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1770–1850

XIII

William Wordsworth

Praised be the Rivers, from their mountain springs Shouting to Freedom, “Plant thy banners here! " To harassed Piety, “Dismiss thy fear, “And in our caverns smooth thy ruffled wings!”

Nor be unthanked their final lingerings — Silent, but not to high-souled Passion's ear — ‘ Mid reedy fens wide-spread and marshes drear, Their own creation. Such glad welcomings

As Po was heard to give where Venice rose Hailed from aloft those Heirs of truth divine Who near his fountains sought obscure repose, Yet cameprepared as glorious lights to shine,

Should that be needed for their sacred Charge; Blest Prisoners They, whose spirits wereat large!

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XIII · William Wordsworth · Poetry Cove