PRIEST.
If he had one, the youth had twenty homes.
LEONARD.
And you believe, then, that his mind was easy?
PRIEST.
Yes, long before he died, he found that time
Is a true friend to sorrow; and unless
His thoughts were turn'd on Leonard's luckless fortune,
He talk'd about him with a cheerful love.
LEONARD.
He could not come to an unhallow'd end!
PRIEST.
Nay, God forbid!—You recollect I mention'd
A habit which disquietude and grief
Had brought upon him; and we all conjectured
That, as the day was warm, he had lain down
Upon the grass, and waiting for his comrades,
He there had fallen asleep; that in his sleep
He to the margin of the precipice
Had walk'd, and from the summit had fallen headlong.
And so, no doubt, he perished: at the time,
We guess, that in his hands he must have held
His shepherd's staff: for midway in the cliff
It had been caught; and there for many years
It hung, and moulder'd there.