PKTJ0nx 12383-8.txtrW-+BP⾠`j,[pP%E-B( @*| N `#k~kY$Plrf3ry}ʿIk,:zUQ9.2mIGo?ey "We^{h4D yVG)-1-uź,RSL6I@F6eg|Z{Ee&O_~F>a-c{i,&n'? '?>t'O|~6Yռy\N(-&etS":}]Σgvq;Y>FFߏOOgo\GO." G~9I[uGqє $ͳټٱόؓr1:&y&4͏k,f8>2-7g2-$RGM-ֲЦndE.w5LLF.ͣbe@n՞yRW, Ï>>ڴ4FF}{}Gmj:{~)-]JHVDc^rP*{ٙFI{ [hwLWN45Szh#;Hw\zO Ȟǹ`#5X̝OrA8yyƒew{u,XWSy3O W2(qRû8/ q$jW-hE;Z^e*%,ZT>vpqzW{x;vm?cϟ* ^bZl"^_n֗zb9-NR; ˪|Y0`E[f+0d p3`N$#3#_ebmG{=:ҧE;i _E,ٚ(:8 eyW25FI\ Ab`وuqѢ\ovaHy+ 4] ʳMLv?qe[cʼn *.+/P$pc1O*^f(f# v2Oje y}{D,|/S9L Բ"t#(@Y$jI2Ie43#FB,Yi5b!E*7>|#3!j[ 5SkK4rT2l[k"KLT>p6Vx=l!ޱ8r?V?܌sY.At\2y0:o_aڞLa aeTYqSi×mx" 3W&+0)Vf2Y<~EfvK7Gź^ ,Xw<rb8RFm#t)OzD~,\y&@]p1ras5G m]rS>3> ]acjGe 4ϾOkg#9Σ /#ϿYD{=O [}w3OY078?>&ʃhgeRe/^nB'v=.U߼ _|j_n_ܚ_~f_~wWΊNOC7Sѵ)z[_Fp.Ĵvrtk^KC,"pJ2(9KLQ@\L`] Z0G՚? vQR/s-F%f==]! ÇL]e{Q#] BDb4Z O'r{AXlbMM\qÃtiQš>W.,OfW>?>RW4QqfV0:Pi r۷c!6-hu47{;0k& 9%ex)p/6`]!eDJǟ.KX?-UQ5)ʜ˳tO[9x|EG3 \oVYD+'î(/f gDQ\8P˛Om<6 o:|HW/qʖzp U+7G8ABdUpc'dTr3@@#f VwHD$Q1S82oJ } 7^n; <Ԥb؈0 vep 1}%cMe[,B;#y^ ֜P R2 e)4Ge2d],Ҙ4[00[Dc\aۤ-s-=Yh,|a灿bsB?ix*.{a8<ӻu࿜E?9:;z?pO{w] V4dMessage Error which has the following error subcodes: 1 Invalid Action Value 2 Invalid Capability Length 3 Malformed Capability Value If the Action field of a received CAPABILITY message is other than 0 or 1, then a NOTIFICATION message with the error subcode "Invalid Action Value" MUST be sent and the data field of the NOTIFICATION message MUST contain the erroneous Action field. If the Capability Length field of a received CAPABILITY message is incorrect for a Capability Code, then a NOTIFICATION message with the error subcode "Invalid Capability Length" MUST be sent and the data field of the NOTIFICATION message MUST contain the Capability Code and the Capability Length fields. If the Capability Value field of a received CAPABILITY message is malformed (the definition of "malformed" depends on the Capability Code), then a NOTIFICATION message with the error subcode "Malformed Capability Value" MUST be sent and the data field of the NOTIFICATION message MUST contain the Capability Code, Capability Length, and the Capability Value fields. 7. Operation A BGP speaker that is willing to receive the CAPABILITY message from its peer should advertise the Dynamic Capability to the peer using BGP Capabilities advertisement [BGP-CAP]. A BGP speaker may send a CAPABILITY message to its peer only if it has received the Dynamic Capability from its peer. The Dynamic Capability itself can not be revised dynamically via a CAPABILITY message. The lifetime of the Dynamic Capability is the duration of the BGP session in which the capability is advertised. Chen & Sangli [Page 3] Internet Draft draft-ietf-idr-dynamic-cap-02.txt April 2002 Upon receiving a CAPABILITY message from its peer, the BGP speaker shall update the capabilities previously received from that peer based on the "Action" in the message, and then function in accordance with the revised capabilities for the peer. Any unrecognized capabilities in the message should be ignored. It is noted that the dynamic capability update may not be feasible and should be disallowed for some capabilities. One example is the four-byte AS number capability [BGP-4BYTE-AS] as its dynamic update could introduce ambiguity in parsing the UPDATE messages. 8. IANA Considerations This document uses a BGP Capability code to indicate that a BGP speaker supports the Dynamic Capability. The Capability code has been assigned by IANA per RFC 2842. 9. Intellectual Property Considerations Cisco Systems may seek patent or other intellectual property protection for some of all of the technologies disclosed in this document. If any standards arising from this document are or become protected by one or more patents assigned to Cisco Systems, Cisco intends to disclose those patents and license them on reasonable and non-discriminatory terms. 10. Security Considerations This extension to BGP does not change the underlying security issues. 11. Acknowledgments The authors would like to thank Yakov Rekhter, Ravi Chandra, Dino Farinacci, Pedro Marques and Chandrashekhar Appanna for their review and comments. We also would like to thank Bruno Rijsman for suggesting the initial text for the Error Handling section. Chen & Sangli [Page 4] Internet Draft draft-ietf-idr-dynamic-cap-02.txt April 2002 12. References [BGP-4] Y. Rekhter, and T. Li, "A Border Gateway Protocol 4 (BGP-4)", RFC 1771, March 1995. [BGP-MP] T. Bates, R. Chandra, D. Katz, and Y. Rekhter, "Multiprotocol Extensions for BGP-4", RFC 2858, June 2000. [BGP-CAP] R. Chandra, J. Scudder, "Capabilities Advertisement with BGP-4", RFC 2842, May 2000. [BGP-4BYTE-AS] Q. Vohra, E. Chen, "BGP support for four-octet AS number space", Work in Progress, , September 2001. 13. Author Information Enke Chen Redback Networks, Inc. 350 Holger Way San Jose, CA 95134 e-mail: enke@redback.com Srihari R. Sangli Procket Networks, Inc. 1100 Cadillac Court Milpitas, CA 95035 e-mail: srihari@procket.com Chen & Sangli [Page 5] s}H{ˠ}t:wL:ѱ@HR}\i5f}LRHl.V3聏;:A/~jqEE@ކYjl _O|?ҡQU{ (C̛hX?cSE^AԭRu;dl$\t=V<]QIW|ʹ2D$zM&'l6G(u r/y_ ~xTjfZʰA* uVb̄Mj=mB_uE6' ?xꗏܖ<*o۾̖s& ;ۣtd?+<|SCOBsǣě'OsIv7ek _Q2YQL!'+XwTM~7#.˰_qP!2u$Z-jCx+._&ܠ/m4>p+"e_1d.|o |N1F!R7єJs}a`9|s:P09[2qV?H@tԙfܹ5状֊ C3|@ *y\xyHΚJ5Q1V~}M[wDLϥvn٭b)@i.;+E,_7*}C i {?,E,ԛZ.ܣ +5\ڌ*y}CBi*ƪOՈŽҵQ|АY||76!"*0,GF!>9#+x2.t^{pY1|_xPJa\e{DCY3ѐuқ_8~@1ʂ$o|J}]0$~F,# !tt.Hg-G4 } =it1£8]5#CA ͈xT|"H9%NY?zZ#qm6O-E$+B{Nuۦ|_hY\X?Xc83V^kiSHsrDI["ŒG$ӐN:@~RI/]ggA~-,Cd׋/N}X[7gBվreM]f#O,G8cʣ48qcjR .~:{S7 v2ih=f5Lo_#X4ѱКeʹGf&! m[9B/p~I,q>g?p.6pfm^o: lv_g[qnm40!&k :4Sz#~ MN1xbH~3*lQ9(+1ȏۓuDJutre=#0 3JeacX[X7=hΞjEǴfg:rww;Tzw窕g-H?dN1w3+4Lȳ|Kp!Nm.(~=~tNBoeܛo t kںubeqD>zMHOo5Zvg>a 1InK1hIk&F]em)5MգIC g(d֩e 了w-*)_:1s=ڽB =JӀ+U>PAeyL [o̕jAp‡`^2rc%aG;,0(N(miׄb,@(Z͘ق^7zw^)*SH⎰KESC|Kpy_;^+I+s\ gr)xr%gN/ժsG b[ /sqS/"5tgDCA?pG߯hod:*U> )t >zF5c^[Lf )n5kg]Fqs!ؔ #Y=׌m*6s~LxöИi 802HqoeA\ܻlBDxk@4GzŻ[Eu5N挷UTӖIsp~ggEL6v^n&C1Gy0lXC!k" 3i"e,&|1 _3"&xg#1Ώi _dz=n<+ BHx5+zC6.\91}+5`W(x$ c\ Qܵ׵i:3~QCPـ|q+KdXσܰ 8LR]A犢&z(E$REߎn~wru9{)|,Մ3s-p^n 2׮8wg|ɓۢIzC}dIuD/F8u:o? owB>Rli+|*fԬC[yK\M#oC{r<3j6)^~/e.)s˻8.;:/PK'istress; But do not make her love the less. V Neglect me! no, I suffered long From that ill thought; and, being blind, 30 Said, "Pride shall help me in my wrong: Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed:" and that is true; I've wet my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew. 35 VI My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Hopeless of honour and of gain, Oh! do not dread thy mother's door; Think not of me with grief and pain: I now can see with better eyes; 40 And worldly grandeur I despise, And fortune with her gifts and lies. VII Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings, And blasts of heaven will aid their flight; They mount--how short a voyage brings 45 The wanderers back to their delight! Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee. VIII Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, 50 Maimed, mangled by inhuman men; Or thou upon a desert thrown Inheritest the lion's den; Or hast been summoned to the deep, Thou, thou and all thy mates, to keep 55 An incommunicable sleep. IX I look for ghosts; but none will force Their way to me: 'tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between [3] the living and the dead; 60 For, surely, then I should have sight Of him I wait for day and night, With love and longings infinite. X My apprehensions come in crowds; I dread the rustling of the grass; 65 The very shadows of the clouds Have power to shake me as they pass: I question things and do not find One that will answer to my mind; And all the world appears unkind. 70 XI Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: If any chance to heave a sigh, They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send 75 Some tidings that my woes may end; I have no other earthly friend! * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1836. To have despair'd, and have believ'd, And be for evermore beguil'd; 1807.] [Variant 2: 1832. What power hath even ... 1807.] [Variant 3: 1832. Betwixt ... 1807.] * * * * * FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: In the edition of 1807, the title was 'The Affliction of Margaret--of--'; in 1820, it was 'The Affliction of Margaret'; and in 1845, it was as above. In an early MS. it was 'The Affliction of Mary--of--'. For an as yet unpublished Preface to it, see volume viii. of this edition.--Ed.] * * * * * THE FORSAKEN Composed 1804.--Published 1842 [This was an overflow from 'The Affliction of Margaret', and was excluded as superfluous there, but preserved in the faint hope that it may turn to account by restoring a shy lover to some forsaken damsel. My poetry has been complained of as deficient in interests of this sort,--a charge which the piece beginning, "Lyre! though such power do in thy magic live," will scarcely tend to obviate. The natural imagery of these verses was supplied by frequent, I might say intense, observation of the Rydal torrent. What an animating contrast is the ever-changing aspect of that, and indeed of every one of our mountain brooks, to the monotonous tone and unmitigated fury of such streams among the Alps as are fed all the summer long by glaciers and melting snows. A traveller observing the exquisite purity of the great rivers, such as the Rhone at Geneva, and the Reuss at Lucerne, when they issue out of their respective lakes, might fancy for a moment that some power in nature produced this beautiful change, with a view to make amends for those Alpine sullyings which the waters exhibit near their fountain heads; but, alas! how soon does that purity depart before the influx of tributary waters that have flowed through cultivated plains and the crowded abodes of men.--I. F.] Included by Wordsworth among his "Poems founded on the Affections."--Ed. The peace which others seek they find; The heaviest storms not longest last; Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind An amnesty for what is past; When will my sentence be reversed? 5 I only pray to know the worst; And wish as if my heart would burst. O weary struggle! silent years Tell seemingly no doubtful tale; And yet they leave it short, and fears 10 And hopes are strong and will prevail. My calmest faith escapes not pain; And, feeling that the hope is vain, I think that he will come again. * * * * * REPENTANCE A PASTORAL BALLAD Composed 1804.--Published 1820 [Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Suggested by the conversation of our next neighbour, Margaret Ashburner.--I. F.] This "next neighbour" is constantly referred to in Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal. Included in 1820 among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection"; in 1827, and afterwards, it was classed with those "founded on the Affections."--Ed. The fields which with covetous spirit we sold, Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day, Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold, [1] Could we but have been as contented as they. When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I, 5 "Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand; But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,--we'll die [2] Before he shall go with an inch of the land!" There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers; Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide; 10 We could do what we liked [3] with the land, it was ours; And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side. But now we are strangers, go early or late; And often, like one overburthened with sin, With my hand on the latch of the half-opened gate, [4] 15 I look at the fields, but [5] I cannot go in! When I walk by the hedge on a bright summer's day, Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree, A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say, "What ails you, that you must come creeping to me!" 20 With our pastures about us, we could not be sad; Our comfort was near if we ever were crost; But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had, We slighted them all,--and our birth-right was lost. [6] Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son 25 Who must now be a wanderer! but peace to that strain! Think of evening's repose when our labour was done, The sabbath's return; and its leisure's soft chain! And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep, How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood, [7] 30 Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my blood! Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail; And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a sigh, That follows the thought--We've no land in the vale, 35 Save six feet of earth where our forefathers lie! * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1820. the delight of our day, MS. O fools that we were--we had land which we sold MS. O fools that we were without virtue to hold MS. The fields that together contentedly lay Would have done us more good than another man's gold MS.] [Variant 2: 1820. When the bribe of the Tempter beset us, said I, Let him come with his bags proudly grasped in his hand. But, Thomas, be true to me, Thomas, we'll die MS.] [Variant 3: 1836. ... chose ... 1820 and MS.] [Variant 4: 1820. When my hand has half-lifted the latch of the gate, MS.] [Variant 5: 1820. ... and ... MS.] [Variant 6: 1827. But the blessings, and comfort, and wealth that we had, We slighted them all,--and our birth-right was lost. 1820 and MS. But we traitorously gave the best friend that we had For spiritless pelf--as we felt to our cost! MS.] [Variant 7: 1820. When my sick crazy body had lain without sleep, How cheering the sunshiny vale where I stood, MS.] * * * * * ADDRESS TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER, DORA, [A] ON BEING REMINDED THAT SHE WAS A MONTH OLD THAT DAY, SEPTEMBER 16 Composed September 16, 1804.--Published 1815 Included by Wordsworth among his "Poems of the Fancy."--Ed. --Hast thou then survived-- Mild Offspring of infirm humanity, Meek Infant! among all forlornest things The most forlorn--one life of that bright star, The second glory of the Heavens?--Thou hast; 5 Already hast survived that great decay, That transformation through the wide earth felt, And by all nations. In that Being's sight From whom the Race of human kind proceed, A thousand years are but as yesterday; 10 And one day's narrow circuit is to Him Not less capacious than a thousand years. But what is time? What outward glory? neither A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend Through "heaven's eternal year." [B]--Yet hail to Thee, 15 Frail, feeble, Monthling!--by that name, methinks, Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out Not idly.--Hadst thou been of Indian birth, Couched on a casual bed of moss and leaves, And rudely canopied by leafy boughs, 20 Or to the churlish elements exposed On the blank plains,--the coldness of the night, Or the night's darkness, or its cheerful face Of beauty, by the changing moon adorned, Would, with imperious admonition, then 25 Have scored thine age, and punctually timed Thine infant history, on the minds of those Who might have wandered with thee.--Mother's love, Nor less than mother's love in other breasts, Will, among us warm-clad and warmly housed, 30 Do for thee what the finger of the heavens Doth all too often harshly execute For thy unblest coevals, amid wilds Where fancy hath small liberty to grace The affections, to exalt them or refine; 35 And the maternal sympathy itself, Though strong, is, in the main, a joyless tie Of naked instinct, wound about the heart. Happier, far happier is thy lot and ours! Even now--to solemnise thy helpless state, 40 And to enliven in the mind's regard Thy passive beauty--parallels have risen, Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect, Within the region of a father's thoughts, Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky. 45 And first;--thy sinless progress, through a world By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed, Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds, Moving untouched in silver purity, And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom. 50 Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain: But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn With brightness! leaving her to post along, And range about, disquieted in change, And still impatient of the shape she wears. 