Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/415

389 Their happy year spins round. The Youth obeys

A like glad impulse; and so moves the Man

Mid all his apprehensions, cares, and fears,—

Or so he ought to move. Ah! why in age

Do we revert so fondly to the walks

Of Childhood—but that there the Soul discerns

The dear memorial footsteps unimpaired

Of her own native vigour—but for this,

That it is given her thence in age to hear

Reverberations; and a choral song,

Commingling with the incense that ascends

Undaunted, tow'rds the imperishable heavens,

From her own lonely altar?—Do not think

That Good and Wise will ever be allowed,

Though strength decay, to breathe in such estate

As shall divide them wholly from the stir

Of hopeful nature. Rightly is it said

That Man descends into the of years;

Yet have I thought that we might also speak,

And not presumptuously I trust, of Age,

As of a final, though bare

In aspect and forbidding, yet a Point

On which 'tis not impossible to sit