Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/153

127 Of former loves and interests. Then my Soul

Turned inward,—to examine of what stuff

Time's fetters are composed; and Life was put

To inquisition, long and profitless!

By pain of heart—now checked—and now impelled—

The intellectual Power, through words and things,

Went sounding on, a dim and perilous way!

And from those transports, and these toils abstruse,

Some trace am I enabled to retain

Of time, else lost;—existing unto me

Only by records in myself not found.

From that abstraction I was rouzed,—and how?

Even as a thoughtful Shepherd by a flash

Of lightening startled in a gloomy cave

Of these wild hills. For, lo! the dread Bastile,

With all the chambers in its horrid Towers,

Fell to the ground:—by violence o'erthrown

Of indignation; and with shouts that drowned

The crash it made in falling! From the wreck

A golden Palace rose, or seemed to rise,

The appointed Seat of equitable Law

And mild paternal Sway. The potent shock