55 Once up, once down the hill, one journey, Babe That will suffice thee; and it seems that now Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine; Thou travellest so contentedly, and sleep'st In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon 60 Hath this conception, grateful to behold, Changed countenance, like an object sullied o'er By breathing mist; and thine appears to be A mournful labour, while to her is given Hope, and a renovation without end. 65 --That smile forbids the thought; for on thy face Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn, To shoot and circulate; smiles have there been seen; Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers 70 Thy loneliness: or shall those smiles be called Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore This untried world, and to prepare thy way Through a strait passage intricate and dim? Such are they; and the same are tokens, signs, 75 Which, when the appointed season hath arrived, Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt; And Reason's godlike Power be proud to own. * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: The title from 1815 to 1845 was 'Address to my Infant Daughter, on being reminded that she was a Month old, on that Day'. After her death in 1847, her name was added to the title.--Ed.] [Footnote B: See Dryden's poem, 'To the pious memory of the accomplished young lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew', I. l. 15.--Ed.] The text of this poem was never altered.--Ed. * * * * * THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES [A] Composed 1804.--Published 1807 [Seen at Town-end, Grasmere. The elder-bush has long since disappeared; it hung over the wall near the cottage: and the kitten continued to leap up, catching the leaves as here described. The Infant was Dora.--J. F.] One of the "Poems of the Fancy." In Henry Crabb Robinson's 'Diary, etc.', under date Sept. 10, 1816, we find, "He" (Wordsworth) "quoted from 'The Kitten and the Falling Leaves' to show he had connected even the kitten with the great, awful, and mysterious powers of Nature." Ed. That way look, my Infant, [1] lo! What a pretty baby-show! See the Kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Withered leaves--one--two--and three--5 From the lofty elder-tree! Through the calm and frosty [2] air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Softly, slowly: one might think, 10 From the motions that are made, Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or Faery hither tending,-- To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute, 15 In his wavering parachute. ----But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts! [3] First at one, and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow; 20 There are many now--now one-- Now they stop and there are none: What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire! With a tiger-leap half-way 25 Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again: Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjurer; 30 Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, 35 What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure! 40 'Tis a pretty baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; [4] Here, for neither Babe nor [5] me, Other play-mate can I see. 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But in the very world, which is the world Of all of us,--the place where in the end We find our happiness, or not at all! 40 * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: "were" omitted from the 1820 edition only.] [Variant 2: 1809. ... us ... 'The Prelude', 1850.] [Variant 3: 1815. ... Enchanter ... 1809.] [Variant 4: 1832. (To take an image which was felt no doubt 1809. (As at some moments might not be unfelt 'The Prelude', 1850.] [Variant 5: 1815. Their ministers--used to stir in lordly wise 1809.] [Variant 6: 1815. And deal ... 1809.] [Variant 7: "both" 'italicised' from 1815 to 1832, and also in 'The Prelude'.] [Variant 8: 1832 ... subterraneous ... 1809.] Compare Coleridge's remarks in 'The Friend', vol. ii. p. 38, before quoting this poem, "My feelings and imagination did not remain unkindled in this general conflagration; and I confess I should be more inclined to be ashamed than proud of myself if they had! I was a sharer in the general vortex, though my little world described the path of its revolution in an orbit of its own," etc. Ed. * * * * * ODE TO DUTY Composed 1805.--Published 1807 "Jam non consilio bonus, sed more e perductus, ut non tantum rect facere possim, sed nisi rect facere non possim." [A] [This Ode is on the model of Gray's 'Ode to Adversity', which is copied from Horace's Ode to Fortune. Many and many a time have I been twitted by my wife and sister for having forgotten this dedication of myself to the stern law-giver. Transgressor indeed I have been from hour to hour, from day to day: I would fain hope, however, not more flagrantly, or in a worse way than most of my tuneful brethren. But these last words are in a wrong strain. We should be rigorous to ourselves, and forbearing, if not indulgent, to others; and, if we make comparison at all, it ought to be with those who have morally excelled us.--I. F.] In pencil on the MS., "But is not the first stanza of Gray's from a chorus of schylus? And is not Horace's Ode also modelled on the Greek?" This poem was placed by Wordsworth among his "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed. Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou, who art victory and law 5 When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! [1] There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, 10 Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: [B] Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, [2] and know it not: Oh, if through confidence misplaced 15 They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast. [3] Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. 20 And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, [4] Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek thy firm support, [5] according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried; 25 No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred 30 The task, in smoother walks to stray; [6] But thee I now [7] would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; 35 But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; [C] I feel the weight of chance-desires: My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that [8] ever is the same. 40 [9] Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace; Nor know we any thing so [10] fair As is the smile upon thy face: [D] Flowers laugh before thee on their beds 45 And fragrance in thy footing treads; [E] Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee: I myself commend 50 Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; 55 And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live! [F] * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1815 From strife and from despair; a glorious ministry. 1807.] [Variant 2: ... the right ... MS. ... thy will ... MS.] [Variant 3: 1837. May joy be theirs while life shall last! And Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast! 1807. Long may the kindly impulse last! But Thou, ... 1827. And may that genial sense remain, when youth is past. MS.] [Variant 4: 1827. And bless'd are they who in the main This faith, even now, do entertain: 1807. Even now this creed do entertain MS. This holy creed do entertain MS.] [Variant 5: 1845. Yet find that other strength, ... 1807. Yet find thy firm support, ... 1837.] [Variant 6: 1827. Resolved that nothing e'er should press Upon my present happiness, I shoved unwelcome tasks away; 1807. Full oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task imposed, from day to day; 1815.] [Variant 7: But henceforth I would ... MS.] [Variant 8: 1827. ... which ... 1807.] [Variant 9: Yet not the less would I throughout Still act according to the voice Of my own wish; and feel past doubt That my submissiveness was choice: Not seeking in the school of pride For "precepts over dignified," Denial and restraint I prize No farther than they breed a second Will more wise. Only in the edition of 1807.] [Variant 10: ... more ... MS.] * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: This motto was added in the edition of 1837.--Ed.] [Footnote B: Compare S. T. C. in 'The Friend' (edition 1818, vol. iii. p. 62), "Its instinct, its safety, its benefit, its glory is to love, to admire, to feel, and to labour." Ed.] [Footnote C: Compare Churchill's 'Gotham', i. 49: 'An Englishman in chartered freedom born.' Ed.] [Footnote D: Compare in 'Sartor Resartus', "Happy he for whom a kind of heavenly sun brightens it [Necessity] into a ring of Duty, and plays round it with beautiful prismatic refractions." Ed.] [Footnote E: Compare Persius, 'Satura', ii. l. 38: 'Quidquic calcaverit hic, rosa fiat.' And Ben Jonson, in 'The Sad Shepherd', act I. scene i. ll. 8, 9: 'And where she went, the flowers took thickest root, As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot.' Also, a similar reference to Aphrodite in Hesiod, 'Theogony', vv. 192 'seq.'--Ed.] [Footnote F: Compare S. T. C. in 'The Friend' (edition 1818), vol. iii. p. 64.--Ed.] Mr. J. R. Tutin has supplied me with the text of a proof copy of the sheets of the edition of 1807, which was cancelled by Wordsworth, in which the following stanzas take the place of the first four of that edition: 'There are who tread a blameless way In purity, and love, and truth, Though resting on no better stay Than on the genial sense of youth: Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do the right, and know it not: May joy be theirs while life shall last And may a genial sense remain, when youth is past. Serene would be our days and bright; And happy would our nature be; If Love were an unerring light; And Joy its own security. And bless'd are they who in the main, This creed, even now, do entertain, Do in this spirit live; yet know That Man hath other hopes; strength which elsewhere must grow. I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust; Resolv'd that nothing e'er should press Upon my present happiness, I shov'd unwelcome tasks away: But henceforth I would serve; and strictly if I may. O Power of DUTY! sent from God To enforce on earth his high behest, And keep us faithful to the road Which conscience hath pronounc'd the best: Thou, who art Victory and Law When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free, From Strife, and from Despair, a glorious Ministry! [G]' Ed. [Footnote G: In the original MS. sent to the printer, I find that this stanza was transcribed by Coleridge.--Ed.] * * * * * TO A SKY-LARK Composed 1805.--Published 1807 [Rydal Mount, 1825. [A]--I. F.] In pencil opposite, "Where there are no skylarks; but the poet is everywhere." In the edition of 1807 this is No. 2 of the "Poems, composed during a Tour, chiefly on foot." [B] In 1815 it became one of the "Poems of the Fancy."--Ed. Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy song, Lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds! Singing, singing, With clouds and sky [1] about thee ringing, 5 Lift me, guide me till I find That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary, And [2] to-day my heart is weary; Had I now the wings [3] of a Faery, 10 Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine; Lift me, guide me high and high [4] To thy banqueting-place in the sky. 15 Joyous as morning, [5] Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest, And, though little troubled with sloth, Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth 20 To be such a traveller as I. Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river Pouring out praise to the almighty Giver, Joy and jollity be with us both! 25 Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind; But hearing thee, or others of thy kind, As full of gladness and as free of heaven, I, with my fate contented, will plod on, 30 And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done. [6] * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1827. With all the heav'ns ... 1807] [Variant 2: But ... MS.] [Variant 3: 1815. the soul ... 1807.] [Variant 4: 1832. Up with me, up with me, high and high, ... 1807.] [Variant 5: This and the previous stanza were omitted in the edition of 1827, but restored in that of 1832.] [Variant 6: 1827. Joy and jollity be with us both! Hearing thee, or else some other, As merry a Brother, I on the earth will go plodding on, By myself, chearfully, till the day is done. 1807. What though my course be rugged and uneven, To prickly moors and dusty ways confined, Yet, hearing thee, or others of thy kind, As full of gladness and as free of heaven, I on the earth will go plodding on, By myself, cheerfully, till the day is done. 1820.] * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: So it is printed in the 'Prose Works of Wordsworth' (1876); but the date was 1805.--Ed.] [Footnote B: In a MS. copy this series is called "Poems composed 'for amusement' during a Tour, chiefly on foot."--Ed.] Compare this poem with Shelley's 'Skylark', and with Wordsworth's poem, on the same subject, written in the year 1825, and the last five stanzas of his 'Morning Exercise' written in 1827; also with William Watson's 'First Skylark of Spring', 1895.--Ed. * * * * * FIDELITY Composed 1805.--Published 1807 [The young man whose death gave occasion to this poem was named Charles Gough, and had come early in the spring to Patterdale for the sake of angling. While attempting to cross over Helvellyn to Grasmere he slipped from a steep part of the rock where the ice was not thawed, and perished. His body was discovered as described in this poem. Walter Scott heard of the accident, and both he and I, without either of us knowing that the other had taken up the subject, each wrote a poem in admiration of the dog's fidelity. His contains a most beautiful stanza: "How long did'st thou think that his silence was slumber! When the wind waved his garment how oft did'st thou start!" I will add that the sentiment in the last four lines of the last stanza of my verses was uttered by a shepherd with such exactness, that a traveller, who afterwards reported his account in print, was induced to question the man whether he had read them, which he had not.--I. F.] One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed. A barking sound the Shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts--and searches with his eyes Among the scattered rocks: And now at distance can discern 5 A stirring in a brake of fern; And instantly a dog is seen, Glancing through that covert green. [1] The Dog is not of mountain breed; Its motions, too, are wild and shy; 10 With something, as the Shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry: Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear; 15 What is the creature doing here? It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn [A] below! [B] 20 Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth [2] a leaping fish 25 Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, [C] In symphony austere; Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud-- And mists that spread the flying shroud; 30 And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past; But that enormous barrier holds [3] it fast. Not free from boding thoughts, [4] a while The Shepherd stood; then makes his way 35 O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog [5] As quickly as he may; Nor far had gone before he found A human skeleton on the ground; The appalled Discoverer with a sigh [6] 40 Looks round, to learn the history. From those abrupt and perilous rocks The Man had fallen, that place of fear! At length upon the Shepherd's mind It breaks, and all is clear: 45 He instantly recalled the name, [7] And who he was, and whence he came; Remembered, too, the very day On which the Traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake 50 This lamentable tale I tell! [8] A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well. The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, 55 This Dog, had been through three months' space A dweller in that savage place. Yes, proof was plain that, since the day When this ill-fated Traveller died, [9] The Dog had watched about the spot, 60 Or by his master's side: How nourished here through such long time He knows, who gave that love sublime; And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate! 65 * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1820. From which immediately leaps out A Dog, and yelping runs about. 1807. And instantly a Dog is seen, Glancing from that covert green. 1815.] [Variant 2: 1820. ... does ... 