Its matted weeds
Marked with the steps of those, whom, as they passed,
The gooseberry trees that shot in long, lank slips,
Or currants, hanging from their leafless stems
In scanty strings, had tempted to o’erleap
The broken wall. I looked around, and there,
Where two tall hedge-rows of thick alder-boughs
Joined in a cold damp nook, espied a well,
Shrouded with willow-flowers and plumy fern.
Here, too, was Goody Blake’s cabin:—