Priest.  Nay, God forbid!—­You recollect I mentioned A habit which disquietude and grief Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured 415 That, as the day was warm, he had lain down On the soft heath, [52] and, waiting for his comrades, He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep He to the margin of the precipice Had walked, and from the summit had fallen headlong:  420 And so no doubt he perished.  When the Youth Fell, in his hand he must have grasp’d, we think, [53] His shepherd’s staff; for on that Pillar of rock It had been caught mid way; and there for years [54] It hung;—­and mouldered there. 425

                                 The Priest here ended—­
  The Stranger would have thanked him, but he felt
  A gushing from his heart, that took away
  The power of speech.  Both left the spot in silence; [55]
  And Leonard, when they reached the church-yard gate, 430
  As the Priest lifted up the latch, turned round,—­
  And, looking at the grave, he said, “My Brother!”
  The Vicar did not hear the words:  and now,
  He pointed towards his dwelling-place, entreating [56]
  That Leonard would partake his homely fare:  435
  The other thanked him with an earnest [57] voice;
  But added, that, the evening being calm,
  He would pursue his journey.  So they parted.

  It was not long ere Leonard reached a grove
  That overhung the road:  he there stopped short, 440
  And, sitting down beneath the trees, reviewed
  All that the Priest had said:  his early years
  Were with him:—­his long absence, cherished hopes, [58]
  And thoughts which had been his an hour before,
  All pressed on him with such a weight, that now, 445
  This vale, where he had been so happy, seemed
  A place in which he could not bear to live: 
  So he relinquished all his purposes. 
  He travelled back [59] to Egremont:  and thence,
  That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest, [60] 450
  Reminding him of what had passed between them;
  And adding, with a hope to be forgiven,
  That it was from the weakness of his heart
  He had not dared to tell him who he was. 
  This done, he went on shipboard, and is now 455
  A Seaman, a grey-headed Mariner.

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1: 

1815.

  ... their ... 1800.]

[Variant 2: 

1827.

  Upon the forehead of a jutting crag
  Sit perch’d with book and pencil on their knee,
  And look and scribble, ... 1800.]

[Variant 3: 

1836.

  ... youngest child,
  Who turn’d her large round wheel in the open air
  With back and forward steps.... 1800.]