1807.] [Variant 3: 1837. binds 1807.] [Variant 4: 1815. Not knowing what to think 1807.] [Variant 5: 1837. Towards the Dog, o'er rocks and stones, 1807.] [Variant 6: 1815. Sad sight! the Shepherd with a sigh 1807.] [Variant 7: And signs and circumstances dawned Till everything was clear; He made discovery of his name. MS.] [Variant 8: 1815. But hear a wonder now, for sake Of which this mournful Tale I tell! 1807.] [Variant 9: 1827. On which the Traveller thus had died 1807.] * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: Tarn is a _small_ Mere or Lake mostly high up in the mountains,--W. W.] [Footnote B: Compare the reference to Helvellyn, and its "deep coves, shaped by skeleton arms," in the 'Musings near Aquapendente' (1837). Wordsworth here describes Red Tarn, under Helvellyn, to the east; but Charles Gough was killed on the Kepplecove side of Swirell Edge, and not at Red Tarn. Bishop Watson of Llandaff, writing to Hayley (see 'Anecdotes of the Life of Bishop Watson', p. 440), writes about Charles Gouche (evidently Gough). He had been lodging at "the Cherry Inn," near Wytheburn, sometime before his death.--Ed.] [Footnote C: Compare 'The Excursion', book iv. ll. 1185-94.--Ed.] Thomas Wilkinson--referred to in the notes to 'The Solitary Reaper', vol. ii. pp. 399, 400, and the verses 'To the Spade of a Friend', in vol. iv.--alludes to this incident at some length in his poem, 'Emont Vale'. Wilkinson attended the funeral of young Gough, and writes of the incident with feeling, but without inspiration. Gough perished early in April, and his body was not found till July 22nd, 1805. A reference to his fate will be found in Lockhart's 'Life of Scott' (vol. ii. p. 274); also in a letter of Mr. Luff of Patterdale, to his wife, July 23rd, 1805. Henry Crabb Robinson records (see his 'Diary, Reminiscences', etc., vol. ii. p. 25) a conversation with Wordsworth, in which he said of this poem, that "he purposely made the narrative as prosaic as possible, in order that no discredit might be thrown on the truth of the incident."--Ed. * * * * * INCIDENT CHARACTERISTIC OF A FAVOURITE DOG [A] Composed 1805.--Published 1807 [This dog I knew well. It belonged to Mrs. Wordsworth's brother, Mr. Thomas Hutchinson, who then lived at Sockburn-on-the-Tees, a beautiful retired situation, where I used to visit him and his sisters before my marriage. My sister and I spent many months there after my return from Germany in 1799--I. F.] One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed. On his morning rounds the Master Goes to learn how all things fare; Searches pasture after pasture, Sheep and cattle eyes with care; And, for silence or for talk, 5 He hath comrades in his walk; Four dogs, each pair of different breed, Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed. See a hare before him started! --Off they fly in earnest chase; 10 Every dog is eager-hearted, All the four are in the race: And the hare whom they pursue, Knows from instinct [1] what to do; Her hope is near: no turn she makes; 15 But, like an arrow, to the river takes. Deep the river was, and crusted Thinly by a one night's frost; But the nimble Hare hath trusted To the ice, and safely crost; so 20 She hath crost, and without heed All are following at full speed, When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread, Breaks--and the greyhound, DART, is over-head! Better fate have PRINCE and SWALLOW--25 See them cleaving to the sport! MUSIC has no heart to follow, Little MUSIC, she stops short. She hath neither wish nor heart, Hers is now another part: 30 A loving creature she, and brave! And fondly strives [2] her struggling friend to save. From the brink her paws she stretches, Very hands as you would say! And afflicting moans she fetches, 35 As he breaks the ice away. For herself she hath no fears,-- Him alone she sees and hears,-- Makes efforts with complainings; nor gives o'er Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more. [3] 40 * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1837. Hath an instinct ... 1807.] [Variant 2: 1815. And doth her best ... 1807.] [Variant 3: 1837. Makes efforts and complainings; nor gives o'er Until her Fellow sunk, and reappear'd no more. 1807. ... sank, ... 1820.] * * * * * FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: In 1807 and 1815 the title was 'Incident, Characteristic of a favourite Dog, which belonged to a Friend of the Author'.--Ed.] * * * * * TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE SAME DOG Composed 1805.--Published 1807 [Was written at the same time, 1805. The Dog Music died, aged and blind, by falling into a draw-well at Gallow] Hill, to the great grief of the family of the Hutchinsons, who, as has been before mentioned, had removed to that place from Sockburn.--I. F.] One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed. Lie [1] here, without a record of thy worth, Beneath a [2] covering of the common earth! It is not from unwillingness to praise, Or want of love, that here no Stone we raise; More thou deserv'st; but _this_ man gives to man, 5 Brother to brother, _this_ is all we can. Yet [3] they to whom thy virtues made thee dear Shall find thee through all changes of the year: This Oak points out thy grave; the silent tree Will gladly stand a monument of thee. 10 We grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past; [4] And willingly have laid thee here at last: For thou hadst lived till every thing that cheers In thee had yielded to the weight of years; Extreme old age had wasted thee away, 15 And left thee but a glimmering of the day; Thy ears were deaf, and feeble were thy knees,-- I saw thee stagger in the summer breeze, Too weak to stand against its sportive breath, And ready for the gentlest stroke of death. 20 It came, and we were glad; yet tears were shed; Both man and woman wept when thou wert dead; Not only for a thousand thoughts that were, Old household thoughts, in which thou hadst thy share; But for some precious boons vouchsafed to thee, 25 Found scarcely any where in like degree! For love, that comes wherever life and sense Are given by God, in thee was most intense; [5] A chain of heart, a feeling of the mind, A tender sympathy, which did thee bind 30 Not only to us Men, but to thy Kind: Yea, for thy fellow-brutes in thee we saw A soul [6] of love, love's intellectual law:-- Hence, if we wept, it was not done in shame; Our tears from passion and from reason came, 35 And, therefore, shalt thou be an honoured name! * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: In the editions of 1807 to 1820 the following lines began the poem. They were withdrawn in 1827. Lie here sequester'd:--be this little mound For ever thine, and be it holy ground!] [Variant 2: 1827. Beneath the ... 1807.] [Variant 3: But ... MS.] [Variant 4: 1837. I pray'd for thee, and that thy end were past; 1807. I grieved for thee, and wished thy end were past; 1820.] [Variant 5: 1837. For love, that comes to all; the holy sense, Best gift of God, in thee was most intense; 1807.] [Variant 6: 1837. The soul ... 1807.] * * * * * TO THE DAISY (#4) Composed 1805.--Published 1815 Placed by Wordsworth among his "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."--Ed. Sweet Flower! belike one day to have A place upon thy Poet's grave, I welcome thee once more: But He, who was on land, at sea, My Brother, too, in loving thee, 5 Although he loved more silently, Sleeps by his native shore. Ah! hopeful, hopeful was the day When to that Ship he bent his way, To govern and to guide: 10 His wish was gained: a little time Would bring him back in manhood's prime And free for life, these hills to climb; With all his wants supplied. And full of hope day followed day 15 While that stout Ship at anchor lay Beside the shores of Wight; The May had then made all things green; And, floating there, in pomp serene, That Ship was goodly to be seen, 20 His pride and his delight! Yet then, when called ashore, he sought The tender peace of rural thought: In more than happy mood To your abodes, bright daisy Flowers! 25 He then would steal at leisure hours, And loved you glittering in your bowers, A starry multitude. But hark the word!--the ship is gone;-- Returns from her long course: [1]--anon 30 Sets sail:--in season due, Once more on English earth they stand: But, when a third time from the land They parted, sorrow was at hand For Him and for his crew. 35 Ill-fated Vessel!--ghastly shock! --At length delivered from the rock, The deep she hath regained; And through the stormy night they steer; Labouring for life, in hope and fear, 40 To reach a safer shore [2]--how near, Yet not to be attained! "Silence!" the brave Commander cried; To that calm word a shriek replied, It was the last death-shriek. 45 --A few (my soul oft sees that sight) Survive upon the tall mast's height; [3] But one dear remnant of the night-- For Him in vain I seek. Six weeks beneath the moving sea 50 He lay in slumber quietly; Unforced by wind or wave To quit the Ship for which he died, (All claims of duty satisfied;) And there they found him at her side; 55 And bore him to the grave. Vain service! yet not vainly done For this, if other end were none, That He, who had been cast Upon a way of life unmeet 60 For such a gentle Soul and sweet, Should find an undisturbed retreat Near what he loved, at last-- That neighbourhood of grove and field To Him a resting-place should yield, 65 A meek man and a brave! The birds shall sing and ocean make A mournful murmur for _his_ sake; And Thou, sweet Flower, shalt sleep and wake Upon his senseless grave. [4] 70 * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1837. From her long course returns:--... 1815.] [Variant 2: 1837. Towards a safer shore--... 1815.] [Variant 3: 1837 --A few appear by morning light, Preserved upon the tall mast's height: Oft in my Soul I see that sight; 1815.] [Variant 4: In the edition of 1827 and subsequent ones, Wordsworth here inserted a footnote, asking the reader to refer to No. VI. of the "Poems on the Naming of Places," beginning "When, to the attractions of the busy world," p. 66. His note of 1837 refers also to the poem which there precedes the present one, viz. the 'Elegiac Stanzas.'--Ed.] * * * * * ELEGIAC STANZAS [A] SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT Composed 1805.--Published 1807 [Sir George Beaumont painted two pictures of this subject, one of which he gave to Mrs. Wordsworth, saying she ought to have it; but Lady Beaumont interfered, and after Sir George's death she gave it to Sir Uvedale Price, at whose house at Foxley I have seen it.--I. F.] Placed by Wordsworth among his "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."--Ed. I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: I saw thee every day; and all the while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! 5 So like, so very like, was day to day! Whene'er I looked, thy Image still was there; It trembled, but it never passed away. How perfect was the calm! it seemed no sleep; No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 10 I could have fancied that the mighty Deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things. Ah! THEN, if mine had been the Painter's hand, To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, The light that never was, on sea or land, 15 The consecration, and the Poet's dream; [1] I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 20 Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-house divine [2] Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven;-- Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine The very sweetest had to thee been given. A Picture had it been of lasting ease, 25 Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. Such, in the fond illusion [3] of my heart, Such Picture would I at that time have made: 30 And seen the soul of truth in every part, A stedfast peace that might not be betrayed. [4] So once it would have been,--'tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control: A power is gone, which nothing can restore; 35 A deep distress hath humanised my Soul. Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been: The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 40 Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend, If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O 'tis a passionate Work!--yet wise and well, 45 Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That Hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 1 love to see the look with which it braves, 50 Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, 55 Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be borne! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here.-- Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 60 * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1807. and add a gleam, The lustre, known to neither sea nor land, But borrowed from the youthful Poet's dream; 1820. ... the gleam, 1827. The edition of 1832 returns to the text of 1807. [a]] [Variant 2: 1845. ... a treasure-house, a mine 1807. The whole of this stanza was omitted in the editions of 1820-1843.] [Variant 3: 1815. ... delusion ... 1807.] [Variant 4: 1837. A faith, a trust, that could not be betray'd. 1807.] * * * * * FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: The original title, in MS, was 'Verses suggested', etc,--Ed.] * * * * * SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Sub-Footnote a: Many years ago Principal Shairp wrote to me, "Have you noted how the two lines, 'The light that never was,' etc., stood in the edition of 1827? I know no other such instance of a change from commonplace to perfection of ideality." The Principal had not remembered at the time that the "perfection of ideality" was in the original edition of 1807. The curious thing is that the prosaic version of 1820 and 1827 ever took its place. Wordsworth's return to his original reading was one of the wisest changes he introduced into the text of 1832.--Ed.] There is a Peele Castle, on a small rocky island, close to the town of Peele, in the Isle of Man; yet separated from it, much as St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall is separated from the mainland. This castle was believed by many to be the one which Sir George painted, and which gave rise to the foregoing lines. I visited it in 1879, being then ignorant that any other Peele Castle existed; and although, the day being calm, and the season summer, I thought Sir George had idealized his subject much--(as I had just left Coleorton, where the picture still exists)--I accepted the customary opinion. But I am now convinced, both from the testimony of the Arnold family, [B] and as the result of a visit to Piel Castle, near Barrow in Furness, that Wordsworth refers to it. The late Bishop of Lincoln, in his uncle's 'Memoirs' (vol. i. p. 299), quotes the line "I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged pile," and adds, "He had spent four weeks there of a college summer vacation at the house of his cousin, Mr. Barker." This house was at Rampside, the village opposite Piel, on the coast of Lancashire. The "rugged pile," too, now "cased in the unfeeling armour of old time," painted by Beaumont, is obviously this Piel Castle near Barrow. I took the engraving of his picture with me, when visiting it: and although Sir George--after the manner of landscape artists of his day--took many liberties with his subjects, it is apparent that it was this, and not Peele Castle in Mona, that he painted. The "four summer weeks" referred to in the first stanza, were those spent at Piel during the year 1794. With the last verse of these 'Elegiac Stanzas' compare stanzas ten and eleven of the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', vol. viii. One of the two pictures of "Peele Castle in a Storm"--engraved by S. W. Reynolds, and published in the editions of Wordsworth's poems of 1815 and 1820--is still in the Beaumont Gallery at Coleorton Hall. The poem is so memorable that I have arranged to make this picture of "Peele Castle in a Storm," the vignette to vol. xv. of this edition. It deserves to be noted that it was to the pleading of Barron Field that we owe the restoration of the original line of 1807, 'The light that never was, on sea or land.' An interesting account of Piel Castle will be found in Hearne and Byrne's 'Antiquities'. It was built by the Abbot of Furness in the first year of the reign of Edward III.--Ed. [Footnote B: Miss Arnold wrote to me, in December 1893: "I have never doubted that the Peele Castle of Wordsworth is the Piel off Walney Island. I know that my brother Matthew so believed, and I went with him some years ago from Furness Abbey over to Piel, visiting it as the subject of the picture and the poem." Ed.] * * * * * ELEGIAC VERSES, IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, JOHN WORDSWORTH, COMMANDER OF THE E. I. COMPANY'S SHIP, 'THE EARL OF ABERGAVENNY', IN WHICH HE PERISHED BY CALAMITOUS SHIPWRECK, FEB. 6TH, 1805. Composed near the Mountain track, that leads from Grasmere through Grisdale Hawes, where it descends towards Patterdale. Composed 1805.--Published 1842 [ "Here did we stop; and here looked round, While each into himself descends." The point is two or three yards below the outlet of Grisedale Tarn, on a foot-road by which a horse may pass to Patterdale--a ridge of Helvellyn on the left, and the summit of Fairfield on the right.