Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/32

10 No little band of yet remembered names

Whom I, in perfect confidence, might hope

To summon back from lonesome banishment,

And make them dwellers in the hearts of men

Now living, or to live in future years.

Sometimes the ambitious Power of choice, mistaking

Proud spring-tide swellings for a regular sea,

Will settle on some British theme, some old

Romantic tale by Milton left unsung;

More often turning to some gentle place

Within the groves of Chivalry, I pipe

To shepherd swains, or seated harp in hand,

Amid reposing knights by a river side

Or fountain, listen to the grave reports

Of dire enchantments faced and overcome

By the strong mind, and tales of warlike feats,

Where spear encountered spear, and sword with sword

Fought, as if conscious of the blazonry

That the shield bore, so glorious was the strife;

Whence inspiration for a song that winds

Through ever changing scenes of votive quest

Wrongs to redress, harmonious tribute paid

To patient courage and unblemished truth,

To firm devotion, zeal unquenchable,

And Christian meekness hallowing faithful loves.