Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/317

291 By the last lingering help of open sky,

Till the dark night dismissed her to her bed.

Thus did a waking Fancy sometimes lose

The unconquerable pang of despised love.

A kindlier passion opened on her soul

When that poor Child was born. Upon its face

She looked as on a pure and spotless gift

Of unexpected promise, where a grief

Or dread was all that had been thought of—joy

Far sweeter than bewildered Traveller feels

Upon a perilous waste, where all night long

Through darkness he hath toiled and fearful storm,

When he beholds the first pale speck serene

Of day-spring—in the gloomy east revealed,

And greets it with thanksgiving. "Till this hour,"

Thus in her Mother's hearing Ellen spake,

"There was a stony region in my heart;

"But he, at whose command the parched rock

"Was smitten, and poured forth a quenching stream,

"Hath softened that obduracy, and made

"Unlooked-for gladness in the desart place,

"To save the perishing; and, henceforth, I look