Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/360

334 Unto the men who see not as we see

Futurity was thought, in ancient times,

To be laid open, and they prophesied.

And know we not that from the blind have flowed

The highest, holiest raptures of the lyre;

And wisdom married to immortal verse?"

Among the humbler Worthies, at our feet

Lying insensible to human praise,

Love, or regret,—whose lineaments would next

Have been pourtrayed, I guess not; but it chanced

That near the quiet church-yard where we sate

A Team of horses, with a ponderous freight

Pressing behind, adown a rugged slope,

Whose sharp descent confounded their array,

Came at that moment, ringing noisily.

"Here," said the Pastor, "do we muse, and mourn

The waste of death; and lo! the giant Oak

Stretched on his bier!—that massy timber wain;

Nor fail to note the Man who guides the team."

He was a Peasant of the lowest class: