“Bad is the world, and hard is the world’s law 505
  Even for the man who wears the warmest fleece;
  Much need have ye that time more closely draw
  The bond of nature, all unkindness cease,
  And that among so few there still be peace: 
  Else can ye hope but with such numerous foes 510
  Your pains shall ever with your years increase?”—­
  While from his heart the appropriate lesson flows,
  A correspondent calm stole gently o’er his woes.

LVIII

  Forthwith the pair passed on; and down they look
  Into a narrow valley’s pleasant scene 515
  Where wreaths of vapour tracked a winding brook,
  That babbled on through groves and meadows green;
  A low-roofed house peeped out the trees between;
  The dripping groves resound with cheerful lays,
  And melancholy lowings intervene 520
  Of scattered herds, that in the meadow graze,
  Some amid lingering shade, some touched by the sun’s rays.

LIX

  They saw and heard, and, winding with the road
  Down a thick wood, they dropt into the vale;
  Comfort by prouder mansions unbestowed 525
  Their wearied frames, she hoped, would soon regale. 
  Erelong they reached that cottage in the dale: 
  It was a rustic inn;—­the board was spread,
  The milk-maid followed with her brimming pail,
  And lustily the master carved the bread, 530
  Kindly the housewife pressed, and they in comfort fed.

LX

  Their breakfast done, the pair, though loth, must part;
  Wanderers whose course no longer now agrees. 
  She rose and bade farewell! and, while her heart
  Struggled with tears nor could its sorrow ease, 535
  She left him there; for, clustering round his knees,
  With his oak-staff the cottage children played;
  And soon she reached a spot o’erhung with trees
  And banks of ragged earth; beneath the shade
  Across the pebbly road a little runnel strayed. 540

LXI

  A cart and horse beside the rivulet stood;
  Chequering the canvas roof the sunbeams shone. 
  She saw the carman bend to scoop the flood
  As the wain fronted her,—­wherein lay one,
  A pale-faced Woman, in disease far gone. 545
  The carman wet her lips as well behoved;
  Bed under her lean body there was none,
  Though even to die near one she most had loved
  She could not of herself those wasted limbs have moved.

LXII