Page:The Recluse, Wordsworth, 1888.djvu/35

Rh Devoured with keenness, ere to grove or bank

Or rocky bield with patience they retire.

That very voice, which, in some timid mood

Of superstitious fancy, might have seemed

Awful as ever stray demoniac uttered,

His steps to govern in the wilderness;

Or as the Norman Curfew's regular beat

To hearths when first they darkened at the knell:

That shepherd's voice, it may have reached mine ear

Debased and under profanation, made

The ready organ of articulate sounds

From ribaldry, impiety, or wrath,

Issuing when shame hath ceased to check the brawls

Of some abused Festivity—so be it.