Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/387

BOOK XIV.] More rational proportions; mystery,

The incumbent mystery of sense and soul,

Of life and death, time and eternity,

Admitted more habitually a mild

Interposition—a serene delight

In closelier gathering cares, such as become

A human creature, howsoe'er endowed,

Poet, or destined for a humbler name;

And so the deep enthusiastic joy,

The rapture of the hallelujah sent

From all that breathes and is, was chastened, stemmed

And balanced by pathetic truth, by trust

In hopeful reason, leaning on the stay

Of Providence; and in reverence for duty,

Here, if need be, struggling with storms, and there

Strewing in peace life's humblest ground with herbs,

At every season green, sweet at all hours.

And now, O Friend! this history is brought

To its appointed close: the discipline

And consummation of a Poet's mind,

In everything that stood most prominent,

Have faithfully been pictured; we have reached

The time (our guiding object from the first)

When we may, not presumptuously, I hope,