The Poet, moved y contemplation of is history, apostronizes the child: hy dost thou, O hild, best of phisophers, having as quality of thy ildhood the highest isdom, hasten into e life of habit and onvention? VIII Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted forever by the eternal mind,- On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, Why with such earnest pains dost thou pro voke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, IX The mood changes, or the Poet comforts mself in his sorW: There is yet for joy, in at we had in childod, and can still 'ason O joy! that in our embers remember, high instincts and obstinate questionings. The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest- Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts before which our mortal nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: Those shadowy recollections, make Our noisy years seem moments in the being To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, Nor man nor boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence, in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, more. X The Poet exults in = pleasure which e thought brings, inspired by his ppiness finds a ther ground for solation: Then all nature be d! Though the ght radiance be e, we shall find ength in what re ins. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, What though the radiance which was once Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the We will grieve not, rather find Which having been must ever be; In the faith that looks through death; XI The Poet continues to find justification for his new-found joy: And, in truth, my love of nature is still left to me and has added to itself a sober quality born of my experience of human life. And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, Forbode not any severing of our loves! Even more than when I tripped lightly as The innocent brightness of a new-born day The clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. William Wordsworth 281 TO AN INDEPENDENT PREACHER WHO PREACHED THAT WE SHOULD BE "IN HARMONY WITH N harmony with Nature"? Restless fool, "Who with such heat dost preach what were to thee, When true, the last impossibility; To be like Nature strong, like Nature cool:— Nature is stubborn; man would fain adore: 282 MORALITY Matthew Arnold E cannot kindle when we will WE The fire which in the heart resides, The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides; But tasks in hours of insight willed Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled. With aching hands and bleeding feet. We bear the burden and the heat |