Your dalesmen, then, do in each other's thoughts
Possess a kind of second life: no doubt
You, Sir, could help me to the history
Of half these Graves?

PRIEST.

With what I've witness'd; and with what I've heard,
Perhaps I might, and, on a winter's evening,
If you were seated at my chimney's nook
By turning o'er these hillocks one by one,
We two could travel, Sir, through a strange round,
Yet all in the broad high-way of the world.
Now there's a grave--your foot is half upon it,
It looks just like the rest, and yet that man
Died broken-hearted.

LEONARD.

'Tis a common case,
We'll take another: who is he that lies
Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves;--
It touches on that piece of native rock
Left in the church-yard wall.

PRIEST.

That's Walter Ewbank.
He had as white a head and fresh a cheek
As ever were produc'd by youth and age