own,
  Half-rural Sadler’s Wells? [Q] Though at that time
  Intolerant, as is the way of youth
  Unless itself be pleased, here more than once
  Taking my seat, I saw (nor blush to add, 270
  With ample recompense) giants and dwarfs,
  Clowns, conjurors, posture-masters, harlequins,
  Amid the uproar of the rabblement,
  Perform their feats.  Nor was it mean delight
  To watch crude Nature work in untaught minds; 275
  To note the laws and progress of belief;
  Though obstinate on this way, yet on that
  How willingly we travel, and how far! 
  To have, for instance, brought upon the scene
  The champion, Jack the Giant-killer:  Lo! 280
  He dons his coat of darkness; on the stage
  Walks, and achieves his wonders, from the eye
  Of living Mortal covert, “as the moon
  Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.” [R]
  Delusion bold! and how can it be wrought? 285
  The garb he wears is black as death, the word
  “Invisible” flames forth upon his chest.

    Here, too, were “forms and pressures of the time,” [S]
  Rough, bold, as Grecian comedy displayed
  When Art was young; dramas of living men, 290
  And recent things yet warm with life; a sea-fight,
  Shipwreck, or some domestic incident
  Divulged by Truth and magnified by Fame,
  Such as the daring brotherhood of late
  Set forth, too serious theme for that light place—­295
  I mean, O distant Friend! a story drawn
  From our own ground,—­the Maid of Buttermere,—­[T]
  And how, unfaithful to a virtuous wife
  Deserted and deceived, the spoiler came
  And wooed the artless daughter of the hills, 300
  And wedded her, in cruel mockery
  Of love and marriage bonds. [U] These words to thee
  Must needs bring back the moment when we first,
  Ere the broad world rang with the maiden’s name,
  Beheld her serving at the cottage inn, 305
  Both stricken, as she entered or withdrew,
  With admiration of her modest mien
  And carriage, marked by unexampled grace. 
  We since that time not unfamiliarly
  Have seen her,—­her discretion have observed, 310
  Her just opinions, delicate reserve,
  Her patience, and humility of mind
  Unspoiled by commendation and the excess
  Of public notice—­an offensive light
  To a meek spirit suffering inwardly. 315

    From this memorial tribute to my theme
  I was returning, when, with sundry forms
  Commingled—­shapes which met me in the way
  That we must tread—­thy image rose again,
  Maiden of Buttermere!  She lives in peace 320
  Upon the spot where she was born and reared;
  Without contamination doth she live