Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/313

BOOK X.] In the familiar language of the day,

Cried, "Robespierre is dead!"—nor was a doubt,

After strict question, left within my mind

That he and his supporters all were fallen.

Great was my transport, deep my gratitude

To everlasting Justice, by this fiat

Made manifest. "Come now, ye golden times,"

Said I forth-pouring on those open sands

A hymn of triumph: "as the morning comes

From out the bosom of the night, come ye:

Thus far our trust is verified; behold!

They who with clumsy desperation brought

A river of Blood, and preached that nothing else

Could cleanse the Augean stable, by the might

Of their own helper have been swept away;

Their madness stands declared and visible;

Elsewhere will safety now be sought, and earth

March firmly towards righteousness and peace."—

Then schemes I framed more calmly, when and how

The madding factions might be tranquillised,

And how through hardships manifold and long

The glorious renovation would proceed.

Thus interrupted by uneasy bursts

Of exultation, I pursued my way