Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/49

BOOK I.] A stranger, linking with the spectacle

No conscious memory of a kindred sight,

And bringing with me no peculiar sense

Of quietness or peace; yet have I stood,

Even while mine eye hath moved o'er many a league

Of shining water, gathering as it seemed

Through every hair-breadth in that field of light

New pleasure like a bee among the flowers.

Thus oft amid those fits of vulgar joy

Which, through all seasons, on a child's pursuits

Are prompt attendants, 'mid that giddy bliss

Which, like a tempest, works along the blood

And is forgotten; even then I felt

Gleams like the flashing of a shield;—the earth

And common face of Nature spake to me

Rememberable things; sometimes, 'tis true,

By chance collisions and quaint accidents

(Like those ill-sorted unions, work supposed

Of evil-minded fairies), yet not vain

Nor profitless, if haply they impressed

Collateral objects and appearances,

Albeit lifeless then, and doomed to sleep

Until maturer seasons called them forth

To impregnate and to elevate the mind.