Confuses me, and all in him is strange.
That bronzed old Sailor, with his wig awry—
Sure he will know me! No, he passes by.
They seem like me in doubt; but they can call
Their friends around them—I am lost to all.
The very place is alter’d. What I left
Seems of its space and dignity bereft:
The streets are narrow, and the buildings mean;
Did I, or Fancy, leave them broad and clean? 80
The ancient church, in which I felt a pride,