335
  What was not understood, though known to be;
  Among the mysteries of love and hate,
  Honour and shame, looking to right and left,
  Unchecked by innocence too delicate,
  And moral notions too intolerant, 340
  Sympathies too contracted.  Hence, when called
  To take a station among men, the step
  Was easier, the transition more secure,
  More profitable also; for, the mind
  Learns from such timely exercise to keep 345
  In wholesome separation the two natures,
  The one that feels, the other that observes.

    Yet one word more of personal concern—­
  Since I withdrew unwillingly from France,
  I led an undomestic wanderer’s life, 350
  In London chiefly harboured, whence I roamed,
  Tarrying at will in many a pleasant spot
  Of rural England’s cultivated vales
  Or Cambrian solitudes. [H] A youth—­(he bore
  The name of Calvert [I]—­it shall live, if words 355
  Of mine can give it life,) in firm belief
  That by endowments not from me withheld
  Good might be furthered—­in his last decay
  By a bequest sufficient for my needs
  Enabled me to pause for choice, and walk 360
  At large and unrestrained, nor damped too soon
  By mortal cares.  Himself no Poet, yet
  Far less a common follower of the world,
  He deemed that my pursuits and labours lay
  Apart from all that leads to wealth, or even 365
  A necessary maintenance insures,
  Without some hazard to the finer sense;
  He cleared a passage for me, and the stream
  Flowed in the bent of Nature. [K]
                                 Having now
  Told what best merits mention, further pains 370
  Our present purpose seems not to require,
  And I have other tasks.  Recall to mind
  The mood in which this labour was begun,
  O Friend!  The termination of my course
  Is nearer now, much nearer; yet even then, 375
  In that distraction and intense desire,
  I said unto the life which I had lived,
  Where art thou?  Hear I not a voice from thee
  Which ’tis reproach to hear?  Anon I rose
  As if on wings, and saw beneath me stretched 380
  Vast prospect of the world which I had been
  And was; and hence this Song, which like a lark
  I have protracted, in the unwearied heavens
  Singing, and often with more plaintive voice
  To earth attempered and her deep-drawn sighs, 385
  Yet centring all in love, and in the end
  All gratulant, if rightly understood.