After mentioning, in his account of the ascent, such an incident as a dog unearthing a hedgehog, with "barkings turbulent," he gives the following sketch of the scene before them, as they reached the summit.
"The moon hung naked in a firmament
Of azure without cloud, and at my feet
Rested a silent sea of hoary mist.
A hundred hills their dusky backs upheaved
All over this still ocean; and beyond,
Far, far beyond, the solid vapours stretched
In headlands, tongues, and promontory shapes,
Into the main Atlantic, that appeared
To dwindle and give up his Majesty,
Usurped upon far as the sight could reach.
Not so the ethereal vault; encroachment none
Was there, nor loss; only the inferior stars
Had disappeared, or shed a fainter light
In the clear presence of the full-orbed moon,
Who, from her sovereign elevation, gazed
Upon the billowy ocean, as it lay
All meek and silent, save that through a rift—
Not distant from the shore whereon we stood,
A fixed, abysmal, gloomy, breathing place
Mounted the roar of waters, torrents, streams
Innumerable roaring with one voice!
Heard over earth and sea, and in that hour,
For so it seemed, felt by the starry heavens."
A few passages, almost equal to this magnificent description, might be extracted from "The Prelude," and standing in strange contrast to the remainder of the poem, would go far to establish what we have always held of Wordsworth—that he has written some of the very best, and some of the very worst poetry in the language.
After his tour in Wales, he started for the Continent, intending to spend some time at Orleans, and remained a few days at Paris on his way. He has given us, in "The Prelude," an account of his residence in France, as well as that in London. It appears that, until this sojourn of four months, he had before been only "a transient
