Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/199

BOOK VII.] The Monument, and that Chamber of the Tower

Where England's sovereigns sit in long array,

Their steeds bestriding,—every mimic shape

Cased in the gleaming mail the monarch wore,

Whether for gorgeous tournament addressed,

Or life or death upon the battle-field.

Those bold imaginations in due time

Had vanished, leaving others in their stead:

And now I looked upon the living scene;

Familiarly perused it; oftentimes,

In spite of strongest disappointment, pleased

Through courteous self-submission, as a tax

Paid to the object by prescriptive right.

Rise up, thou monstrous ant-hill on the plain

Of a too busy world! Before me flow,

Thou endless stream of men and moving things!

Thy every-day appearance, as it strikes—

With wonder heightened, or sublimed by awe—

On strangers, of all ages; the quick dance

Of colours, lights, and forms; the deafening din;

The comers and the goers face to face,

Face after face; the string of dazzling wares,

Shop after shop, with symbols, blazoned names,

And all the tradesman's honours overhead: