Would draw out of his heart the mysteries[352] And admirations that were there, of God And of his works: or, yielding to the bent Of his peculiar humour, would let loose His tongue, and give it the wind’s freedom; then, Discoursing on remote imaginations, strong Conceits, devices, plans, and schemes,[353] Of alterations human hands might make Among the mountains, fens which might be drained, Mines opened, forests planted, and rocks split, The fancies of a solitary man.[354] Not with a waste of words, but for the sake Of pleasure which I know that I shall give To many living now, have I described Old Michael’s manners and discourse, and thus Minutely spoken of that aged Lamp Round which the Shepherd and his household sate --The light was famous in the neighbourhood And was a public symbol … Then follow four pages of Dorothy Wordsworth’s Journal (May 4th and 5th, 1802); and then, irregularly written, and with numerous erasures, the remainder of these unpublished lines. … At length the boy Said, “Father, ’tis lost labour; with your leave I will go back and range a second time The grounds which we have hunted through before.” So saying, homeward, down the hill the boy Sprang like a gust of wind: [and with a heart Brimful of glory said within himself, “I know where I shall find him, though the storm Have driven him twenty miles.” For ye must know][355] that though the storm Drive one of those poor creatures miles and miles, If he can crawl, he will return again To his own hills, the spots where when a lamb He learned to pasture at his mother’s side. Bethinking him of this, again the boy Pursued his way toward a brook, whose course Was through that unfenced tract of mountain ground Which to his father’s little farm belonged, The home and ancient birthright of their flock. Down the deep channel of the stream he went, Prying through every nook. Meanwhile the rain Began to fall upon the mountain tops, Thick storm, and heavy, which for three hours’ space Abated not; and all that time the boy Was busy in his search, until at length He spied the sheep upon a plot of grass, An island in the brook. It was a place Remote and deep, piled round with rocks, where foot Of man or beast was seldom used to tread. But now, when everywhere the summer grass Began to fail, this sheep by hunger pressed Had left his fellows, made his way alone To the green plot of pasture in the brook. Before the boy knew well what he had seen He leapt upon the island, with proud heart, And with a shepherd’s joy. Immediately The sheep sprang forward to the further shore, And was borne headlong by the roaring flood. At this the boy looked round him, and his heart Fainted with fear. Thrice did he turn his face