410
  Pines, on the coast, through mist their tops uprear,
  That like to leaning masts of stranded ships appear. 
  A single chasm, a gulf of gloomy blue,
  Gapes in the centre of the sea—­and through
  That dark mysterious gulf ascending, sound 415
  Innumerable streams with roar profound. [109]
  Mount through the nearer vapours notes of birds,
  And merry flageolet; the low of herds,
  The bark of dogs, the heifer’s tinkling bell,
  Talk, laughter, and perchance a church-tower knell:  [110] 420
  Think not, the peasant from aloft has gazed
  And heard with heart unmoved, with soul unraised:  [111]
  Nor is his spirit less enrapt, nor less
  Alive to independent happiness, [112]
  Then, when he lies, out-stretched, at even-tide 425
  Upon the fragrant mountain’s purple side:  [113]
  For as the pleasures of his simple day
  Beyond his native valley seldom stray,
  Nought round its darling precincts can he find
  But brings some past enjoyment to his mind; 430
  While Hope, reclining upon Pleasure’s urn, [114]
  Binds her wild wreaths, and whispers his return.

    Once, Man entirely free, alone and wild,
  Was blest as free—­for he was Nature’s child. 
  He, all superior but his God disdained, 435
  Walked none restraining, and by none restrained: 
  Confessed no law but what his reason taught,
  Did all he wished, and wished but what he ought. 
  As man in his primeval dower arrayed
  The image of his glorious Sire displayed, 440
  Even so, by faithful [115] Nature guarded, here
  The traces of primeval Man appear;
  The simple [116] dignity no forms debase;
  The eye sublime, and surly lion-grace: 
  The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord, 445
  His book he prizes, nor neglects his sword; [117]
 —­Well taught by that to feel his rights, prepared
  With this “the blessings he enjoys to guard.” [X]

    And, as his native hills encircle ground
  For many a marvellous [118] victory renowned, 450
  The work of Freedom daring to oppose,
  With few in arms, [Y] innumerable foes,
  When to those famous [119] fields his steps are led,
  An unknown power connects him with the dead: 
  For images of other worlds are there; 455
  Awful the light, and holy is the air. 
  Fitfully, and in flashes, through his soul,
  Like sun-lit tempests, troubled transports roll;
  His bosom heaves, his Spirit towers amain, [120]
  Beyond the senses and their little reign. 460