Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/133

107 But stop!—these theoretic fancies jar

On serious minds; for doubtless, in one sense,

The theme is serious; then, as Hindoos draw

Their holy Ganges from a skiey fount,

Even so deduce the Stream of human Life

From seats of Power divine; and hope, or trust,

That our Existence winds its stately course

Beneath the Sun, like Ganges, to make part

Of a living Ocean: or, if such may seem

Its tendency to be engulphed and lost

Like Niger, in impenetrable sands

And utter darkness: thought which may be faced,

Though comfortless!—Not of myself I speak;

Such acquiescence neither doth imply,

In me, a meekly-bending spirit—soothed

By natural piety; nor a lofty mind,

By philosophic discipline prepared

For calm subjection to acknowledged law;

Pleased to have been, contented not to be.

Such palms I boast not:—no! to me, who find,

Reviewing my past way, much to condemn,

Little to praise, and nothing to regret

(Save some remembrances of dream-like joys