No more:  for now into a populous plain
  We must descend.  A Traveller I am,
  Whose tale is only of himself; even so,
  So be it, if the pure of heart be prompt 200
  To follow, and if thou, my honoured Friend! 
  Who in these thoughts art ever at my side,
  Support, as heretofore, my fainting steps.

    It hath been told, that when the first delight
  That flashed upon me from this novel show 205
  Had failed, the mind returned into herself;
  Yet true it is, that I had made a change
  In climate, and my nature’s outward coat
  Changed also slowly and insensibly. 
  Full oft the quiet and exalted thoughts 210
  Of loneliness gave way to empty noise
  And superficial pastimes; now and then
  Forced labour, and more frequently forced hopes;
  And, worst of all, a treasonable growth
  Of indecisive judgments, that impaired 215
  And shook the mind’s simplicity.—­And yet
  This was a gladsome time.  Could I behold—­
  Who, less insensible than sodden clay
  In a sea-river’s bed at ebb of tide,
  Could have beheld,—­with undelighted heart, 220
  So many happy youths, so wide and fair
  A congregation in its budding-time
  Of health, and hope, and beauty, all at once
  So many divers samples from the growth
  Of life’s sweet season—­could have seen unmoved 225
  That miscellaneous garland of wild flowers
  Decking the matron temples of a place
  So famous through the world?  To me, at least,
  It was a goodly prospect:  for, in sooth,
  Though I had learnt betimes to stand unpropped, 230
  And independent musings pleased me so
  That spells seemed on me when I was alone,
  Yet could I only cleave to solitude
  In lonely places; if a throng was near
  That way I leaned by nature; for my heart 235
  Was social, and loved idleness and joy.

    Not seeking those who might participate
  My deeper pleasures (nay, I had not once,
  Though not unused to mutter lonesome songs,
  Even with myself divided such delight, 240
  Or looked that way for aught that might be clothed
  In human language), easily I passed
  From the remembrances of better things,
  And slipped into the ordinary works
  Of careless youth, unburthened, unalarmed. 245
  Caverns there were within my mind which sun
  Could never penetrate, yet did there not
  Want store of leafy arbours where the light
  Might enter in at will.  Companionships,
  Friendships, acquaintances, were welcome all. 250
  We sauntered, played, or rioted; we talked
  Unprofitable talk at morning hours;