--I. F.] This poem was included among the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."--Ed. I The Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo! That instant, startled by the shock, The Buzzard mounted from the rock Deliberate and slow: Lord of the air, he took his flight; 5 Oh! could he on that woeful night Have lent his wing, my Brother dear, For one poor moment's space to Thee, And all who struggled with the Sea, When safety was so near. 10 II Thus in the weakness of my heart I spoke (but let that pang be still) When rising from the rock at will, I saw the Bird depart. And let me calmly bless the Power 15 That meets me in this unknown Flower, Affecting type of him I mourn! With calmness suffer and believe, And grieve, and know that I must grieve, Not cheerless, though forlorn. 20 III Here did we stop; and here looked round While each into himself descends, For that last thought of parting Friends That is not to be found. Hidden was Grasmere Vale from sight, 25 Our home and his, his heart's delight, His quiet heart's selected home. But time before him melts away, And he hath feeling of a day Of blessedness to come. 30 IV Full soon in sorrow did I weep, Taught that the mutual hope was dust, In sorrow, but for higher trust, How miserably deep! All vanished in a single word, 35 A breath, a sound, and scarcely heard. Sea--Ship--drowned--Shipwreck--so it came, The meek, the brave, the good, was gone; He who had been our living John Was nothing but a name. 40 V That was indeed a parting! oh, Glad am I, glad that it is past; For there were some on whom it cast Unutterable woe. But they as well as I have gains;--45 From many a humble source, to pains Like these, there comes a mild release; Even here I feel it, even this Plant Is in its beauty ministrant To comfort and to peace. 50 VI He would have loved thy modest grace, Meek Flower! To Him I would have said, "It grows upon its native bed Beside our Parting-place; There, cleaving to the ground, it lies 55 With multitude of purple eyes, Spangling a cushion green like moss; But we will see it, joyful tide! Some day, to see it in its pride, The mountain will we cross." 60 VII--Brother and friend, if verse of mine Have power to make thy virtues known, Here let a monumental Stone Stand--sacred as a Shrine; And to the few who pass this way, 65 Traveller or Shepherd, let it say, Long as these mighty rocks endure,-- Oh do not Thou too fondly brood, Although deserving of all good, On any earthly hope, however pure! [A] 70 * * * * * FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: See 2nd vol. of the Author's Poems, page 298, and 5th vol., pages 311 and 314, among Elegiac Pieces.--W. W. 1842. These poems are those respectively beginning: "When, to the attractions of the busy world ..." "I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! ..." "Sweet Flower! belike one day to have ..." Ed. The plant alluded to is the Moss Campion (Silene acaulis, of Linnus). See note at the end of the volume.--W. W. 1842. See among the "Poems on the Naming of Places," No. VI.--W. W. 1845. The note is as follows: "Moss Campion ('Silene acaulis'). This most beautiful plant is scarce in England, though it is found in great abundance upon the mountains of Scotland. The first specimen I ever saw of it in its native bed was singularly fine, the tuft or cushion being at least eight inches diameter, and the root proportionably thick. I have only met with it in two places among our mountains, in both of which I have since sought for it in vain. Botanists will not, I hope, take it ill, if I caution them against carrying off inconsiderately rare and beautiful plants. This has often been done, particularly from Ingleborough and other mountains in Yorkshire, till the species have totally disappeared, to the great regret of lovers of nature living near the places where they grew."--W. W. 1842. See also 'The Prelude', book xiv. 1. 419, p. 379.--Ed.] This poem underwent no change in successive editions. At a meeting of "The Wordsworth Society" held at Grasmere, in July 1881, it was proposed by one of the members, the Rev. H. D. Rawnsley, then Vicar of Wray, to erect some memorial at the parting-place of the brothers. The brothers John and William Wordsworth parted at Grisedale Tarn, on the 29th September 1800. The originator of the idea wrote thus of it in June 1882: "A proposition, made by one of its members to the Wordsworth Society when it met in Grasmere in 1881, to mark the spot in the Grisedale Pass of Wordsworth's parting from his brother John--and to carry out a wish the poet seems to have hinted at in the last of his elegiac verses in memory of that parting--is now being put into effect. It has been determined, after correspondence with Lord Coleridge, Dr. Cradock, Professor Knight, and Mr. Hills, to have inscribed--(on the native rock, if possible)--the first four lines of Stanzas III. and VII. of these verses: 'Here did we stop; and here looked round While each into himself descends, For that last thought of parting Friends That is not to be found. ... Brother and friend, if verse of mine Have power to make thy virtues known, Here let a monumental Stone Stand--sacred as a Shrine.' The rock selected is a fine mass, facing the east, on the left of the track as one descends from Grisedale Tarn towards Patterdale, and is about 100 yards from the tarn. No more suitable one can be found, and we have the testimony of Mr. David Richardson of Newcastle, who has practical knowledge of engineering, that it is the fittest, both from shape and from slight incline of plane. It has been proposed to sink a panel in the face of the rock, that so the inscription may be slightly protected, and to engrave the letters upon the face of the panel thus obtained. But it is not quite certain yet that the grain of the rock--volcanic ash--will admit of the lettering. If this cannot be carried out, it has been determined to have the letters engraved upon a slab of Langdale slate, and imbed it in the Grisedale Rock. It is believed that the simplicity of the design, the lonely isolation of this mountain memorial, will appeal at once ' ... to the few who pass this way, Traveller or Shepherd.' And we in our turn appeal to English tourists who may chance to see it, to forego the wish of adding to it, or taking anything from it, by engraving their own names; and to let the Monumental Stone stand, as the poet wished it might ' ... stand, SACRED as a Shrine.' We owe great thanks to Mrs. Sturge for first surveying the place, to ascertain the possibility of finding a mountain rock sufficiently striking in position; to Mr. Richardson, jun., for his etching of the rock, upon which the inscription is to be made; to his father for the kind trouble he took in the measurement of the said rock; and particularly to the seconder of the original proposal, and my coadjutor in the task of final selection and superintending the work, Mr. W. H. Hills. H. D. RAWNSLEY. _P. S._--When we came to examine the rock, we found the area for the panel less than we had hoped for, owing to certain rock fissures, which, by acting as drains for the rainwater on the surface, would have much interfered with the durability of the inscription. The available space for the panel remains 3 feet 7 in length by 1 foot 9 inches in depth. Owing to the fineness of the grain of the stone, it may be quite possible to letter the native rock; but it has been difficult to fix on a style of lettering for the inscription that shall be at once in good taste, forcible, and plain. It was proposed that the Script type of letter which was made use of in the inscription cut on the rock, in the late Mr. Ball's garden grounds below the Mount at Rydal, should be adopted; but a final decision has been given in favour of a style of lettering which Mrs. Rawnsley has designed. The panel is, from its position, certain to attract the eye of the wanderer from Patterdale up to the Grisedale Pass. H. D. R." See the note to 'The Waggoner', p. 112, referring to the Rock of Names, on the shore of Thirlmere. The following extract from 'Recollections from 1803 to 1837, with a Conclusion in 1868, by the Hon. Amelia Murray' (London: Longmans, Green, and Co. 1868)--refers to the loss of the 'Abergavenny': "One morning, coming down early, I saw what I thought was a great big ship without any hull. This was the 'Abergavenny', East Indiaman, which had sunk with all sails set, hardly three miles from the shore, and all on board perished. Had any of the crew taken refuge in the main-top, they might have been saved; but the bowsprit, which was crowded with human beings, gave a lurch into the sea as the ship settled down, and thus all were washed off--though the timber appeared again above water when the 'Abergavenny' touched the ground. The ship had sprung a leak off St. Alban's Head; and in spite of pumps, she went to the bottom just within reach of safety." Pp. 12, 13. A 'Narrative of the loss of the "Earl of Abergavenny" East Indiaman, off Portland, Feb. 5, 1805', was published in pamphlet form (8vo, 1805), by Hamilton and Bird, 21 High Street, Islington. For much in reference to John Wordsworth, which illustrates both these 'Elegiac Verses', and the poem "On the Naming of Places" which follows them, I must refer to his 'Life' to be published in another volume of this series; but there is one letter of Dorothy Wordsworth's, written to her friend Miss Jane Pollard (afterwards Mrs. Marshall), in reference to her brother's death, which may find a place here. For the use of it I am indebted to the kindness of Mrs. Marshall's daughter, the Dowager Lady Monteagle: "March 16th, 1805. Grasmere. "... It does me good to weep for him, and it does me good to find that others weep, and I bless them for it. ... It is with me, when I write, as when I am walking out in this vale, once so full of joy. I can turn to no object that does not remind me of our loss. I see nothing that he would not have loved, and enjoyed.... My consolations rather come to me in gusts of feeling, than are the quiet growth of my mind. I know it will not always be so. The time will come when the light of the setting sun upon these mountain tops will be as heretofore a pure joy; not the same _gladness_, that can never be--but yet a joy even more tender. It will soothe me to know how happy he would have been, could he have seen the same beautiful spectacle.... He was taken away in the freshness of his manhood; pure he was, and innocent as a child. Never human being was more thoroughly modest, and his courage I need not speak of. He was 'seen speaking with apparent cheerfulness to the first mate a few minutes before the ship went down;' and when nothing more could be done, He said, 'the will of God be done.' I have no doubt when he felt that it was out of his power to save his life he was as calm as before, if some thought of what we should endure did not awaken a pang.... He loved solitude, and he rejoiced in society. He would wander alone amongst these hills with his fishing-rod, or led on by the mere pleasure of walking, for many hours; or he would walk with W. or me, or both of us, and was continually pointing out--with a gladness which is seldom seen but in very young people--something which perhaps would have escaped our observation; for he had so fine an eye that no distinction was unnoticed by him, and so tender a feeling that he never noticed anything in vain. Many a time has he called out to me at evening to look at the moon or stars, or a cloudy sky, or this vale in the quiet moonlight; but the stars and moon were his chief delight. He made of them his companions when he was at sea, and was never tired of those thoughts which the silence of the night fed in him. Then he was so happy by the fireside. Any little business of the house interested him. He loved our cottage. He helped us to furnish it, and to make the garden. Trees are growing now which he planted.... He staid with us till the 29th of September, having come to us about the end of January. During that time Mary Hutchinson--now Mary Wordsworth--staid with us six weeks. John used to walk with her everywhere, and they were exceedingly attached to each other; so my poor sister mourns with us, not merely because we have lost one who was so dear to William and me, but from tender love to John and an intimate knowledge of him. Her hopes as well as ours were fixed on John.... I can think of nothing but of our departed Brother, yet I am very tranquil to-day. I honour him, and love him, and glory in his memory...." Southey, writing to his friend, C. W. W. Wynn, on the 3rd of April 1805, says: "DEAR WYNN, I have been grievously shocked this evening by the loss of the 'Abergavenny', of which Wordsworth's brother was captain. Of course the news came flying up to us from all quarters, and it has disordered me from head to foot. At such circumstances I believe we feel as much for others as for ourselves; just as a violent blow occasions the same pain as a wound, and he who breaks his shin feels as acutely at the moment as the man whose leg is shot off. In fact, I am writing to you merely because this dreadful shipwreck has left me utterly unable to do anything else. It is the heaviest calamity Wordsworth has ever experienced, and in all probability I shall have to communicate it to him, as he will very likely be here before the tidings can reach him. What renders any near loss of this kind so peculiarly distressing is, that the recollection is perpetually freshened when any like event occurs, by the mere mention of shipwreck, or the sound of the wind. Of all deaths it is the most dreadful, from the circumstances of terror which accompany it...." (See 'The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey', vol. ii. p. 321.) The following is part of a letter from Mary Lamb to Dorothy Wordsworth on the same subject. It is undated: "MY DEAR MISS WORDSWORTH,-- I wished to tell you that you would one day feel the kind of peaceful state of mind and sweet memory of the dead, which you so happily describe, as now almost begun; but I felt that it was improper, and most grating to the feelings of the afflicted, to say to them that the memory of their affliction would in time become a constant part, not only of their dreams, but of their most wakeful sense of happiness. That you would see every object with and through your lost brother, and that that would at last become a real and everlasting source of comfort to you, I felt, and well knew, from my own experience in sorrow; but till you yourself began to feel this, I did not dare to tell you so; but I send you some poor lines, which I wrote under this conviction of mind, and before I heard Coleridge was returning home. ... "Why is he wandering on the sea?-- Coleridge should now with Wordsworth be. By slow degrees he'd steal away Their woes, and gently bring a ray (So happily he'd time relief,) Of comfort from their very grief. He'd tell them that their brother dead, When years have passed o'er their head, Will be remembered with such holy, True and tender melancholy, That ever this lost brother John Will be their heart's companion. His voice they'll always hear, His face they'll always see; There's naught in life so sweet As such a memory." (See 'Final Memorials of Charles Lamb', by Thomas Noon Talfourd, vol. ii. pp. 233, 234.)--Ed. * * * * * "WHEN, TO THE ATTRACTIONS OF THE BUSY WORLD" Composed 1800 to 1805.--Published 1815 [The grove still exists; but the plantation has been walled in, and is not so accessible as when my brother John wore the path in the manner here described. The grove was a favourite haunt with us all while we lived at Town-end.--I. F.] This was No. VI. of the "Poems on the Naming of Places." For several suggested changes in MS. see Appendix I. p. 385.--Ed. When, to the attractions of the busy world, Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen A habitation in this peaceful Vale, Sharp season followed of continual storm In deepest winter; and, from week to week, 5 Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill At a short distance from my cottage, stands A stately Fir-grove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof 10 Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow, And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth 15 To sympathise with vulgar coppice birds That, for protection from the nipping blast, Hither repaired.