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The poetical works of William Wordsworth

... In six volumes ... A new edition

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From that abstraction I was roused,—and how?
Even as a thoughtful shepherd by a flash
Of lightning startled in a gloomy cave
Of these wild hills. For, lo! the dread Bastile,
With all the chambers in its horrid towers,
Fell to the ground:—by violence overthrown
Of indignation; and with shouts that drowned
The crash it made in falling! From the wreck
A golden palace rose, or seemed to rise,
The appointed seat of equitable law
And mild paternal sway. The potent shock
I felt: the transformation I perceived,
As marvellously seized as in that moment
When, from the blind mist issuing, I beheld

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Glory—beyond all glory ever seen,
Confusion infinite of heaven and earth,
Dazzling the soul. Meanwhile, prophetic harps
In every grove were ringing, ‘War shall cease;
‘Did ye not hear that conquest is abjured?
‘Bring garlands, bring forth choicest flowers, to deck
‘The tree of Liberty.’—My heart rebounded;
My melancholy voice the chorus joined;
—‘Be joyful all ye nations; in all lands,
‘Ye that are capable of joy be glad!
‘Henceforth, whate'er is wanting to yourselves
‘In others ye shall promptly find;—and all,
‘Enriched by mutual and reflected wealth,
‘Shall with one heart honour their common kind.’