Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/398

372 No longer led or followed by his Sons;

Idlers perchance they were,—but in his sight;

Breathing fresh air, and treading the green earth;

'Till their short holiday of childhood ceased,

Ne'er to return! That birth-right now is lost.

Economists will tell you that the State

Thrives by the forfeiture—unfeeling thought,

And false as monstrous! Can the Mother thrive

By the destruction of her innocent Sons?

In whom a premature Necessity

Blocks out the forms of Nature, preconsumes

The reason, famishes the heart, shuts up

The infant Being in itself, and makes

Its very spring a season of decay?

The lot is wretched, the condition sad,

Whether a pining discontent survive,

And thirst for change; or habit hath subdued

The soul depressed; dejected—even to love

Of her dull tasks, and close captivity.

—Oh, banish far such Wisdom as condemns

A native Briton to these inward chains,

Fixed in his soul, so early and so deep,

Without his own consent, or knowledge, fixed!