--A single beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs! and, on the fork Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest; 20 A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground As gave sure sign that they, who in that house Of nature and of love had made their home Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long 25 Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes, A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with suspicious stare, From the remotest outskirts of the grove,-- Some nook where they had made their final stand, 30 Huddling together from two fears--the fear Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven In such perplexed and intricate array; 35 That vainly did I seek, beneath [1] their stems A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care; And, baffled thus, though earth from day to day Was fettered, and the air by storm disturbed, 40 I ceased the shelter to frequent, [2]--and prized, Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess. The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts Meanwhile were mine; till, one bright April day, 45 By chance retiring from the glare of noon To this forsaken covert, there I found A hoary pathway traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood 50 Much wondering how I could have sought in vain [3] For what was now so obvious. [4] To abide, For an allotted interval of ease, Under my cottage-roof, had gladly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; [5] 55 And with the sight of this same path--begun, Begun and ended, in the shady grove, [6] Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind [7] That, to this opportune recess allured, He had surveyed it with a finer eye, 60 A heart more wakeful; and had worn the track [8] By pacing here, unwearied and alone, [A] In that habitual restlessness of foot That haunts the Sailor measuring [9] o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck, 65 While she pursues her course [10] through the dreary sea. When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth, Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, 70 Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was fashioned; [11] and at length When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond Than common feelings of fraternal love. 75 But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections; Nature there Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee; and even so didst thou become A _silent_ Poet; from the solitude 80 Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear, And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. --Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone; Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours 85 Could I withhold thy honoured name,--and now I love the fir-grove [12] with a perfect love. Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong; And there I sit at evening, when the steep 90 Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful [13] lake, And one green island, gleam between the stems Of the dark firs, a visionary scene! And, while I gaze upon the spectacle Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight 95 Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee, My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost. Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Among the mountains, through the midnight watch 100 Art pacing thoughtfully [14] the vessel's deck In some far region, here, while o'er my head, At every impulse of the moving breeze, The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, [B] Alone I tread this path;--for aught I know, 105 Timing my steps to thine; and, with a store Of undistinguishable sympathies, Mingling most earnest wishes for the day When we, and others whom we love, shall meet A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale. 110 * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1836. ... between ... 1815.] [Variant 2: 1836. And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed, I ceased that Shelter to frequent,--1815. ... the shelter ... 1827.] [Variant 3: 1827. Much wondering at my own simplicity How I could e'er have made a fruitless search 1815.] [Variant 4: ... At the sight Conviction also flashed upon my mind That this same path (within the shady grove Begun and ended) by my Brother's steps Had been impressed.--... These additional lines appeared only in 1815 and 1820.] [Variant 5: 1845. ... To sojourn a short while Beneath my roof He from the barren seas Had newly come--a cherished Visitant! 1815. ... To abide, For an allotted interval of ease, Beneath my cottage roof, had newly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; 1827. Beneath my cottage roof, had gladly come 1840. ... had meanwhile come C. [a]] [Variant 6: This and the previous line were added in 1827.] [Variant 7: 1827. And much did it delight me to perceive 1815.] [Variant 8: 1827. A heart more wakeful; that, more both to part From place so lovely, he had worn the track 1815.] [Variant 9: 1845. With which the Sailor measures ... 1815.] [Variant 10: 1845. While she is travelling ... 1815.] [Variant 11: 1836. ... minds were fashioned;... 1815.] [Variant 12: 1827. ... art gone; And now I call the path-way by thy name, And love the fir-grove 1815.] [Variant 13: 1827. ... placid ... 1815.] [Variant 14: 1827. Art pacing to and fro ... 1815.] * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: Compare Daniel's 'Hymens Triumph', ii. 4: 'And where no sun could see him, where no eye Might overlook his lonely privacy; There in a path of his own making, trod Rare as a common way, yet led no way Beyond the turns he made.' Ed.] [Footnote B: Compare the line in Coleridge's 'Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni': 'Ye pine groves with your soft and soul-like sound,' Ed.] * * * * * SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Sub-Footnote a: In the late Lord Coleridge's copy of the edition of 1836, there is a footnote in Wordsworth's handwriting to the word "meanwhile" which is substituted for "newly." "If 'newly' come, could he have traced a visible path?"--Ed.] This wish was not granted; the lamented Person, not long after, perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the Honourable East India Company's Vessel, the 'Earl of Abergavenny'.--W. W. 1815. For the date of this poem in the Chronological Tables given in the editions of 1815 and 1820, Wordsworth assigned the year 1802. But, in the edition of 1836, he assigned it to the year 1805, the date retained by Mr. Carter in the edition of 1857. Captain Wordsworth perished on the 5th of February 1805; and if the poem was written in 1805, it must have been in the month of January of that year. The note to the poem is explicit--"Not long after" he "perished by shipwreck," etc. Thus the poem _may_ have been written in the beginning of 1805; but it is not at all certain that part of it at least does not belong to an earlier year. John Wordsworth lived with his brother and sister at the Town-end Cottage, Grasmere, during part of the winter, and during the whole of the spring, summer, and autumn of 1800, William and John going together on foot into Yorkshire from the 14th of May to the 7th of June. John left Grasmere on Michaelmas day (September 29th) 1800, and never returned to it again. 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It was an act of stealth And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on; Leaving behind her still, on either side, Small circles glittering idly in the moon, 365 Until they melted all into one track Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows, Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point With an unswerving line, I fixed my view Upon the summit of a craggy ridge, 370 The horizon's utmost boundary; far above Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky. She was an elfin pinnace; lustily I dipped my oars into the silent lake, And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat 375 Went heaving through the water like a swan; When, from behind that craggy steep till then The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge, As if with voluntary power instinct Upreared its head. [f] I struck and struck again, 380 And growing still in stature the grim shape Towered up between me and the stars, and still, For so it seemed, with purpose of its own And measured motion like a living thing, Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned, 385 And through the silent water stole my way Back to the covert of the willow tree; There in her mooring-place I left my bark,-- And through the meadows homeward went, in grave And serious mood; but after I had seen 390 That spectacle, for many days, my brain Worked with a dim and undetermined sense Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts There hung a darkness, call it solitude Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes 395 Remained, no pleasant images of trees, Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields; But huge and mighty forms, that do not live Like living men, moved slowly through the mind By day, and were a trouble to my dreams. 400 Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought, That givest to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion, not in vain By day or star-light thus from my first dawn 405 Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human soul; Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, But with high objects, with enduring things-- With life and nature, purifying thus 410 The elements of feeling and of thought, And sanctifying, by such discipline, Both pain and fear, until we recognise A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 415 With stinted kindness. In November days, When vapours rolling down the valley made A lonely scene more lonesome, among woods At noon, and 'mid the calm of summer nights, When, by the margin of the trembling lake, 420 Beneath the gloomy hills homeward I went In solitude, such intercourse was mine; Mine was it in the fields both day and night, And by the waters, all the summer long. And in the frosty season, when the sun 425 Was set, and visible for many a mile The cottage windows blazed through twilight gloom, I heeded not their summons: happy time It was indeed for all of us--for me It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud 430 The village clock tolled six,--I wheeled about, Proud and exulting like an untired horse That cares not for his home. All shod with steel, We hissed along the polished ice in games Confederate, imitative of the chase 435 And woodland pleasures,--the resounding horn, The pack loud chiming, and the hunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold we flew, And not a voice was idle; with the din Smitten, the precipices rang aloud; 440 The leafless trees and every icy crag Tinkled like iron; [g] while far distant hills Into the tumult sent an alien sound Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west 445 The orange sky of evening died away. Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, To cut across the reflex of a star 450 That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed Upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still 455 The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels, Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs Wheeled by me--even as if the earth had rolled With visible motion her diurnal round! 460 Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep. [h] Ye Presences of Nature in the sky And on the earth! Ye Visions of the hills! 465 And Souls of lonely places! can I think A vulgar hope was yours when ye employed Such ministry, when ye through many a year Haunting me thus among my boyish sports, On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills, 470 Impressed upon all forms the characters Of danger or desire; and thus did make The surface of the universal earth With triumph and delight, with hope and fear, Work like a sea? Not uselessly employed, 475 Might I pursue this theme through every change Of exercise and play, to which the year Did summon us in his delightful round. We were a noisy crew; the sun in heaven Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours; 480 Nor saw a band in happiness and joy Richer, or worthier of the ground they trod. I could record with no reluctant voice The woods of autumn, and their hazel bowers With milk-white clusters hung; the rod and line, 485 True symbol of hope's foolishness, whose strong And unreproved enchantment led us on By rocks and pools shut out from every star, All the green summer, to forlorn cascades Among the windings hid of mountain brooks. [i] 490 --Unfading recollections! at this hour The heart is almost mine with which I felt, From some hill-top on sunny afternoons, [j] The paper kite high among fleecy clouds Pull at her rein like an impetuous courser; 495 Or, from the meadows sent on gusty days, Beheld her breast the wind, then suddenly Dashed headlong, and rejected by the storm. Ye lowly cottages wherein we dwelt, A ministration of your own was yours; 500 Can I forget you, being as you were So beautiful among the pleasant fields In which ye stood? or can I here forget The plain and seemly countenance with which Ye dealt out your plain comforts? Yet had ye 505 Delights and exultations of your own. [k] Eager and never weary we pursued Our home-amusements by the warm peat-fire At evening, when with pencil, and smooth slate In square divisions parcelled out and all 510 With crosses and with cyphers scribbled o'er, We schemed and puzzled, head opposed to head In strife too humble to be named in verse: Or round the naked table, snow-white deal, Cherry or maple, sate in close array, 515 And to the combat, Loo or Whist, led on A thick-ribbed army; not, as in the world, Neglected and ungratefully thrown by Even for the very service they had wrought, But husbanded through many a long campaign. 520 Uncouth assemblage was it, where no few Had changed their functions; some, plebeian cards [l] Which Fate, beyond the promise of their birth, [m] Had dignified, and called to represent The persons of departed potentates. 525 Oh, with what echoes on the board they fell! Ironic diamonds,--clubs, hearts, diamonds, spades, A congregation piteously akin! Cheap matter offered they to boyish wit, Those sooty knaves, precipitated down 530 With scoffs and taunts, like Vulcan out of heaven: The paramount ace, a moon in her eclipse, Queens gleaming through their splendour's last decay, And monarchs surly at the wrongs sustained By royal visages. Meanwhile abroad 535 Incessant rain was falling, or the frost Raged bitterly, with keen and silent tooth; And, interrupting oft that eager game, From under Esthwaite's splitting fields of ice The pent-up air, struggling to free itself, 540 Gave out to meadow grounds and hills a loud Protracted yelling, like the noise of wolves Howling in troops along the Bothnic Main. [n] Nor, sedulous as I have been to trace How Nature by extrinsic passion first 545 Peopled the mind with forms sublime or fair, And made me love them, may I here omit How other pleasures have been mine, and joys Of subtler origin; how I have felt, Not seldom even in that tempestuous time, 550 Those hallowed and pure motions of the sense Which seem, in their simplicity, to own An intellectual charm; that calm delight Which, if I err not, surely must belong To those first-born affinities that fit 555 Our new existence to existing things, And, in our dawn of being, constitute The bond of union between life and joy. Yes, I remember when the changeful earth, And twice five summers on my mind had stamped 560 The faces of the moving year, even then I held unconscious intercourse with beauty Old as creation, drinking in a pure Organic pleasure from the silver wreaths Of curling mist, or from the level plain 565 Of waters coloured by impending clouds. [o] The sands of Westmoreland, the creeks and bays Of Cumbria's rocky limits, they can tell How, when the Sea threw off his evening shade, And to the shepherd's hut on distant hills 570 Sent welcome notice of the rising moon, How I have stood, to fancies such as these A stranger, linking with the spectacle No conscious memory of a kindred sight, And bringing with me no peculiar sense 575 Of quietness or peace; yet have I stood, Even while mine eye hath moved o'er many a league Of shining water, gathering as it seemed Through every hair-breadth in that field of light New pleasure like a bee among the flowers. 