[a]
  This faithful guide, speaking from his death-bed,
  Added no farewell to his parting counsel,
  But said to me, “My head will soon lie low;”
  And when I saw the turf that covered him, 540
  After the lapse of full eight years, [b] those words,
  With sound of voice and countenance of the Man,
  Came back upon me, so that some few tears
  Fell from me in my own despite.  But now
  I thought, still traversing that widespread plain, 545
  With tender pleasure of the verses graven
  Upon his tombstone, whispering to myself: 
  He loved the Poets, and, if now alive,
  Would have loved me, as one not destitute
  Of promise, nor belying the kind hope 550
  That he had formed, when I, at his command,
  Began to spin, with toil, my earliest songs. [c]

  As I advanced, all that I saw or felt
  Was gentleness and peace.  Upon a small
  And rocky island near, a fragment stood 555
  (Itself like a sea rock) the low remains
  (With shells encrusted, dark with briny weeds)
  Of a dilapidated structure, once
  A Romish chapel, [d] where the vested priest
  Said matins at the hour that suited those 560
  Who crossed the sands with ebb of morning tide. 
  Not far from that still ruin all the plain
  Lay spotted with a variegated crowd
  Of vehicles and travellers, horse and foot,
  Wading beneath the conduct of their guide 565
  In loose procession through the shallow stream
  Of inland waters; the great sea meanwhile
  Heaved at safe distance, far retired.  I paused,
  Longing for skill to paint a scene so bright
  And cheerful, but the foremost of the band 570
  As he approached, no salutation given
  In the familiar language of the day,
  Cried, “Robespierre is dead!”—­nor was a doubt,
  After strict question, left within my mind
  That he and his supporters all were fallen. 575

    Great was my transport, deep my gratitude
  To everlasting Justice, by this fiat
  Made manifest.  “Come now, ye golden times,”
  Said I forth-pouring on those open sands
  A hymn of triumph:  “as the morning comes 580
  From out the bosom of the night, come ye: 
  Thus far our trust is verified; behold! 
  They who with clumsy desperation brought
  A river of Blood, and preached that nothing else
  Could cleanse the Augean stable, by the might 585
  Of their own helper have been swept away;
  Their madness stands declared and visible;
  Elsewhere will safety now be sought, and earth
  March firmly towards righteousness and peace.”—­
  Then schemes I framed more calmly, when and how 590
  The madding factions might be tranquillised,