Page:The Recluse, Wordsworth, 1888.djvu/34

22 Hath issued any portion of the joy

Which I have felt this day. An awful voice

'Tis true hath in my walks been often heard,

Sent from the mountains or the sheltered fields,

Shout after shout—reiterated whoop,

In manner of a bird that takes delight

In answering to itself: or like a hound

Single at chase among the lonely woods,

His yell repeating; yet it was in truth

A human voice—a spirit of coming night;

How solemn when the sky is dark, and earth

Not dark, nor yet enlightened, but by snow

Made visible, amid a noise of winds

And bleatings manifold of mountain sheep,

Which in that iteration recognise

Their summons, and are gathering round for food,