580 Thus oft amid those fits of vulgar joy Which, through all seasons, on a child's pursuits Are prompt attendants, 'mid that giddy bliss Which, like a tempest, works along the blood And is forgotten; even then I felt 585 Gleams like the flashing of a shield;--the earth And common face of Nature spake to me Rememberable things; sometimes, 'tis true, By chance collisions and quaint accidents (Like those ill-sorted unions, work supposed 590 Of evil-minded fairies), yet not vain Nor profitless, if haply they impressed Collateral objects and appearances, Albeit lifeless then, and doomed to sleep Until maturer seasons called them forth 595 To impregnate and to elevate the mind. --And if the vulgar joy by its own weight Wearied itself out of the memory, The scenes which were a witness of that joy Remained in their substantial lineaments 600 Depicted on the brain, and to the eye Were visible, a daily sight; and thus By the impressive discipline of fear, By pleasure and repeated happiness, So frequently repeated, and by force 605 Of obscure feelings representative Of things forgotten, these same scenes so bright, So beautiful, so majestic in themselves, Though yet the day was distant, did become Habitually dear, and all their forms 610 And changeful colours by invisible links Were fastened to the affections. I began My story early--not misled, I trust, By an infirmity of love for days Disowned by memory--ere the breath of spring 615 Planting my snowdrops among winter snows: [p] Nor will it seem to thee, O Friend! so prompt In sympathy, that I have lengthened out With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale. Meanwhile, my hope has been, that I might fetch 620 Invigorating thoughts from former years; Might fix the wavering balance of my mind, And haply meet reproaches too, whose power May spur me on, in manhood now mature To honourable toil. Yet should these hopes 625 Prove vain, and thus should neither I be taught To understand myself, nor thou to know With better knowledge how the heart was framed Of him thou lovest; need I dread from thee Harsh judgments, if the song be loth to quit 630 Those recollected hours that have the charm Of visionary things, those lovely forms And sweet sensations that throw back our life, And almost make remotest infancy A visible scene, on which the sun is shining? [q] 635 One end at least hath been attained; my mind Hath been revived, and if this genial mood Desert me not, forthwith shall be brought down Through later years the story of my life. The road lies plain before me;--'tis a theme 640 Single and of determined bounds; and hence I choose it rather at this time, than work Of ampler or more varied argument, Where I might be discomfited and lost: And certain hopes are with me, that to thee 645 This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend! * * * * * FOOTNOTES TO BOOK THE FIRST [Footnote A: On the authority of the poet's nephew, and others, the "city" here referred to has invariably been supposed to be Goslar, where he spent the winter of 1799. Goslar, however, is as unlike a "vast city" as it is possible to conceive. Wordsworth could have walked from end to end of it in ten minutes. One would think he was rather referring to London, but there is no evidence to show that he visited the metropolis in the spring of 1799. The lines which follow about "the open fields" (l. 50) are certainly more appropriate to a journey from London to Sockburn, than from Goslar to Gottingen; and what follows, the "green shady place" of l. 62, the "known Vale" and the "cottage" of ll. 72 and 74, certainly refer to English soil.--Ed.] [Footnote B: Compare 'Paradise Lost', xii. l. 646. 'The world was all before them, where to choose.' Ed.] [Footnote C: Compare 'Lines composed above Tintern Abbey', II. 52-5 (vol. ii. p. 53.)--Ed.] [Footnote D: S. T. Coleridge.--Ed.] [Footnote E: At Sockburn-on-Tees, county Durham, seven miles south-east of Darlington.--Ed.] [Footnote F: Grasmere.--Ed.] [Footnote G: Dove Cottage at Town-end.--Ed.] [Footnote H: This quotation I am unable to trace.--Ed.] [Footnote I: Wordsworth spent most of the year 1799 (from March to December) at Sockburn with the Hutchinsons. With Coleridge and his brother John he went to Windermere, Rydal, Grasmere, etc., in the autumn, returning afterwards to Sockburn. He left it again, with his sister, on Dec. 19, to settle at Grasmere, and they reached Dove Cottage on Dec. 21, 1799.--Ed.] [Footnote K: See Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal, _passim._--Ed.] [Footnote L: Compare the 2nd and 3rd of the 'Stanzas written in my pocket-copy of Thomson's Castle of Indolence', vol. ii. p. 306, and the note appended to that poem.--Ed.] [Footnote M: Mithridates (the Great) of Pontus, 131 B.C. to 63 B.C. Vanquished by Pompey, B.C. 65, he fled to his son-in-law, Tigranes, in Armenia. Being refused an asylum, he committed suicide. I cannot trace the legend of Mithridates becoming Odin. Probably Wordsworth means that he would invent, rather than "relate," the story. Gibbon ('Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire', chap. x.) says, "It is supposed that Odin was the chief of a tribe of barbarians, who dwelt on the banks of Lake Maeotis, till the fall of Mithridates, and the arms of Pompey menaced the north with servitude; that Odin, yielding with indignant fury to a power which he was unable to resist, conducted his tribe from the frontiers of Asiatic Sarmatia into Sweden." See also Mallet, 'Northern Antiquities', and Crichton and Wheaton's 'Scandinavia' (Edinburgh Cabinet Library): "Among the fugitive princes of Scythia, who were expelled from their country in the Mithridatic war, tradition has placed the name of Odin, the ruler of a potent tribe in Turkestan, between the Euxine and the Caspian." Ed.] [Footnote N: Sertorius, one of the Roman generals of the later Republican era (see Plutarch's biography of him, and Corneille's tragedy). On being proscribed by Sylla, he fled from Etruria to Spain; there he became the leader of several bands of exiles, and repulsed the Roman armies sent against him. Mithridates VI.--referred to in the previous note--aided him, both with ships and money, being desirous of establishing a new Roman Republic in Spain. From Spain he went to Mauritania. In the Straits of Gibraltar he met some sailors, who had been in the Atlantic Isles, and whose reports made him wish to visit these islands.--Ed.] [Footnote O: Supposed to be the Canaries.--Ed.] [Footnote P: "In the early part of the fifteenth century there arrived at Lisbon an old bewildered pilot of the seas, who had been driven by tempests he knew not whither, and raved about an island in the far deep upon which he had landed, and which he had found peopled, and adorned with noble cities. The inhabitants told him that they were descendants of a band of Christians who fled from Spain when that country was conquered by the Moslems." (See Washington Irving's 'Chronicles of Wolfert's Roost', etc.; and Baring Gould's 'Curious Myths of the Middle Ages'.)--Ed.] [Footnote Q: Dominique de Gourgues, a French gentleman, who went in 1568 to Florida, to avenge the massacre of the French by the Spaniards there. (Mr. Carter, in the edition of 1850.)--Ed.] [Footnote R: Gustavus I. of Sweden. In the course of his war with Denmark he retreated to Dalecarlia, where he was a miner and field labourer.--Ed.] [Footnote S: The name--both as Christian and surname--is common in Scotland, and towns (such as Wallacetown, Ayr) are named after him. "Passed two of Wallace's caves. There is scarcely a noted glen in Scotland that has not a cave for Wallace, or some other hero." Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland in 1803' (Sunday, August 21).--Ed.] [Footnote T: Compare 'L'Allegro', l. 137.--Ed.] [Footnote U: Compare 'Paradise Lost', iii. 17.--Ed.] [Footnote V: The Derwent, on which the town of Cockermouth is built, where Wordsworth was born on the 7th of April 1770.--Ed.] [Footnote W: The towers of Cockermouth Castle.--Ed.] [Footnote X: The "terrace walk" is at the foot of the garden, attached to the old mansion in which Wordsworth's father, law-agent of the Earl of Lonsdale, resided. This home of his childhood is alluded to in 'The Sparrow's Nest', vol. ii. p. 236. Three of the "Poems, composed or suggested during a Tour, in the Summer of 1833," refer to Cockermouth. They are the fifth, sixth, and seventh in that series of Sonnets: and are entitled respectively 'To the River Derwent'; 'In sight of the Town of Cockermouth'; and the 'Address from the Spirit of Cockermouth Castle'. It was proposed some time ago that this house--which is known in Cockermouth as "Wordsworth House,"--should be purchased, and since the Grammar School of the place is out of repair, that it should be converted into a School, in memory of Wordsworth. This excellent suggestion has not yet been carried out--Ed.] [Footnote Y: The Vale of Esthwaite.--Ed.] [Footnote Z: He went to Hawkshead School in 1778.--Ed.] [Footnote a: About mid October the autumn crocus in the garden "snaps" in that district.--Ed.] [Footnote b: Possibly in the Claife and Colthouse heights to the east of Esthwaite Water; but more probably the round-headed grassy hills that lead up and on to the moor between Hawkshead and Coniston, where the turf is always green and smooth.--Ed.] [Footnote c: Yewdale: see next note. "Cultured Vale" exactly describes the little oat-growing valley of Yewdale.--Ed.] [Footnote d: As there are no "naked crags" with "half-inch fissures in the slippery rocks" in the "cultured vale" of Esthwaite, the locality referred to is probably the Hohne Fells above Yewdale, to the north of Coniston, and only a few miles from Hawkshead, where a crag, now named Raven's Crag, divides Tilberthwaite from Yewdale. In his 'Epistle to Sir George Beaumont', Wordsworth speaks of Yewdale as a plain 'spread Under a rock too steep for man to tread, Where sheltered from the north and bleak north-west Aloft the Raven hangs a visible nest, Fearless of all assaults that would her brood molest.' Ed.] [Footnote e: Dr. Cradock suggested the reading "rocky cove." Rocky cave is tautological, and Wordsworth would hardly apply the epithet to an ordinary boat-house.--Ed.] [Footnote f: The "craggy steep till then the horizon's bound," is probably the ridge of Ironkeld, reaching from high Arnside to the Tom Heights above Tarn Hows; while the "huge peak, black and huge, as if with voluntary power instinct," may he either the summit of Wetherlam, or of Pike o'Blisco. Mr. Rawnsley, however, is of opinion that if Wordsworth rowed off from the west bank of Fasthwaite, he might see beyond the craggy ridge of Loughrigg the mass of Nab-Scar, and Rydal Head would rise up "black and huge." If he rowed from the east side, then Pike o'Stickle, or Harrison Stickle, might rise above Ironkeld, over Borwick Ground.--Ed.] [Footnote g: Compare S. T. Coleridge. "When very many are skating together, the sounds and the noises give an impulse to the icy trees, and the woods all round the lake _tinkle_." 'The Friend', vol. ii. p. 325 (edition 1818).--Ed.] [Footnote h: The two preceding paragraphs were published in 'The Friend', December 28, 1809, under the title of the 'Growth of Genius from the Influences of Natural Objects on the Imagination, in Boyhood and Early Youth', and were afterwards inserted in all the collective editions of Wordsworth's poems, from 1815 onwards. For the changes of the text in these editions, see vol. ii. pp. 66-69.--Ed.] [Footnote i: The becks amongst the Furness Fells, in Yewdale, and elsewhere.--Ed.] [Footnote j: Possibly from the top of some of the rounded moraine hills on the western side of the Hawkshead Valley.--Ed.] [Footnote k: The pupils in the Hawkshead school, in Wordsworth's time, boarded in the houses of village dames. Wordsworth lived with one Anne Tyson, for whom he ever afterwards cherished the warmest regard, and whose simple character he has immortalised. (See especially in the fourth book of 'The Prelude', p. 187, etc.) Wordsworth lived in her cottage at Hawkshead during nine eventful years. It still remains externally unaltered, and little, if at all, changed in the interior. It may be reached through a picturesque archway, near the principal inn of the village (The Lion); and is on the right of a small open yard, which is entered through this archway. To the left, a lane leads westwards to the open country. It is a humble dwelling of two storeys. The floor of the basement flat-paved with the blue flags of Coniston slate--is not likely to have been changed since Wordsworth's time. The present door with its "latch" (see book ii. l. 339), is probably the same as that referred to in the poem, as in use in 1776, and onwards. For further details see notes to book iv.--Ed.] [Footnote l: Compare Pope's 'Rape of the Lock', canto iii. l. 54: 'Gained but one trump, and one plebeian card.' Ed.] [Footnote m: Compare Walton's 'Compleat Angler', part i. 4: 'I was for that time lifted above earth, And possess'd joys not promised in my birth.' Ed.] [Footnote n: The notes to this edition are explanatory rather than critical; but as this image has been objected to--as inaccurate, and out of all analogy with Wordsworth's use and wont--it may be mentioned that the noise of the breaking up of the ice, after a severe winter in these lakes, when it cracks and splits in all directions, is exactly as here described. It is not of course, in any sense peculiar to the English lakes; but there are probably few districts where the peculiar noise referred to can be heard so easily or frequently. Compare Coleridge's account of the Lake of Ratzeburg in winter, in 'The Friend', vol. ii. p. 323 (edition of 1818), and his reference to "the thunders and 'howlings' of the breaking ice."--Ed.] [Footnote o: I here insert a very remarkable MS. variation of the text, or rather (I think) one of these experiments in dealing with his theme, which were common with Wordsworth. I found it in a copy of the Poems belonging to the poet's son: I tread the mazes of this argument, and paint How nature by collateral interest And by extrinsic passion peopled first My mind with beauteous objects: may I well Forget what might demand a loftier song, For oft the Eternal Spirit, He that has His Life in unimaginable things, And he who painting what He is in all The visible imagery of all the World Is yet apparent chiefly as the Soul Of our first sympathies--O bounteous power In Childhood, in rememberable days How often did thy love renew for me Those naked feelings which, when thou would'st form A living thing, thou sendest like a breeze Into its infant being! Soul of things How often did thy love renew for me Those hallowed and pure motions of the sense Which seem in their simplicity to own An intellectual charm: That calm delight Which, if I err not, surely must belong To those first-born affinities which fit Our new existence to existing things, And, in our dawn of being, constitute The bond of union betwixt life and joy. Yes, I remember, when the changeful youth And twice five seasons on my mind had stamped The faces of the moving year, even then A child, I held unconscious intercourse With the eternal beauty, drinking in A pure organic pleasure from the lines Of curling mist, or from the smooth expanse Of waters coloured by the clouds of Heaven. Ed.] [Footnote p: Snowdrops still grow abundantly in many an orchard and meadow by the road which skirts the western side of Esthwaite Lake.--Ed.] [Footnote q: Compare the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', stanza ix.