Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/268

246 Continually, like an uneasy place

In his own body. 'Twas in truth an hour

Of universal ferment; mildest men

Were agitated; and commotions, strife

Of passion and opinion, filled the walls

Of peaceful houses with unquiet sounds.

The soil of common life, was, at that time,

Too hot to tread upon. Oft said I then,

And not then only, "What a mockery this

Of history, the past and that to come!

Now do I feel how all men are deceived,

Reading of nations and their works, in faith,

Faith given to vanity and emptiness;

Oh! laughter for the page that would reflect

To future times the face of what now is!"

The land all swarmed with passion, like a plain

Devoured by locusts,—Carra, GorcasGorsas [sic],—add

A hundred other names, forgotten now,

Nor to be heard of more; yet, they were powers,

Like earthquakes, shocks repeated day by day,

And felt through every nook of town and field.

Such was the state of things. Meanwhile the chief

Of my associates stood prepared for flight

To augment the band of emigrants in arms