Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/53

27 And senseless rocks; nor idly; for they speak,

In these their invocations, with a voice

Obedient to the strong creative power

Of human passion. Sympathies there are

More tranquil, yet perhaps of kindred birth,

That steal upon the meditative mind,

And grow with thought. Beside yon Spring I stood,

And eyed its waters till we seemed to feel

One sadness, they and I. For them a bond

Of brotherhood is broken: time has been

When, every day, the touch of human hand

Dislodged the natural sleep that binds them up

In mortal stillness; and they minister'd

To human comfort. As I stooped to drink,

Upon the slimy foot-stone I espied

The useless fragment of a wooden bowl,

Green with the moss of years; a pensive sight

That moved my heart!—recalling former days

When I could never pass that road but She

Who lived within these walls, at my approach,

A Daughter's welcome gave me; and I loved her

As my own child. O Sir! the good die first,

And they whose hearts are dry as summer dust