Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/335

BOOK XI.] I learnt to dream of Sicily; and lo,

The gloom, that, but a moment past, was deepened

At thy command, at her command gives way;

A pleasant promise, wafted from her shores,

Comes o'er my heart: in fancy I behold

Her seas yet smiling, her once happy vales;

Nor can my tongue give utterance to a name

Of note belonging to that honoured isle,

Philosopher or Bard, Empedocles,

Or Archimedes, pure abstracted soul!

That doth not yield a solace to my grief:

And, Theocritus,(14) so far have some

Prevailed among the powers of heaven and earth,

By their endowments, good or great, that they

Have had, as thou reportest, miracles

Wrought for them in old time: yea, not unmoved,

When thinking on my own beloved friend,

I hear thee tell how bees with honey fed

Divine Comates, by his impious lord

Within a chest imprisoned; how they came

Laden from blooming grove or flowery field,

And fed him there, alive, month after month,

Because the goatherd, blessed man! had lips

Wet with the Muses' nectar.

Thus I soothe