660 And, sooth, for Benjamin a vein Is opened of still deeper pain, As if his heart by notes were stung From out the lowly hedge-rows flung; As if the warbler lost in light [L] 665 Reproved his soarings of the night, In strains of rapture pure and holy Upbraided his distempered folly.

As a boy he had loved to watch the soaring of the golden eagles, and once he had seen a great wide-winged condor, swooping along a mountain-crest.