--Ed.] * * * * * BOOK SECOND SCHOOL-TIME--continued ... Thus far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much Unvisited, endeavoured to retrace The simple ways in which my childhood walked; Those chiefly that first led me to the love Of rivers, woods, and fields. The passion yet 5 Was in its birth, sustained as might befal By nourishment that came unsought; for still From week to week, from month to month, we lived A round of tumult. Duly were our games Prolonged in summer till the day-light failed: 10 No chair remained before the doors; the bench And threshold steps were empty; fast asleep The labourer, and the old man who had sate A later lingerer; yet the revelry Continued and the loud uproar: at last, 15 When all the ground was dark, and twinkling stars Edged the black clouds, home and to bed we went, Feverish with weary joints and beating minds. Ah! is there one who ever has been young, Nor needs a warning voice to tame the pride 20 Of intellect and virtue's self-esteem? One is there, though the wisest and the best Of all mankind, who covets not at times Union that cannot be;--who would not give, If so he might, to duty and to truth 25 The eagerness of infantine desire? A tranquillising spirit presses now On my corporeal frame, so wide appears The vacancy between me and those days Which yet have such self-presence in my mind, 30 That, musing on them, often do I seem Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself And of some other Being. A rude mass Of native rock, left midway in the square Of our small market village, was the goal 35 Or centre of these sports; [A] and when, returned After long absence, thither I repaired, Gone was the old grey stone, and in its place A smart Assembly-room usurped the ground That had been ours. There let the fiddle scream, 40 And be ye happy! Yet, my Friends! I know That more than one of you will think with me Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame From whom the stone was named, who there had sate, And watched her table with its huckster's wares 45 Assiduous, through the length of sixty years. We ran a boisterous course; the year span round With giddy motion. But the time approached That brought with it a regular desire For calmer pleasures, when the winning forms 50 Of Nature were collaterally attached To every scheme of holiday delight And every boyish sport, less grateful else And languidly pursued. When summer came, Our pastime was, on bright half-holidays, 55 To sweep, along the plain of Windermere With rival oars; [B] and the selected bourne Was now an Island musical with birds That sang and ceased not; now a Sister Isle Beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert, sown 60 With lilies of the valley like a field; [C] And now a third small Island, where survived In solitude the ruins of a shrine Once to Our Lady dedicate, and served Daily with chaunted rites. [D] In such a race 65 So ended, disappointment could be none, Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy: We rested in the shade, all pleased alike, Conquered and conqueror. Thus the pride of strength, And the vain-glory of superior skill, 70 Were tempered; thus was gradually produced A quiet independence of the heart; And to my Friend who knows me I may add, Fearless of blame, that hence for future days Ensued a diffidence and modesty, 75 And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much, The self-sufficing power of Solitude. Our daily meals were frugal, Sabine fare! More than we wished we knew the blessing then Of vigorous hunger--hence corporeal strength 80 Unsapped by delicate viands; for, exclude A little weekly stipend, and we lived Through three divisions of the quartered year In penniless poverty. But now to school From the half-yearly holidays returned, 85 We came with weightier purses, that sufficed To furnish treats more costly than the Dame Of the old grey stone, from her scant board, supplied. Hence rustic dinners on the cool green ground, Or in the woods, or by a river side 90 Or shady fountains, while among the leaves Soft airs were stirring, and the mid-day sun Unfelt shone brightly round us in our joy. Nor is my aim neglected if I tell How sometimes, in the length of those half-years, 95 We from our funds drew largely;--proud to curb, And eager to spur on, the galloping steed; And with the courteous inn-keeper, whose stud Supplied our want, we haply might employ Sly subterfuge, if the adventure's bound 100 Were distant: some famed temple where of yore The Druids worshipped, [E] or the antique walls Of that large abbey, where within the Vale Of Nightshade, to St. Mary's honour built, [F] Stands yet a mouldering pile with fractured arch, 105 Belfry, [G] and images, and living trees, A holy scene! Along the smooth green turf Our horses grazed. To more than inland peace Left by the west wind sweeping overhead From a tumultuous ocean, trees and towers 110 In that sequestered valley may be seen, Both silent and both motionless alike; Such the deep shelter that is there, and such The safeguard for repose and quietness. Our steeds remounted and the summons given, 115 With whip and spur we through the chauntry flew In uncouth race, and left the cross-legged knight, And the stone-abbot, [H] and that single wren Which one day sang so sweetly in the nave Of the old church, that--though from recent showers 120 The earth was comfortless, and touched by faint Internal breezes, sobbings of the place And respirations, from the roofless walls The shuddering ivy dripped large drops--yet still So sweetly 'mid the gloom the invisible bird 125 Sang to herself, that there I could have made My dwelling-place, and lived for ever there To hear such music. Through the walls we flew And down the valley, and, a circuit made In wantonness of heart, through rough and smooth 130 We scampered homewards. Oh, ye rocks and streams, And that still spirit shed from evening air! Even in this joyous time I sometimes felt Your presence, when with slackened step we breathed Along the sides of the steep hills, or when 135 Lighted by gleams of moonlight from the sea We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand. Midway on long Winander's eastern shore, Within the crescent of a pleasant bay, [I] A tavern stood; [K] no homely-featured house, 140 Primeval like its neighbouring cottages, But 'twas a splendid place, the door beset With chaises, grooms, and liveries, and within Decanters, glasses, and the blood-red wine. In ancient times, and ere the Hall was built 145 On the large island, had this dwelling been More worthy of a poet's love, a hut, Proud of its own bright fire and sycamore shade. But--though the rhymes were gone that once inscribed The threshold, and large golden characters, 150 Spread o'er the spangled sign-board, had dislodged The old Lion and usurped his place, in slight And mockery of the rustic painter's hand--[L] Yet, to this hour, the spot to me is dear With all its foolish pomp. The garden lay 155 Upon a slope surmounted by a plain Of a small bowling-green; beneath us stood A grove, with gleams of water through the trees And over the tree-tops; [M] nor did we want Refreshment, strawberries and mellow cream. 160 There, while through half an afternoon we played On the smooth platform, whether skill prevailed Or happy blunder triumphed, bursts of glee Made all the mountains ring. But, ere night-fall, When in our pinnace we returned at leisure 165 Over the shadowy lake, and to the beach Of some small island steered our course with one, The Minstrel of the Troop, and left him there, [N] And rowed off gently, while he blew his flute Alone upon the rock--oh, then, the calm 170 And dead still water lay upon my mind Even with a weight of pleasure, and the sky, Never before so beautiful, sank down Into my heart, and held me like a dream! Thus were my sympathies enlarged, and thus 175 Daily the common range of visible things Grew dear to me: already I began To love the sun; a boy I loved the sun, Not as I since have loved him, as a pledge And surety of our earthly life, a light 180 Which we behold and feel we are alive; [O] Nor for his bounty to so many worlds-- But for this cause, that I had seen him lay His beauty on the morning hills, had seen The western mountain [P] touch his setting orb, 185 In many a thoughtless hour, when, from excess Of happiness, my blood appeared to flow For its own pleasure, and I breathed with joy. And, from like feelings, humble though intense, To patriotic and domestic love 190 Analogous, the moon to me was dear; For I could dream away my purposes, Standing to gaze upon her while she hung Midway between the hills, as if she knew No other region, but belonged to thee, [Q] 195 Yea, appertained by a peculiar right To thee and thy grey huts, thou one dear Vale! [R] Those incidental charms which first attached My heart to rural objects, day by day Grew weaker, and I hasten on to tell 200 How Nature, intervenient till this time And secondary, now at length was sought For her own sake. But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square? 205 Who knows the individual hour in which His habits were first sown, even as a seed? Who that shall point as with a wand and say "This portion of the river of my mind Came from yon fountain?" [S] Thou, my Friend! art one 210 More deeply read in thy own thoughts; to thee Science appears but what in truth she is, Not as our glory and our absolute boast, But as a succedaneum, and a prop To our infirmity. No officious slave 215 Art thou of that false secondary power By which we multiply distinctions; then, Deem that our puny boundaries are things That we perceive, and not that we have made. To thee, unblinded by these formal arts, 220 The unity of all hath been revealed, And thou wilt doubt, with me less aptly skilled Than many are to range the faculties In scale and order, class the cabinet Of their sensations, and in voluble phrase 225 Run through the history and birth of each As of a single independent thing. Hard task, vain hope, to analyse the mind, If each most obvious and particular thought, Not in a mystical and idle sense, 230 But in the words of Reason deeply weighed, Hath no beginning. Blest the infant Babe, (For with my best conjecture I would trace Our Being's earthly progress,) blest the Babe, Nursed in his Mother's arms, who sinks to sleep 235 Rocked on his Mother's breast; who with his soul Drinks in the feelings of his Mother's eye! For him, in one dear Presence, there exists A virtue which irradiates and exalts Objects through widest intercourse of sense. 240 No outcast he, bewildered and depressed: Along his infant veins are interfused The gravitation and the filial bond Of nature that connect him with the world. Is there a flower, to which he points with hand 245 Too weak to gather it, already love Drawn from love's purest earthly fount for him Hath beautified that flower; already shades Of pity cast from inward tenderness Do fall around him upon aught that bears 250 Unsightly marks of violence or harm. Emphatically such a Being lives, Frail creature as he is, helpless as frail, An inmate of this active universe. For feeling has to him imparted power 255 That through the growing faculties of sense Doth like an agent of the one great Mind Create, creator and receiver both, Working but in alliance with the works Which it beholds. Such, verily, is the first 260 Poetic spirit of our human life, By uniform control of after years, In most, abated or suppressed; in some, Through every change of growth and of decay, Pre-eminent till death. From early days, 265 Beginning not long after that first time In which, a Babe, by intercourse of touch I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart, I have endeavoured to display the means Whereby this infant sensibility, 270 Great birthright of our being, was in me Augmented and sustained. Yet is a path More difficult before me; and I fear That in its broken windings we shall need The chamois' sinews, and the eagle's wing: 275 For now a trouble came into my mind From unknown causes. I was left alone Seeking the visible world, nor knowing why. The props of my affections were removed, And yet the building stood, as if sustained 280 By its own spirit! All that I beheld Was dear, and hence to finer influxes The mind lay open to a more exact And close communion. Many are our joys In youth, but oh! what happiness to live 285 When every hour brings palpable access Of knowledge, when all knowledge is delight, And sorrow is not there! The seasons came, And every season wheresoe'er I moved Unfolded transitory qualities, 290 Which, but for this most watchful power of love, Had been neglected; left a register Of permanent relations, else unknown. Hence life, and change, and beauty, solitude More active even than "best society"--[T] 295 Society made sweet as solitude By silent inobtrusive sympathies-- And gentle agitations of the mind From manifold distinctions, difference Perceived in things, where, to the unwatchful eye, 300 No difference is, and hence, from the same source, Sublimer joy; for I would walk alone, Under the quiet stars, and at that time Have felt whate'er there is of power in sound To breathe an elevated mood, by form 305 Or image unprofaned; and I would stand, If the night blackened with a coming storm, Beneath some rock, listening to notes that are The ghostly language of the ancient earth, Or make their dim abode in distant winds. 310 Thence did I drink the visionary power; And deem not profitless those fleeting moods Of shadowy exultation: not for this, That they are kindred to our purer mind And intellectual life; but that the soul, 315 Remembering how she felt, but what she felt Remembering not, retains an obscure sense Of possible sublimity, whereto With growing faculties she doth aspire, With faculties still growing, feeling still 320 That whatsoever point they gain, they yet Have something to pursue. And not alone, 'Mid gloom and tumult, but no less 'mid fair And tranquil scenes, that universal power And fitness in the latent qualities 325 And essences of things, by which the mind Is moved with feelings of delight, to me Came, strengthened with a superadded soul, A virtue not its own. My morning walks Were early;--oft before the hours of school [U] 330 I travelled round our little lake, [V] five miles Of pleasant wandering. Happy time! more dear For this, that one was by my side, a Friend, [W] Then passionately loved; with heart how full Would he peruse these lines! For many years 335 Have since flowed in between us, and, our minds Both silent to each other, at this time We live as if those hours had never been. Nor seldom did I lift--our cottage latch [X] Far earlier, ere one smoke-wreath had risen 340 From human dwelling, or the vernal thrush Was audible; and sate among the woods Alone upon some jutting eminence, [Y] At the first gleam of dawn-light, when the Vale, Yet slumbering, lay in utter solitude. 345 How shall I seek the origin? where find Faith in the marvellous things which then I felt? Oft in these moments such a holy calm Would overspread my soul, that bodily eyes Were utterly forgotten, and what I saw 350 Appeared like something in myself, a dream, A prospect in the mind. [Z] 'Twere long to tell What spring and autumn, what the winter snows, And what the summer shade, what day and night, Evening and morning, sleep and waking, thought 355 From sources inexhaustible, poured forth To feed the spirit of religious love In which I walked with Nature. But let this Be not forgotten, that I still retained My first creative sensibility; 360 That by the regular action of the world My soul was unsubdued. A plastic power Abode with me; a forming hand, at times Rebellious, acting in a devious mood; A local spirit of his own, at war 365 With general tendency, but, for the most, Subservient strictly to external things With which it communed. An auxiliar light Came from my mind, which on the setting sun Bestowed new splendour; the melodious birds, 370 The fluttering breezes, fountains that run on Murmuring so sweetly in themselves, obeyed A like dominion, and the midnight storm Grew darker in the presence of my eye: Hence my obeisance, my devotion hence, 375 And hence my transport. Nor should this, perchance, Pass unrecorded, that I still had loved The exercise and produce of a toil, Than analytic industry to me More pleasing, and whose character I deem 380 Is more poetic as resembling more Creative agency. The song would speak Of that interminable building reared By observation of affinities In objects where no brotherhood exists 385 To passive minds. My seventeenth year was come; And, whether from this habit rooted now So deeply in my mind; or from excess In the great social principle of life Coercing all things into sympathy, 390 To unorganic ratures were transferred My own enjoyments; or the power of truth Coming in revelation, did converse With things that really are; I, at this time, Saw blessings spread around me like a sea. 395 Thus while the days flew by, and years passed on, From Nature and her overflowing soul, I had received so much, that all my thoughts Were steeped in feeling; I was only then Contented, when with bliss ineffable 400 I felt the sentiment of Being spread O'er all that moves and all that seemeth still; O'er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought And human knowledge, to the human eye Invisible, yet liveth to the heart; 405 O'er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and sings, Or beats the gladsome air; o'er all that glides Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself, And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not If high the transport, great the joy I felt, 410 Communing in this sort through earth and heaven With every form of creature, as it looked Towards the Uncreated with a countenance Of adoration, with an eye of love. One song they sang, and it was audible, 415 Most audible, then, when the fleshly ear, O'ercome by humblest prelude of that strain, Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed. If this be error, and another faith Find easier access to the pious mind, 420 Yet were I grossly destitute of all Those human sentiments that make this earth So dear, if I should fail with grateful voice To speak of you, ye mountains, and ye lakes And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds 425 That dwell among the hills where I was born. If in my youth I have been pure in heart, If, mingling with the world, I am content With my own modest pleasures, and have lived With God and Nature communing, removed 430 From little enmities and low desires, The gift is yours; if in these times of fear, This melancholy waste of hopes o'erthrown, If, 'mid indifference and apathy, And wicked exultation when good men 435 On every side fall off, we know not how, To selfishness, disguised in gentle names Of peace and quiet and domestic love, Yet mingled not unwillingly with sneers On visionary minds; if, in this time 440 Of dereliction and dismay, I yet Despair not of our nature, but retain A more than Roman confidence, a faith That fails not, in all sorrow my support, The blessing of my life; the gift is yours, 445 Ye winds and sounding cataracts! 