Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/159

133 Once more did I retire into myself.

There feeling no contentment, I resolved

To fly, for safeguard, to some foreign shore,

Remote from Europe; from her blasted hopes;

Her fields of carnage, and polluted air.

Fresh blew the wind, when o'er the Atlantic Main

The Ship went gliding with her thoughtless crew:

And who among them but an Exile, freed

From discontent, indifferent, pleased to sit

Among the busily-employed, not more

With obligation charged, with service taxed,

Than the loose pendant—to the idle wind

Upon the tall mast, streaming! But, ye Powers

Of soul and sense—mysteriously allied,

O, never let the Wretched, if a choice

Be left him, trust the freight of his distress

To a long voyage on the silent deep!

For, like a Plague, will Memory break out,

And, in the blank and solitude of things,

Upon his Spirit, with a fever's strength,

Will Conscience prey.—Feebly must They have felt

Who, in old time, attired with snakes and whips