Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/373

347 This spoken, from his seat the Pastor rose,

And moved towards the grave;—instinctively

His steps we followed; and my voice exclaimed,

"Power to the Oppressors of the world is given,

A might of which they dream not. Oh! the curse,

To be the Awakener of divinest thoughts,

Father and Founder of exalted deeds,

And to whole Nations bound in servile straits

The liberal Donor of capacities

More than heroic! this to be, nor yet

Have sense of one connatural wish, nor yet

Deserve the least return of human thanks;

Winning no recompence but deadly hate

With pity mixed, astonishment with scorn!"

When these involuntary words had ceased,

The Pastor said, "So Providence is served;

The forked weapon of the skies can send

Illumination into deep, dark Holds,

Which the mild sunbeam hath not power to pierce.

Why do ye quake, intimidated Thrones?

For, not unconscious of the mighty debt

Which to outrageous Wrong the Sufferer owes,