William Wordsworth, born in 1770 and a "blissful" twentytwo when in Paris in the Year One of the new Republic, has given us The Prelude (1805), a very intelligible retrospective account of his enthusiasm and commitment during the heavenly dawn of the great Rebellion called the French Revolution. But he also hints, rather ambiguously, at involvement in some pathetic abortive rebellion during his "Residence in France," some murderous scheme of action in which, if he had continued in France, he might have "perished.... A poor mistaken and bewildered offering."