Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/211

BOOK VII.] All loosely put together, hobbled in,

Stumping upon a cane with which he smites,

From time to time, the solid boards, and makes them

Prate somewhat loudly of the whereabout

Of one so overloaded with his years.

But what of this! the laugh, the grin, grimace,

The antics striving to outstrip each other,

Were all received, the least of them not lost,

With an unmeasured welcome. Through the night,

Between the show, and many-headed mass

Of the spectators, and each several nook

Filled with its fray or brawl, how eagerly

And with what flashes, as it were, the mind

Turned this way—that way! sportive and alert

And watchful, as a kitten when at play,

While winds are eddying round her, among straws

And rustling leaves. Enchanting age and sweet!

Romantic almost, looked at through a space,

How small, of intervening years! For then,

Though surely no mean progress had been made

In meditations holy and sublime,

Yet something of a girlish child-like gloss

Of novelty survived for scenes like these;

Enjoyment haply handed down from times

When at a country-playhouse, some rude barn