He had really left Verona for the cornfields (a poor theft From the morass) where Este's camp was made. The Envoys' march, the Legate's cavalcade-- All had been seen by him, but scarce as when,-- Eager for cause to stand aloof from men At every point save the fantastic tie Acknowledged in his boyish sophistry,-- He made account of such. A crowd,--he meant To task the whole of it; each part's intent Concerned him therefore: and, the more he pried, The less became Sordello satisfied With his own figure at the moment. Sought He respite from his task? Descried he aught Novel in the anticipated sight Of all these livers upon all delight? This phalanx, as of myriad points combined, Whereby he still had imaged the mankind His youth was passed in dreams of rivalling, His age--in plans to prove at least such thing Had been so dreamed,--which now he must impress With his own will, effect a happiness By theirs,--supply a body to his soul Thence, and become eventually whole With them as he had hoped to be without-- [Sidenote: Finds in men no machine for his sake,] Made these the mankind he once raved about? Because a few of them were notable, Should all be figured worthy note? As well Expect to find Taurello's triple line Of trees a single and prodigious pine. Real pines rose here and there; but, close among, Thrust into and mixed up with pines, a throng Of shrubs, he saw,--a nameless common sort O'erpast in dreams, left out of the report And hurried into corners, or at best Admitted to be fancied like the rest. Reckon that morning's proper chiefs--how few! And yet the people grew, the people grew, Grew ever, as if the many there indeed, More left behind and most who should succeed,-- Simply in virtue of their mouths and eyes, Petty enjoyments and huge miseries,-- Mingled with, and made veritably great Those chiefs: he overlooked not Mainard's state Nor Concorezzi's station, but instead Of stopping there, each dwindled to be head Of infinite and absent Tyrolese Or Paduans; startling all the more, that these Seemed passive and disposed of, uncared for, Yet doubtless on the whole (like Eglamor) Smiling; for if a wealthy man decays And out of store of robes must wear, all days, One tattered suit, alike in sun and shade, 'Tis commonly some tarnished gay brocade Fit for a feast-night's flourish and no more: Nor otherwise poor Misery from her store Of looks is fain upgather, keep unfurled For common wear as she goes through the world, The faint remainder of some worn-out smile Meant for a feast-night's service merely. While Crowd upon crowd rose on Sordello thus,-- (Crowds no way interfering to discuss, Much less dispute, life's joys with one employed