Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/33

25 Yet, Show-man, where can lie the cause? Shall thy Implement have blame,

A Boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame?

Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault?

Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is this resplendent Vault?

Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here?

Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear?

The silver Moon with all her Vales, and Hills of mightiest fame,

Do they betray us when they're seen? and are they but a name?

Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong,

And bounty never yields so much but it seems to do her wrong?

Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had,

And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad?

Or must we be constrained to think that these Spectators rude,

Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude,

Have souls which never yet have ris'n, and therefore prostrate lie?

No, no, this cannot be—Men thirst for power and majesty!