Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/29

BOOK I.] A backward glance upon the curling cloud

Of city smoke, by distance ruralised;

Keen as a Truant or a Fugitive,

But as a Pilgrim resolute, I took,

Even with the chance equipment of that hour,

The road that pointed toward the chosen Vale.

It was a splendid evening, and my soul

Once more made trial of her strength, nor lacked

Æolian visitations; but the harp

Was soon defrauded, and the banded host

Of harmony dispersed in straggling sounds,

And lastly utter silence! "Be it so;

Why think of any thing but present good?"

So, like a home-bound labourer I pursued

My way beneath the mellowing sun, that shed

Mild influence; nor left in me one wish

Again to bend the Sabbath of that time

To a servile yoke. What need of many words?

A pleasant loitering journey, through three days

Continued, brought me to my hermitage.

I spare to tell of what ensued, the life

In common things—the endless store of things,

Rare, or at least so seeming, every day

Found all about me in one neighbourhood—

The self-congratulation, and, from morn