was still;
  No living thing appeared in earth or air, 385
  And, save the flowing water’s peaceful voice,
  Sound there was none—­but, lo! an uncouth shape,
  Shown by a sudden turning of the road,
  So near that, slipping back into the shade
  Of a thick hawthorn, I could mark him well, 390
  Myself unseen.  He was of stature tall,
  A span above man’s common measure, tall,
  Stiff, lank, and upright; a more meagre man
  Was never seen before by night or day. 
  Long were his arms, pallid his hands; his mouth 395
  Looked ghastly in the moonlight:  from behind,
  A mile-stone propped him; I could also ken
  That he was clothed in military garb,
  Though faded, yet entire.  Companionless,
  No dog attending, by no staff sustained, 400
  He stood, and in his very dress appeared
  A desolation, a simplicity,
  To which the trappings of a gaudy world
  Make a strange back-ground.  From his lips, ere long,
  Issued low muttered sounds, as if of pain 405
  Or some uneasy thought; yet still his form
  Kept the same awful steadiness—­at his feet
  His shadow lay, and moved not.  From self-blame
  Not wholly free, I watched him thus; at length
  Subduing my heart’s specious cowardice, 410
  I left the shady nook where I had stood
  And hailed him.  Slowly from his resting-place
  He rose, and with a lean and wasted arm
  In measured gesture lifted to his head
  Returned my salutation; then resumed 415
  His station as before; and when I asked
  His history, the veteran, in reply,
  Was neither slow nor eager; but, unmoved,
  And with a quiet uncomplaining voice,
  A stately air of mild indifference, 420
  He told in few plain words a soldier’s tale—­
  That in the Tropic Islands he had served,
  Whence he had landed scarcely three weeks past: 
  That on his landing he had been dismissed,
  And now was travelling towards his native home. 425
  This heard, I said, in pity, “Come with me.” 
  He stooped, and straightway from the ground took up
  An oaken staff by me yet unobserved—­
  A staff which must have dropt from his slack hand
  And lay till now neglected in the grass. 430
  Though weak his step and cautious, he appeared
  To travel without pain, and I beheld,
  With an astonishment but ill suppressed,
  His ghostly figure moving at my side;
  Nor could I, while we journeyed thus, forbear 435
  To turn from present hardships to the past,
  And speak of war, battle, and pestilence,
  Sprinkling this talk with questions, better spared,
  On what he might himself have seen or