Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/282

256 "Joy be their lot, and happiness," he cried,

"His lot and hers, as misery is mine!"

Such was that strong concussion; but the Man

Who trembled, trunk and limbs, like some huge Oak

By a fierce tempest shaken, soon resumed

The stedfast quiet natural to a Mind

Of composition gentle and sedate,

And in its movements circumspect and slow.

Of rustic Parents bred, He had been trained,

(So prompted their aspiring wish) to skill

In numbers and the sedentary art

Of penmanship,—with pride professed, and taught

By his endeavours in the mountain dales.

Now, those sad tidings weighing on his heart,

To books, and papers, and the studious desk,

He stoutly readdressed himself—resolved

To quell his pain, and enter on the path

Of old pursuits with keener appetite

And closer industry. Of what ensued,

Within his soul, no outward sign appeared

Till a betraying sickliness was seen

To tinge his cheek; and through his frame it crept