Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/150

128 Of these will live till man shall be no more.

Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are ours,

And they must have their food. Our childhood sits,

Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne

That hath more power than all the elements.

I guess not what this tells of Being past,

Nor what it augurs of the life to come;

But so it is, and, in that dubious hour,

That twilight when we first begin to see

This dawning earth, to recognise, expect,

And in the long probation that ensues,

The time of trial, ere we learn to live

In reconcilement with our stinted powers;

To endure this state of meagre vassalage,

Unwilling to forego, confess, submit,

Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows

To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed

And humbled down; oh! then we feel, we feel,

We know where we have friends. Ye dreamers, then,

Forgers of daring tales! we bless you then,

Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape

Philosophy will call you: then we feel

With what, and how great might ye are in league,

Who make our wish, our power, our thought a deed,

An empire, a possession,—ye whom time