Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/178

156 Sweet coverts did we cross of pastoral life,

Enticing valleys, greeted them and left

Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam

Of salutation were not passed away.

Oh! sorrow for the youth who could have seen

Unchastened, unsubdued, unawed, unraised

To patriarchal dignity of mind,

And pure simplicity of wish and will,

Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man,

Pleased (though to hardship born, and compassed round

With danger, varying as the seasons change),

Pleased with his daily task, or, if not pleased,

Contented, from the moment that the dawn

(Ah! surely not without attendant gleams

Of soul-illumination) calls him forth

To industry, by glistenings flung on rocks,

Whose evening shadows lead him to repose.

Well might a stranger look with bounding heart

Down on a green recess, the first I saw

Of those deep haunts, an aboriginal vale,

Quiet and lorded over and possessed

By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like tents

Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns

And by the river side.