Poem by William Wordsworth

Roman Antiquities Discovered at Bishopstone, Herefordshire

WHILE poring antiquarians search the ground
Upturned with curious pains, the bard, a seer,
Takes fire,—the men that have been reappear;
Romans for travel girt, for business gowned;
And some recline on couches, myrtle-crowned,
In festal glee: why not? For fresh and clear,
As if its hues were of the passing year,
Dawns this time-buried pavement. From that mound
Hoards may come forth of Trajans, Maximins,
Shrunk into coins with all their warlike toil;
Or a fierce impress issues with its foil
Of tenderness,—the wolf, whose suckling twins
The unlettered ploughboy pities when he wins
The casual treasure from the furrowed soil.

1. Processions
2. Monastery of Old Bangor
3. On Revisiting Dunolly Castle
4. Inside of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge: Continued
5. In Sight of the Town of Cockermouth

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