Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/345

319 Few likings had he dropped, few pleasures lost;

Generous and charitable, prompt to serve;

And still his harsher passions kept their hold,

Anger and indignation; still he loved

The sound of titled names, and talked in glee

Of long-past banquetings with high-born Friends:

Then, from those lulling fits of vain delight

Uproused by recollected injury, railed

At their false ways disdainfully,—and oft

In bitterness, and with a threatening eye

Of fire, incensed beneath its hoary brow.

—These transports, with staid looks of pure good will

And with soft smile, his Consort would reprove.

She, far behind him in the race of years,

Yet keeping her first mildness, was advanced

Far nearer, in the habit of her soul,

To that still region whither all are bound.

—Him might we liken to the setting Sun

As I have seen it, on some gusty day,

Struggling and bold, and shining from the west

With an inconstant and unmellowed light.

—She was a soft attendant Cloud, that hung

As if with wish to veil the restless orb;