"The glory of the times fading away-- The splendour, which had given a festal air To self-importance, hallowed it, and veiled 295 From his own sight--this gone, he forfeited[139] All joy in human nature; was consumed, And vexed, and chafed, by levity and scorn, And fruitless indignation; galled by pride; Made desperate by contempt of men who throve 300 Before his sight in power or fame, and won, Without desert, what he desired; weak men, Too weak even for his envy or his hate! Tormented thus, after a wandering course Of discontent, and inwardly opprest[140] 305 With malady--in part, I fear, provoked By weariness of life--he fixed his home, Or, rather say, sate down by very chance, Among these rugged hills; where now he dwells, And wastes the sad remainder of his hours, 310 Steeped in a self-indulging spleen, that wants not[141] Its own voluptuousness;--on this resolved, With this content, that he will live and die Forgotten,--at safe distance from 'a world Not moving to his mind.'"[BP] These serious words 315 Closed the preparatory notices That served my Fellow-traveller to beguile[142] The way, while we advanced up that wide vale.[BQ] Diverging now (as if his quest had been[143] Some secret of the mountains, cavern, fall 320 Of water, or some lofty eminence,[144] Renowned for splendid prospect far and wide) We scaled, without a track to ease our steps, A steep ascent;[BR] and reached a dreary plain,[145][BS] With a tumultuous waste of huge hill tops 325 Before us;[BT] savage region! which I paced Dispirited:[146] when, all at once, behold! Beneath our feet, a little lowly vale,[BU] A lowly vale, and yet uplifted high Among the mountains; even as if the spot 330 Had been from eldest time by wish of theirs So placed, to be shut out from all the world! Urn-like it was in shape, deep as an urn;[BU] With rocks encompassed, save that to the south 334 Was one small opening,[BV] where a heath-clad ridge Supplied a boundary less abrupt and close; A quiet treeless nook, with two green fields,[BW] A liquid pool that glittered in the sun,[BX] And one bare dwelling; one abode, no more![BY] It seemed the home of poverty and toil, 340 Though not of want: the little fields, made green By husbandry of many thrifty years, Paid cheerful tribute to the moorland house. --There crows the cock, single in his domain: The small birds find in spring no thicket there 345 To shroud them; only from the neighbouring vales The cuckoo, straggling up to the hill tops, Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place.