws not with a slack <br>And careless hand his alms upon the ground, <br>But stops,--that he may safely lodge the coin <br>Within the old Man's hat; nor quits him so, <br>But still, when he has given his horse the rein, <br>Watches the aged Beggar with a look <br>Sidelong, and half-reverted. She who tends <br>The toll-gate, when in summer at her door <br>She turns her wheel, if on the road she sees <br>The aged beggar coming, quits her work, <br>And lifts the latch for him that he may pass. <br>The post-boy, when his rattling wheels o'ertake <br>The aged Beggar in the woody lane, <br>Shouts to him from behind; and if, thus warned, <br>The old man does not change his course, the boy <br>Turns with less noisy wheels to the roadside, <br>And passes gently by, without a curse <br>Upon his lips, or anger at his heart. <br>He travels on, a solitary Man; <br>His age has no companion. On the ground <br>His eyes are turned, and, as he moves along <br>'They' move along the ground; and, evermore, <br>Instead of common and habitual sight <br>Of fields with rural works, of hill and dale, <br>And the blue sky, one little span of earth <br>Is all his prospect. Thus, from day to day, <br>Bow-bent, his eyes for ever on the ground, <br>He plies his weary journey; seeing still, <br>And seldom knowing that he sees, some straw, <br>Some scattered leaf, or marks which, in one track, <br>The nails of cart or chariot-wheel have left <br>Impressed on the white road,--in the same line, <br>At distance still the same. Poor Traveller! <br>His staff trails with him; scarcely do his feet <br>Disturb the summer dust; he is so still <br>In look and motion, that the cottage curs, <br>Ere he has passed the door, will turn away, <br>Weary of barking at him. Boys and girls, <br>The vacant and the busy, maids and youths, <br>And urchins newly breeched--all pass him by: <br>Him even the slow-paced waggon leaves behind. <br>But deem not this Man useless.--Statesmen! ye <br>Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye <br>Who have a broom still ready in your hands <br>To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud, <br>Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contemplate <br>Your talents, power, or wisdom, deem him not <br>A burthen of the earth! 'Tis Nature's law <br>That none, the meanest of created things, <br>Or forms created the most vile and brute, <br>The dullest or most noxious, should exist <br>Divorced from good--a spirit and pulse of good, <br>A life and soul, to every mode of being <br>Inseparably linked. Then be assured <br>That least of all can aught--that ever owned <br>The heaven-regarding eye and front sublime <br>Which man is born to--sink, howe'er depressed, <br>So low as to be scorned without a sin; <br>Without offence to God cast out of view; <br>Like the dry remnant of a garden-flower <br>Whose seeds are shed, or as an implement <br>Worn out and worthless. While from door to door, <br>This old Man creeps, the villagers in him <br>Behold a record which together binds <br>Past deeds and offices of charity, <br>Else unremembered, and so keeps alive <br>The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years, <br>And that half-wisdom half-experience gives, <br>Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign <br>To selfishness and cold oblivious cares. <br>Among the farms and solitary huts, <br>Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages, <br>Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds, <br>The mild necessity of use compels <br>To acts of love; and habit does the work 0 <br>Of reason; yet prepares that after-joy <br>Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul, <br>By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued, <br>Doth find herself insensibly disposed <br>To virtue and true goodness. <br>Some there are, <br>By their good works exalted, lofty minds <br>And meditative, authors of delight <br>And happiness, which to the end of time <br>Will live, and spread, and kindle: even such minds <br>In childhood, from this solitary Being, <br>Or from like wanderer, haply have received <br>(A thing more precious far than all that books <br>Or the solicitudes of love can do!) <br>That first mild touch of sympathy and thought, <br>In which they found their kindred with a world <br>Where want and sorrow were. The easy man <br>Who sits at his own door,--and, like the pear <br>That overhangs his head from the green wall, <br>Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and young, <br>The prosperous and unthinking, they who live <br>Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove <br>Of their own kindred;--all behold in him <br>A silent monitor, which on their minds <br>Must needs impress a transitory thought <br>Of self-congratulation, to the heart <br>Of each recalling his peculiar boons, <br>His charters and exemptions; and, perchance, <br>Though he to no one give the fortitude <br>And circumspection needful to preserve <br>His present blessings, and to husband up <br>The respite of the season, he, at least, <br>And 'tis no vulgar service, makes them felt. <br>Yet further.----Many, I believe, there are <br>Who live a life of virtuous decency, <br>Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel <br>No self-reproach; who of the moral law <br>Established in the land where they abide <br>Are strict observers; and not negligent <br>In acts of love to those with whom they dwell, <br>Their kindred, and the children of their blood. <br>Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace! <br>--But of the poor man ask, the abject poor; <br>Go, and demand of him, if there be here <br>In this cold abstinence from evil deeds, <br>And these inevitable charities, <br>Wherewith to satisfy the human soul? <br>No--man is dear to man; the poorest poor <br>Long for some moments in a weary life <br>When they can know and feel that they have been, <br>Themselves, the fathers and the dealers-out <br>Of some small blessings; have been kind to such <br>As needed kindness, for this single cause, <br>That we have all of us one human heart. <br>--Such pleasure is to one kind Being known, <br>My neighbour, when with punctual care, each week <br>Duly as Friday comes, though pressed herself <br>By her own wants, she from her store of meal <br>Takes one unsparing handful for the scrip <br>Of this old Mendicant, and, from her door <br>Returning with exhilarated heart, <br>Sits by her fire, and builds her hope in heaven. <br>Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! <br>And while in that vast solitude to which <br>The tide of things has borne him, he appears <br>To breathe and live but for himself alone, <br>Unblamed, uninjured, let him bear about <br>The good which the benignant law of Heaven <br>Has hung around him: and, while life is his, <br>Still let him prompt the unlettered villagers <br>To tender offices and pensive thoughts. <br>--Then let him pass, a blessing on his head! <br>And, long as he can wander, let him breathe <br>The freshness of the valleys; let his blood <br>Struggle with frosty air and winter snows; <br>And let the chartered wind that sweeps the heath <br>Beat his grey locks against his withered face. <br>Reverence the hope whose vital anxiousness <br>Gives the last human interest to his heart. <br>May never HOUSE, misnamed of INDUSTRY, <br>Make him a captive!--for that pent-up din, <br>Those life-consuming sounds that clog the air, <br>Be his the natural silence of old age! <br>Let him be free of mountain solitudes; <br>And have around him, whether heard or not, <br>The pleasant melody of woodland birds. <br>Few are his pleasures: if his eyes have now <br>Been doomed so long to settle upon earth <br>That not without some effort they behold <br>The countenance of the horizontal sun, <br>Rising or setting, let the light at least <br>Find a free entrance to their languid orbs. <br>And let him, 'where' and 'when' he will, sit down <br>Beneath the trees, or on a grassy bank <br>Of highway side, and with the little birds <br>Share his chance-gathered meal; and, finally, <br>As in the eye of Nature he has lived, <br>So in the eye of Nature let him die!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540152" data-title="The Old Cumberland Beggar de William Wordsworth" data-description="I saw an aged Beggar in my walk; 
And he was seated, by the highway side, 
On a low structure of rude masonry 
Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they 
Who lead their horses down the steep rough road 
May thence remount at ease. The aged Man 
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