Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/118

96 Beneath him in the bottom of the deep,

Sees many beauteous sights—weeds, fishes, flowers,

Grots, pebbles, roots of trees, and fancies more,

Yet often is perplexed and cannot part

The shadow from the substance, rocks and sky,

Mountains and clouds, reflected in the depth

Of the clear flood, from things which there abide

In their true dwelling; now is crossed by gleam

Of his own image, by a sun-beam now,

And wavering motions sent he knows not whence,

Impediments that make his task more sweet;

Such pleasant office have we long pursued

Incumbent o'er the surface of past time

With like success, nor often have appeared

Shapes fairer or less doubtfully discerned

Than these to which the Tale, indulgent Friend!

Would now direct thy notice. Yet in spite

Of pleasure won, and knowledge not withheld,

There was an inner falling off—I loved,

Loved deeply all that had been loved before,

More deeply even than ever: but a swarm

Of heady schemes jostling each other, gawds,

And feast and dance, and public revelry,

And sports and games (too grateful in themselves,

Yet in themselves less grateful, I believe,