Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/91

BOOK III.] Or walks of open scandal, but in vague

And loose indifference, easy likings, aims

Of a low pitch—duty and zeal dismissed,

Yet Nature, or a happy course of things

Not doing in their stead the needful work.

The memory languidly revolved, the heart

Reposed in noontide rest, the inner pulse

Of contemplation almost failed to beat.

Such life might not inaptly be compared

To a floating island, an amphibious spot

Unsound, of spongy texture, yet withal

Not wanting a fair face of water weeds

And pleasant flowers. The thirst of living praise,

Fit reverence for the glorious Dead, the sight

Of those long vistas, sacred catacombs,

Where mighty minds lie visibly entombed,

Have often stirred the heart of youth, and bred

A fervent love of rigorous discipline.—

Alas! such high emotion touched not me.

Look was there none within these walls to shame

My easy spirits, and discountenance

Their light composure, far less to instil

A calm resolve of mind, firmly addressed

To puissant efforts. Nor was this the blame

Of others but my own; I should, in truth,