Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/356

330 Was never satiate. Their familiar voice,

Even to old age, with unabated charm

Beguiled his leisure hours; refreshed his thoughts;

Beyond its natural elevation raised

His introverted spirit; and bestowed

Upon his life an outward dignity

Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night,

The stormy day, had each its own resource;

Song of the muses, sage historic tale,

Science severe, or word of holy Writ

Announcing immortality and joy

To the assembled spirits of the just,

From imperfection and decay secure.

—Thus soothed at home, thus busy in the field,

To no perverse suspicion he gave way,

No languor, peevishness, nor vain complaint:

And they, who were about him, did not fail

In reverence, or in courtesy; they prized

His gentle manners:—and his peaceful smiles,

The gleams of his slow-varying countenance,

Were met with answering sympathy and love.

At length, when sixty years and five were told,