with one,
  The Minstrel of the Troop, and left him there, [N]
  And rowed off gently, while he blew his flute
  Alone upon the rock—­oh, then, the calm 170
  And dead still water lay upon my mind
  Even with a weight of pleasure, and the sky,
  Never before so beautiful, sank down
  Into my heart, and held me like a dream! 
  Thus were my sympathies enlarged, and thus 175
  Daily the common range of visible things
  Grew dear to me:  already I began
  To love the sun; a boy I loved the sun,
  Not as I since have loved him, as a pledge
  And surety of our earthly life, a light 180
  Which we behold and feel we are alive; [O]
  Nor for his bounty to so many worlds—­
  But for this cause, that I had seen him lay
  His beauty on the morning hills, had seen
  The western mountain [P] touch his setting orb, 185
  In many a thoughtless hour, when, from excess
  Of happiness, my blood appeared to flow
  For its own pleasure, and I breathed with joy. 
  And, from like feelings, humble though intense,
  To patriotic and domestic love 190
  Analogous, the moon to me was dear;
  For I could dream away my purposes,
  Standing to gaze upon her while she hung
  Midway between the hills, as if she knew
  No other region, but belonged to thee, [Q] 195
  Yea, appertained by a peculiar right
  To thee and thy grey huts, thou one dear Vale! [R]

    Those incidental charms which first attached
  My heart to rural objects, day by day
  Grew weaker, and I hasten on to tell 200
  How Nature, intervenient till this time
  And secondary, now at length was sought
  For her own sake.  But who shall parcel out
  His intellect by geometric rules,
  Split like a province into round and square? 205
  Who knows the individual hour in which
  His habits were first sown, even as a seed? 
  Who that shall point as with a wand and say
  “This portion of the river of my mind
  Came from yon fountain?” [S] Thou, my Friend! art one 210
  More deeply read in thy own thoughts; to thee
  Science appears but what in truth she is,
  Not as our glory and our absolute boast,
  But as a succedaneum, and a prop
  To our infirmity.  No officious slave 215
  Art thou of that false secondary power
  By which we multiply distinctions; then,
  Deem that our puny boundaries are things
  That we perceive, and not that we have made. 
  To thee, unblinded by these formal arts, 220
  The unity of all hath been revealed,
  And thou wilt doubt, with me less aptly skilled
  Than many are to range the faculties