Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/303

BOOK X.] Sorrow for human kind, and pain of heart.

In France, the men, who, for their desperate ends,

Had plucked up mercy by the roots, were glad

Of this new enemy. Tyrants, strong before

In wicked pleas, were strong as demons now;

And thus, on every side beset with foes,

The goaded land waxed mad; the crimes of few

Spread into madness of the many; blasts

From hell came sanctified like airs from heaven.

The sternness of the just, the faith of those

Who doubted not that Providence had times

Of vengeful retribution, theirs who throned

The human Understanding paramount

And made of that their God, the hopes of men

Who were content to barter short-lived pangs

For a paradise of ages, the blind rage

Of insolent tempers, the light vanity

Of intermeddlers, steady purposes

Of the suspicious, slips of the indiscreet,

And all the accidents of life were pressed

Into one service, busy with one work.

The Senate stood aghast, her prudence quenched,

Her wisdom stifled, and her justice scared,

Her frenzy only active to extol