" Such, in fact, was the
impression which he gave to those who knew him best throughout life.
The look of premature age, which De Quincey insists on; the furrowed
and rugged countenance, the brooding intensity of the eye, the
bursts of anger at the report of evil doings, the lonely and violent
roamings over the mountains,--all told of a strong absorption and a
smothered fire. His own description of himself (for such we must
probably hold it to be) in his _Imitation of the Castle of Indolence_,
unexpected as it is by the ordinary reader, carries for those who
knew him the stamp of truth.
Full many a time, upon a stormy night,
His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:
Oft did we see him driving full in view
At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,
A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.
Ah! Piteous sight it was to see this Man
When he came back to us, a withered flower,--
Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.
Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour:
And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,
Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay;
And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.
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