Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/122

96 The shade of discontent which on his brow

Had gathered,—"Ye have left my Cell,—but see

How Nature hems you in with friendly arms!

And by her help ye are my Prisoners still.

But which way shall I lead you?—how contrive,

In Spot so parsimoniously endowed,

That the brief hours, which yet remain, may reap

Some recompence of knowledge or delight?"

So saying, round he looked, as if perplexed;

And, to remove those doubts, my grey-haired Friend

Said—"Shall we take this pathway for our guide?—

Upwards it winds, as if, in summer heats,

Its line had first been fashioned by the flock

A place of refuge seeking at the root

Of yon black yew-tree; whose protruded boughs

Darken the silver bosom of the crag,

From which it draws its meagre sustenance.

There in commodious shelter may we rest.

Or let us trace this Streamlet to its source;

Feebly it tinkles with an earthy sound,

And a few steps may bring us to the spot

Where, haply, crowned with flowerets and green herbs,

The mountain Infant to the sun comes forth,