Not unresentful where self-justified;
Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest,

shy;

415 Mad at their sports like withered leaves in winds;

Sounding with grappling irons and long poles.

Though doing wrong and suffering, and full oft Bending beneath our life's mysterious At last, the dead man, 'mid that beauteous weight

scene

Of pain, and doubt, and fear, yet yielding Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright
not
Rose, with his ghastly face, a spectre

In happiness to the happiest upon earth.
Simplicity in habit, truth in speech, 421
Be these the daily strengtheners of their
minds;

May books and Nature be their early joy!
And knowledge, rightly honoured with
that name-

Knowledge not purchased by the loss of
power!
425

Well do I call to mind the very week
When I was first intrusted to the care
Of that sweet Valley; when its paths, its
shores,

And brooks were like a dream of novelty
To my half-infant thoughts; that very
week,

430

calm lake

shape

4.90

Of terror; yet no soul-debasing fear,
Young as I was, a child not nine years old.
Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen
Such sights before, among the shining

streams

Of faery land, the forest of romance. 455
Their spirit hallowed the sad spectacle
With decoration of ideal grace;
A dignity, a smoothness, like the works
Of Grecian art, and purest poesy.

A precious treasure had I long po sessed,

400

A little yellow, canvas-covered book,
A slender abstract of the Arabian tales:
And, from companions in a new abode,
When first I learnt, that this dear pri

of mine

Was but a block hewn from a mighty

quarry

That there were four large volumes, lade all

With kindred matter, 'twas to me,

truth,

A promise scarcely earthly. Instantly.
With one not richer than myself, I made
A covenant that each should lay aside
The moneys he possessed, and hoard

more,

But no one owned them; meanwhile the Till our joint savings had amassed enou To make this book our own. Through several months,

Grew dark with all the shadows on its

breast,

440

In spite of all temptation, we preserved

And, now and then, a fish up-leaping Religiously that vow; but firmness failed

That golden store of books which I had This dawning earth, to recognise, exleft,

pect,

514

485 We know where we have friends. Ye dreamers, then,

And there have read, devouring as I read, Defrauding the day's glory, desperate! fill with a sudden bound of smart reproach,

Juch as an idler deals with in his shame, to the sport betook myself again.

490

Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape
Philosophy will call you: then we feel
With what, and how great might ye are
in league,

A gracious spirit o'er this earth pre- Who make our wish, our power, our

Though yet untutored and inordinate, That wish for something loftier, more adorned,

Almost to tears I sometimes could be sad
To think of, to read over, many a page,
Poems withal of name, which at that time!
Did never fail to entrance me, and are
550
Dead in my eyes, dead as a theatre
Fresh emptied of spectators. Twice five Of exultation echoed through the groves!
For, images, and sentiments, and words

now

years

573 Than is the common aspect, daily garb, Of human life. What wonder, then, if sounds

Or less I might have seen, when first my And everything encountered or pursued
mind
In that delicious world of poesy,
With conscious pleasure opened to the Kept holiday, a never-ending show,
With music, incense, festival, and flowers!

charm

For their own sakes, a passion, and a power;

And phrases pleased me chosen for delight,

Of modesty, that he, who in his youth For pomp, or love. Oft, in the public A daily wanderer among woods and fields roads

With living Nature hath been intimate,

Yet unfrequented, while the morning Not only in that raw unpractised time

BOOK SIXTH.

CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS.

THE leaves were fading when to Esth- | Yet independent study seemed a course

Without repining from the coves and And at a later season, or preserved; What love of nature, what original strength

Of mighty names was softened down and Alone, beneath this fairy work of earth.

As if it appertained to another mind, All winter long, whenever free to And yet the books which then I valued choose, Did I by night frequent the College Are dearest to me now; for, having