Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/188

166 Of this whole Song is 'written that my heart

Must, in such Temple, needs have offered up

A different worship. Finally, whate'er

I saw, or heard, or felt, was but a stream

That flowed into a kindred stream; a gale,

Confederate with the current of the soul,

To speed my voyage; every sound or sight,

In its degree of power, administered

To grandeur or to tenderness,—to the one

Directly, but to tender thoughts by means

Less often instantaneous in effect;

Led me to these by paths that, in the main,

Were more circuitous, but not less sure

Duly to reach the point marked out by Heaven.

Oh, most belovèd Friend! a glorious time,

A happy time that was; triumphant looks

Were then the common language of all eyes;

As if awaked from sleep, the Nations hailed

Their great expectancy: the fife of war

Was then a spirit-stirring sound indeed,

A black-bird's whistle in a budding grove.

We left the Swiss exulting in the fate

Of their near neighbours; and, when shortening fast

Our pilgrimage, nor distant far from home,