Shall I take up my home? and what clear

stream

Shall with its murmur lull me into rest? The earth is all before me. With a heart Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,

I look about; and should the chosen guide Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, I cannot miss my way. I breathe again! Trances of thought and mountings of the mind

20

Come fast upon me: it is shaken off,
That burthen of my own unnatural self,
The heavy weight of many a weary day
Not mine, and such as were not made for me.
Long months of peace (if such bold word
accord

With any promises of human life),

Long months of ease and undisturbed delight

Are mine in prospect; whither shall I turn, By road or pathway, or through trackless field,

Up hill or down, or shall some floating thing Upon the river point me out my course?

30

made

71

Once more made trial of her strength, nor lacked

99

Æolian visitations; but the harp
Was soon defrauded, and the banded host
Of harmony dispersed in straggling sounds,
And lastly utter silence! "Be it so;
Why think of anything but present good?"
So, like a home-bound labourer, I pursued
My way beneath the mellowing sun, that
shed

Mild influence; nor left in me one wish
Again to bend the Sabbath of that time
To a servile yoke. What need of many
words?

A pleasant loitering journey, through three days

Continued, brought me to my hermitage.
I spare to tell of what ensued, the life
In common things - the endless store of
things,

110

Rare, or at least so seeming, every day
Found all about me in one neighbourhood-
The self-congratulation, and, from morn
To night, unbroken cheerfulness serene.
But speedily an earnest longing rose
To brace myself to some determined aim,
Reading or thinking; either to lay up
New stores, or rescue from decay the old
By timely interference: and therewith
Came hopes still higher, that with outward
life

Will settle on some British theme, some old
Romantic tale by Milton left unsung;
More often turning to some gentle place
Within the groves of Chivalry, I pipe
To shepherd swains, or seated harp in hand,
Amid reposing knights by a river side
Or fountain, listen to the grave reports
Of dire enchantments faced and overcome
By the strong mind, and tales of warlike
feats,
Where spear

encountered

with sword

spear, and sword

Fought, as if conscious of the blazonry That the shield bore, so glorious was the strife;

To my own passions and habitual thoughts;
Some variegated story, in the main
Lofty, but the unsubstantial structure melts
Before the very sun that brightens it,
Mist into air dissolving! Then a wish,
My last and favourite aspiration, mounts
With yearning toward some philosophic
song

Of Truth that cherishes our daily life; 230
With meditations passionate from deep
Recesses in man's heart, immortal verse
Thoughtfully fitted to the Orphean lyre;
But from this awful burthen I full soon
Take refuge and beguile myself with trust
That mellower years will bring a riper

mind

For sports of wider range. Ere I had told Ten birth-days, when among the mountain slopes

Frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had snapped

The last autumnal crocus, 't was my joy With store of springes o'er my shoulder hung

310

To range the open heights where woodcocks run

Along the smooth green turf. Through half the night,

Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied That anxious visitation; moon and stars Were shining o'er my head. I was alone, And seemed to be a trouble to the peace That dwelt among them. Sometimes it befell

In these night wanderings, that a strong desire

O'erpowered my better reason, and the bird Which was the captive of another's toil 320 Became my prey; and when the deed was done

I heard among the solitary hills
Low breathings coming after me, and
sounds

Of undistinguishable motion, steps
Almost as silent as the turf they trod.

And growing still in stature the grim shape Towered up between me and the stars, and still,

For so it seemed, with purpose of its own And measured motion like a living thing, Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,

And through the silent water stole my way Back to the covert of the willow tree; There in her mooring-place I left my bark,

And through the meadows homeward went, in grave

And serious mood; but after I had seen 390 That spectacle, for many days, my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined