Of courage, or integrity, or truth, 600
  Or tenderness, which there, set off by foil,
  Appeared more touching.  One will I select;
  A Father—­for he bore that sacred name—­
  Him saw I, sitting in an open square,
  Upon a corner-stone of that low wall, 605
  Wherein were fixed the iron pales that fenced
  A spacious grass-plot; there, in silence, sate
  This One Man, with a sickly babe outstretched
  Upon his knee, whom he had thither brought
  For sunshine, and to breathe the fresher air. 610
  Of those who passed, and me who looked at him,
  He took no heed; but in his brawny arms
  (The Artificer was to the elbow bare,
  And from his work this moment had been stolen)
  He held the child, and, bending over it, 615
  As if he were afraid both of the sun
  And of the air, which he had come to seek,
  Eyed the poor babe with love unutterable.

    As the black storm upon the mountain top
  Sets off the sunbeam in the valley, so 620
  That huge fermenting mass of human-kind
  Serves as a solemn back-ground, or relief,
  To single forms and objects, whence they draw,
  For feeling and contemplative regard,
  More than inherent liveliness and power. 625
  How oft, amid those overflowing streets,
  Have I gone forward with the crowd, and said
  Unto myself, “The face of every one
  That passes by me is a mystery!”
  Thus have I looked, nor ceased to look, oppressed 630
  By thoughts of what and whither, when and how,
  Until the shapes before my eyes became
  A second-sight procession, such as glides
  Over still mountains, or appears in dreams;
  And once, far-travelled in such mood, beyond 635
  The reach of common indication, lost
  Amid the moving pageant, I was smitten
  Abruptly, with the view (a sight not rare)
  Of a blind Beggar, who, with upright face,
  Stood, propped against a wall, upon his chest 640
  Wearing a written paper, to explain
  His story, whence he came, and who he was. 
  Caught by the spectacle my mind turned round
  As with the might of waters; an apt type
  This label seemed of the utmost we can know, 645
  Both of ourselves and of the universe;
  And, on the shape of that unmoving man,
  His steadfast face and sightless eyes, I gazed,
  As if admonished from another world.

    Though reared upon the base of outward things, 650
  Structures like these the excited spirit mainly
  Builds for herself; scenes different there are,
  Full-formed, that take, with small internal help,
  Possession of the faculties,—­the peace
  That comes with night; the deep solemnity