WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

��FRIEND ! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest

For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,

Or groom ! We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the best :

No grandeur now in nature or in book

IDelights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry ; and these we adore : Plain living and high thinking are no more : The homely beauty of the good old cause

Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.

�� ��ILTON ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen

Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ;

O raise us up, return to us again, And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power ! Thy* soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart ;

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea :

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,

So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart

The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

�� �