Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/272

250 Forth like a Polar summer: every word

They uttered was a dart, by counter-winds

Blown back upon themselves; their reason seemed

Confusion-stricken by a higher power

Than human understanding, their discourse

Maimed, spiritless; and, in their weakness strong,

I triumphed.

Meantime, day by day, the roads

Were crowded with the bravest youth of France,

And all the promptest of her spirits, linked

In gallant soldiership, and posting on

To meet the war upon her frontier bounds.

Yet at this very moment do tears start

Into mine eyes: I do not say I weep—

I wept not then,—but tears have dimmed my sight,

In memory of the farewells of that time,

Domestic severings, female fortitude

At dearest separation, patriot love

And self-devotion, and terrestrial hope,

Encouraged with a martyr's confidence;

Even files of strangers merely seen but once,

And for a moment, men from far with sound

Of music, martial tunes, and banners spread,

Entering the city, here and there a face,

Or person singled out among the rest,