Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/330

308 This was the crisis of that strong disease,

This the soul's last and lowest ebb; I drooped,

Deeming our blessed reason of least use

Where wanted most: "The lordly attributes

Of will and choice," I bitterly exclaimed,

"What are they but a mockery of a Being

Who hath in no concerns of his a test

Of good and evil; knows not what to fear

Or hope for, what to covet or to shun;

And who, if those could be discerned, would yet

Be little profited, would see, and ask

Where is the obligation to enforce?

And, to acknowledged law rebellious, still,

As selfish passion urged, would act amiss;

The dupe of folly, or the slave of crime."

Depressed, bewildered thus, I did not walk

With scoffers, seeking light and gay revenge

From indiscriminate laughter, nor sate down

In reconcilement with an utter waste

Of intellect; such sloth I could not brook,

(Too well I loved, in that my spring of life,

Pains-taking thoughts, and truth, their dear reward)

But turned to abstract science, and there sought

Work for the reasoning faculty enthroned