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XIX

  There is a bondage which is worse to bear
  Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall,
  Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
  'Tis his who walks about in the open air,
  One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear
  Their fetters in their Souls. For who could be,
  Who, even the best, in such condition, free
  From self-reproach, reproach which he must share
  With Human Nature? Never be it ours
  To see the Sun how brightly it will shine,
  And know that noble Feelings, manly Powers,
  Instead of gathering strength must droop and pine,
  And Earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers
  Fade, and participate in Man's decline.

Literature Network » William Wordsworth » Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1 » XIX