Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/203

BOOK VII.] The spectacles within doors,—birds and beasts

Of every nature, and strange plants convened

From every clime; and, next, those sights that ape

The absolute presence of reality,

Expressing, as in mirror, sea and land,

And what earth is, and what she has to shew.

I do not here allude to subtlest craft,

By means refined attaining purest ends,

But imitations, fondly made in plain

Confession of man's weakness and his loves.

Whether the Painter, whose ambitious skill

Submits to nothing less than taking in

A whole horizon's circuit, do with power,

Like that of angels or commissioned spirits,

Fix us upon some lofty pinnacle,

Or in a ship on waters, with a world

Of life, and life-like mockery beneath,

Above, behind, far stretching and before;

Or more mechanic artist represent

By scale exact, in model, wood or clay,

From blended colours also borrowing help,

Some miniature of famous spots or things,—

St. Peter's Church; or, more aspiring aim,

In microscopic vision, Rome herself;

Or, haply, some choice rural haunt,—the Falls