Though home or shelter he had none,
With such a sky to lead him on.
The dewy ground was dark and cold;
"Faith, 'tis nothing of the kind, Wilks," interrupted Coristine; but the dominie went on unheeding.
Behind, all gloomy to behold,
And stepping westward seemed to be
A kind of heavenly destiny:
I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound
Of something without place or bound
And seemed to give me spiritual right