Page:The Excursion, Wordsworth, 1814.djvu/92

66 Nor pleasure nor tranquillity, at last,

After a wandering course of discontent

In foreign Lands, and inwardly oppressed

With malady—in part, I fear, provoked

By weariness of life, he fixed his Home,

Or, rather say, sate down by very chance,

Among these rugged hills; where now he dwells,

And wastes the sad remainder of his hours

In self-indulging spleen, that doth not want

Its own voluptuousness;—on this resolved,

With this content, that he will live and die

Forgotten,—at safe distance from a "world

Not moving to his mind."

These serious words

Closed the preparatory notices

With which my Fellow-traveller had beguiled

The way, while we advanced up that wide Vale.

Now, suddenly diverging, he began

To climb upon its western side a Ridge

Pathless and smooth, a long and steep ascent;

As if the object of his quest had been

Some secret of the Mountains, Cavern, Fall

Of water—or some boastful Eminence,