Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/304

282 Past outrages, and shape the way for new,

Which no one dared to oppose or mitigate.

Domestic carnage now filled the whole year

With feast-days; old men from the chimney-nook,

The maiden from the bosom of her love,

The mother from the cradle of her babe,

The warrior from the field—all perished, all—

Friends, enemies, of all parties, ages, ranks,

Head after head, and never heads enough

For those that bade them fall. They found their joy,

They made it proudly, eager as a child,

(If like desires of innocent little ones

May with such heinous appetites be compared),

Pleased in some open field to exercise

A toy that mimics with revolving wings

The motion of a wind-mill; though the air

Do of itself blow fresh, and make the vanes

Spin in his eyesight, that contents him not,

But, with the plaything at arm's length, he sets

His front against the blast, and runs amain,

That it may whirl the faster.

Amid the depth

Of those enormities, even thinking minds

Forgot, at seasons, whence they had their being;