Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/255

229 Of long companionship, the Artist's hand,

Cuts off that hand, with all its world of nerves,

From a too busy commerce with the heart!

—Inglorious implements of craft and toil,

Both ye that shape and build, and ye that force,

By slow solicitation, Earth to yield

Her annual bounty, sparingly dealt forth

With wise reluctance, you would I extol

Not for gross good alone which ye produce,

But for the impertinent and ceaseless strife

Of proofs and reasons ye preclude—in those

Who to your dull society are born,

And with their humble birth-right rest content.

—Would I had ne'er renounced it!"

A slight flush

Of moral anger previously had tinged

The Old Man's cheek; but, at this closing turn

Of self-reproach, it passed away. Said he,

"That which we feel we utter; as we think

So have we argued; reaping for our pains

No visible recompense. For our relief

You," to the Pastor turning thus he spake,

"Have kindly interposed. May I entreat