Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/185

159 The barriers disregarding that surround

This deep Abiding-place, before your sight

Mounts on the breeze the Butterfly—and soars,

Small Creature as she is, from earth's bright flowers

Into the dewy clouds. Ambition reigns

In the waste wilderness: the Soul ascends

Towards her native firmament of heaven,

When the fresh Eagle, in the month of May,

Upborne, at evening, on replenished wing,

This shady valley leaves,—and leaves the dark

Empurpled hills,—conspicuously renewing

A proud communication with the sun

Low sunk beneath the horizon!—List!—I heard,

From yon huge breast of rock, a solemn bleat;

Sent forth as if it were the Mountain's voice,

As if the visible Mountain made the cry.

Again!"—The effect upon the soul was such

As he expressed; for, from the mountain's heart

The solemn bleat appeared to come; there was

No other—and the region all around

Stood silent, empty of all shape of life.

—It was a Lamb—left somewhere to itself,

The plaintive Spirit of the Solitude!—