Bounds calm and clear the chaos still and hoar;
  Loud thro’ that midway gulf ascending, sound
  Unnumber’d streams with hollow roar profound. 505
  Mounts thro’ the nearer mist the chaunt of birds,
  And talking voices, and the low of herds,
  The bark of dogs, the drowsy tinkling bell,
  And wild-wood mountain lutes of saddest swell. 
  Think not, suspended from the cliff on high 510
  He looks below with undelighted eye. 
 —­No vulgar joy is his, at even tide
  Stretch’d on the scented mountain’s purple side. 
  For as the pleasures of his simple day
  Beyond his native valley hardly stray, 515
  Nought round it’s darling precincts can he find
  But brings some past enjoyment to his mind,
  While Hope that ceaseless leans on Pleasure’s urn
  Binds her wild wreathes, and whispers his return.

  Once Man entirely free, alone and wild, 520
  Was bless’d as free—­for he was Nature’s child. 
  He, all superior but his God disdain’d,
  Walk’d none restraining, and by none restrain’d,
  Confess’d no law but what his reason taught,
  Did all he wish’d, and wish’d but what he ought. 525
  As Man in his primaeval dower array’d
  The image of his glorious sire display’d,
  Ev’n so, by vestal Nature guarded, here
  The traces of primaeval Man appear. 
  The native dignity no forms debase, 530
  The eye sublime, and surly lion-grace. 
  The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord,
  He marches with his flute, his book, and sword,
  Well taught by that to feel his rights, prepar’d
  With this “the blessings he enjoys to guard.” 535

  And as on glorious ground he draws his breath,
  Where Freedom oft, with Victory and Death,
  Hath seen in grim array amid their Storms
  Mix’d with auxiliar Rocks, three [X] hundred Forms;
  While twice ten thousand corselets at the view 540
  Dropp’d loud at once, Oppression shriek’d, and flew. 
  Oft as those sainted Rocks before him spread,
  An unknown power connects him with the dead. 
  For images of other worlds are there,
  Awful the light, and holy is the air. 545
  Uncertain thro’ his fierce uncultur’d soul
  Like lighted tempests troubled transports roll;
  To viewless realms his Spirit towers amain,
  Beyond the senses and their little reign.

  And oft, when pass’d that solemn vision by, 550
  He holds with God himself communion high,
  When the dread peal of swelling torrents fills
  The sky-roof’d temple of th’ eternal hills,
  And savage Nature humbly joins the rite,
  While flash her upward eyes severe delight. 555
  Or gazing from the mountain’s silent