'tis yours, Ye mountains! thine, O Nature! Thou hast fed My lofty speculations; and in thee, For this uneasy heart of ours, I find A never-failing principle of joy 450 And purest passion. Thou, my Friend! wert reared In the great city, 'mid far other scenes; [a] But we, by different roads, at length have gained The self-same bourne. And for this cause to thee I speak, unapprehensive of contempt, 455 The insinuated scoff of coward tongues, And all that silent language which so oft In conversation between man and man Blots from the human countenance all trace Of beauty and of love. For thou hast sought 460 The truth in solitude, and, since the days That gave thee liberty, full long desired, To serve in Nature's temple, thou hast been The most assiduous of her ministers; In many things my brother, chiefly here 465 In this our deep devotion. Fare thee well! Health and the quiet of a healthful mind Attend thee! seeking oft the haunts of men, And yet more often living with thyself, And for thyself, so haply shall thy days 470 Be many, and a blessing to mankind. [b] * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: The "square" of the "small market village" of Hawkshead still remains; and the presence of the new "assembly-room" does not prevent us from realising it as open, with the "rude mass of native rock left midway" in it--the "old grey stone," which was the centre of the village sports.--Ed.] [Footnote B: Compare 'The Excursion', book ix. ll. 487-90: 'When, on thy bosom, spacious Windermere! A Youth, I practised this delightful art; Tossed on the waves alone, or 'mid a crew Of joyous comrades.' Ed.] [Footnote C: Compare 'The Excursion', book ix. l. 544, describing "a fair Isle with birch-trees fringed," where they gathered leaves of that shy plant (its flower was shed), the lily of the vale.--Ed.] [Footnote D: These islands in Windermere are easily identified. In the Lily of the Valley Island the plant still grows, though not abundantly; but from Lady Holme the 'ruins of a shrine Once to Our Lady dedicate' have disappeared as completely as the shrine in St. Herbert's Island, Derwentwater. The third island: 'musical with birds, That sang and ceased not--' may have been House Holme, or that now called Thomson's Holme. It could hardly have been Belle Isle; since, from its size, it could not be described as a "Sister Isle" to the one where the lily of the valley grew "beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert."--Ed.] [Footnote E: Doubtless the circle was at Conishead Priory, on the Cartmell Sands; or that in the vale of Swinside, on the north-east side of Black Combe; more probably the former. The whole district is rich in Druidical remains, but Wordsworth would not refer to the Keswick circle, or to Long Meg and her Daughters in this connection; and the proximity of the temple on the Cartmell Shore to the Furness Abbey ruins, and the ease with which it could be visited on holidays by the boys from Hawkshead school, make it almost certain that he refers to it.--Ed.] [Footnote F: Furness Abbey, founded by Stephen in 1127, in the glen of the deadly Nightshade--Bekansghyll--so called from the luxuriant abundance of the plant, and dedicated to St. Mary. (Compare West's 'Antiquities of Furness'.)--Ed.] [Footnote G: What was the belfry is now a mass of detached ruins.--Ed.] [Footnote H: Doubtless the Cartmell Sands beyond Ulverston, at the estuary of the Leven.--Ed.] [Footnote I: At Bowness.--Ed.] [Footnote K: The White Lion Inn at Bowness.--Ed.] [Footnote L: Compare the reference to the "rude piece of self-taught art," at the Swan Inn, in the first canto of 'The Waggoner', p. 81. William Hutchinson, in his 'Excursion to the Lakes in 1773 and 1774' (second edition, 1776, p. 185), mentions "the White Lion Inn at Bownas."--Ed.] [Footnote M: Dr. Cradock told me that William Hutchinson--referred to in the previous note--describes "Bownas church and its cottages," as seen from the lake, arising "'above the trees'." Wordsworth, reversing the view, sees "gleams of water through the trees and 'over the tree tops'"--another instance of minutely exact description.--Ed.] [Footnote N: Robert Greenwood, afterwards Senior Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.--Ed.] [Footnote O: Compare 'Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey', vol. ii. p. 51.--Ed.] [Footnote P: Wetherlam, or Coniston Old Man, or both.--Ed.] [Footnote Q: "The moon, as it hung over the southernmost shore of Esthwaite, with Gunner's How, as seen from Hawkshead rising up boldly to the spectator's left hand, would be thus described." (H. D. Rawnsley.)--Ed.] [Footnote R: Esthwaite. Compare 'Peter Bell' (vol. ii. p. 13): 'Where deep and low the hamlets lie Beneath their little patch of sky And little lot of stars.' Ed.] [Footnote S: See in the Appendix to this volume, Note II, p. 388.--Ed.] [Footnote T: See 'Paradise Lost', ix. l. 249.--Ed.] [Footnote U: The daily work in Hawkshead School began--by Archbishop Sandys' ordinance--at 6 A.M. in summer, and 7 A.M. in winter.--Ed.] [Footnote V: Esthwaite.--Ed.] [Footnote W: The Rev. John Fleming, of Rayrigg, Windermere, or, possibly, the Rev. Charles Farish, author of 'The Minstrels of Winandermere' and 'Black Agnes'. Mr. Carter, who edited 'The Prelude' in 1850, says it was the former, but this is not absolutely certain.--Ed.] [Footnote X: A "cottage latch"--probably the same as that in use in Dame Tyson's time--is still on the door of the house where she lived at Hawkshead.--Ed.] [Footnote Y: Probably on the western side of the Vale, above the village. There is but one "'jutting' eminence" on this side of the valley. It is an old moraine, now grass-covered; and, from this point, the view both of the village and of the vale is noteworthy. The jutting eminence, however, may have been a crag, amongst the Colthouse heights, to the north-east of Hawkshead.--Ed.] [Footnote Z: Compare in the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality': '... those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings,' etc. Ed.] [Footnote a: Coleridge's school days were spent at Christ's Hospital in London. With the above line compare S. T. C.'s 'Frost at Midnight': 'I was reared In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim.' Ed.] [Footnote b: Compare 'Stanzas written in my Pocket Copy of Thomsons "Castle of Indolence,"' vol. ii. p. 305.--Ed.] * * * * * BOOK THIRD RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE It was a dreary morning when the wheels Rolled over a wide plain o'erhung with clouds, And nothing cheered our way till first we saw The long-roofed chapel of King's College lift Turrets and pinnacles in answering files, 5 Extended high above a dusky grove, [A] Advancing, we espied upon the road A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap, Striding along as if o'ertasked by Time, Or covetous of exercise and air; 10 He passed--nor was I master of my eyes Till he was left an arrow's flight behind. As near and nearer to the spot we drew, It seemed to suck us in with an eddy's force. Onward we drove beneath the Castle; caught, 15 While crossing Magdalene Bridge, a glimpse of Cam; And at the 'Hoop' alighted, famous Inn. [B] My spirit was up, my thoughts were full of hope; Some friends I had, acquaintances who there Seemed friends, poor simple school-boys, now hung round 20 With honour and importance: in a world Of welcome faces up and down I roved; Questions, directions, warnings and advice, Flowed in upon me, from all sides; fresh day Of pride and pleasure! to myself I seemed 25 A man of business and expense, and went From shop to shop about my own affairs, To Tutor or to Tailor, as befel, From street to street with loose and careless mind. I was the Dreamer, they the Dream; I roamed 30 Delighted through the motley spectacle; Gowns, grave, or gaudy, doctors, students, streets, Courts, cloisters, flocks of churches, gateways, towers: Migration strange for a stripling of the hills, A northern villager. As if the change 35 Had waited on some Fairy's wand, at once Behold me rich in monies, and attired In splendid garb, with hose of silk, and hair Powdered like rimy trees, when frost is keen. My lordly dressing-gown, I pass it by, 40 With other signs of manhood that supplied The lack of beard.--The weeks went roundly on, With invitations, suppers, wine and fruit, Smooth housekeeping within, and all without Liberal, and suiting gentleman's array. 45 The Evangelist St. John my patron was: Three Gothic courts are his, and in the first Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure; [C] Right underneath, the College kitchens made A humming sound, less tuneable than bees, 50 But hardly less industrious; with shrill notes Of sharp command and scolding intermixed. Near me hung Trinity's loquacious clock, Who never let the quarters, night or day, Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours 55 Twice over with a male and female voice. Her pealing organ was my neighbour too; And from my pillow, looking forth by light Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold The antechapel where the statue stood 60 Of Newton with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind for ever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone. Of College labours, of the Lecturer's room All studded round, as thick as chairs could stand, 65 With loyal students faithful to their books, Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants, And honest dunces--of important days, Examinations, when the man was weighed As in a balance! of excessive hopes, 70 Tremblings withal and commendable fears, Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad, Let others that know more speak as they know. Such glory was but little sought by me, And little won. Yet from the first crude days 75 Of settling time in this untried abode, I was disturbed at times by prudent thoughts, Wishing to hope without a hope, some fears About my future worldly maintenance, And, more than all, a strangeness in the mind, 80 A feeling that I was not for that hour, Nor for that place. But wherefore be cast down? For (not to speak of Reason and her pure Reflective acts to fix the moral law Deep in the conscience, nor of Christian Hope, 85 Bowing her head before her sister Faith As one far mightier), hither I had come, Bear witness Truth, endowed with holy powers And faculties, whether to work or feel. Oft when the dazzling show no longer new 90 Had ceased to dazzle, ofttimes did I quit My comrades, leave the crowd, buildings and groves, And as I paced alone the level fields Far from those lovely sights and sounds sublime With which I had been conversant, the mind 95 Drooped not; but there into herself returning, With prompt rebound seemed fresh as heretofore. At least I more distinctly recognised Her native instincts: let me dare to speak A higher language, say that now I felt 100 What independent solaces were mine, To mitigate the injurious sway of place Or circumstance, how far soever changed In youth, or to be changed in manhood's prime; Or for the few who shall be called to look 105 On the long shadows in our evening years, Ordained precursors to the night of death. As if awakened, summoned, roused, constrained, I looked for universal things; perused The common countenance of earth and sky: 110 Earth, nowhere unembellished by some trace Of that first Paradise whence man was driven; And sky, whose beauty and bounty are expressed By the proud name she bears--the name of Heaven. I called on both to teach me what they might; 115 Or turning the mind in upon herself Pored, watched, expected, listened, spread my thoughts And spread them with a wider creeping; felt Incumbencies more awful, visitings Of the Upholder of the tranquil soul, 120 That tolerates the indignities of Time, And, from the centre of Eternity All finite motions overruling, lives In glory immutable. But peace! enough Here to record that I was mounting now 125 To such community with highest truth-- A track pursuing, not untrod before, From strict analogies by thought supplied Or consciousnesses not to be subdued. To every natural form, rock, fruit or flower, 130 Even the loose stones that cover the high-way, I gave a moral life: I saw them feel, Or linked them to some feeling: the great mass Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all That I beheld respired with inward meaning. 135 Add that whate'er of Terror or of Love Or Beauty, Nature's daily face put on From transitory passion, unto this I was as sensitive as waters are To the sky's influence in a kindred mood 140 Of passion; was obedient as a lute That waits upon the touches of the wind. Unknown, unthought of, yet I was most rich-- I had a world about me--'twas my own; I made it, for it only lived to me, 145 And to the God who sees into the heart. Such sympathies, though rarely, were betrayed By outward gestures and by visible looks: Some called it madness--so indeed it was, If child-like fruitfulness in passing joy, 150 If steady moods of thoughtfulness matured To inspiration, sort with such a name; If prophecy be madness; if things viewed By poets in old time, and higher up By the first men, earth's first inhabitants, 155 May in these tutored days no more be seen With undisordered sight. But leaving this, It was no madness, for the bodily eye Amid my strongest workings evermore Was searching out the lines of difference 160 As they lie hid in all external forms, Near or remote, minute or vast, an eye Which from a tree, a stone, a withered leaf, To the broad ocean and the azure heavens Spangled with kindred multitudes of stars, 165 Could find no surface where its power might sleep; Which spake perpetual logic to my soul, And by an unrelenting agency Did bind my feelings even as in a chain. And here, O Friend! have I retraced my life 170 Up to an eminence, and told a tale Of matters which not falsely may be called The glory of my youth. Of genius, power, Creation and divinity itself I have been speaking, for my theme has been 175 What passed within me. Not of outward things Done visibly for other minds, words, signs, Symbols or actions, but of my own heart Have I been speaking, and my youthful mind. O Heavens! how awful is the might of souls, 180 And what they do within themselves while yet The yoke of earth is new to them, the world Nothing but a wild field where they were sown. This is, in truth, heroic argument, This genuine prowess, which I wished to touch 185 With hand however weak, but in the main It lies far hidden from the reach of words. Points have we all of us within our souls Where all stand single; this I feel, and make Breathings for incommunicable powers; 190 But is not each a memory to himself? And, therefore, now that we must quit this theme, I am not heartless, for there's not a man That lives who hath not known his god-like hours, And feels not what an empire we inherit 195 As natural beings in the strength of Nature. No more: for now into a populous plain We must descend. A Traveller I am, Whose tale is only of himself; even so, So be it, if the pure of heart be prompt 200 To follow, and if thou, my honoured Friend! Who in these thoughts art ever at my side, Support, as heretofore, my fainting steps. It hath been told, that when the first delight That flashed upon me from this novel show 205 Had failed, the mind returned into herself; Yet true it is, that I had made a change In climate, and my nature's outward coat Changed also slowly and insensibly. Full oft the quiet and exalted thoughts 210 Of loneliness gave way to empty noise And superficial pastimes; now and then Forced labour, and more frequently forced hopes; And, worst of all, a treasonable growth Of indecisive judgments, that impaired 215 And shook the mind's simplicity.--And yet This was a gladsome time. Could I behold-- Who, less insensible than sodden clay In a sea-river's bed at ebb of tide, Could have beheld,--with undelighted heart, 220 So many happy youths, so wide and fair A congregation in its budding-time Of health, and hope, and beauty, all at once So many divers samples from the growth Of life's sweet season--could have seen unmoved 225 That miscellaneous garland of wild flowers Decking the matron temples of a place So famous through the world? To me, at least, It was a goodly prospect: for, in sooth, Though I had learnt betimes to stand unpropped, 230 And independent musings pleased me so That spells seemed on me when I was alone, Yet could I only cleave to solitude In lonely places; if a throng was near That way I leaned by nature; for my heart 235 Was social, and loved idleness and joy. Not seeking those who might participate My deeper pleasures (nay, I had not once, Though not unused to mutter lonesome songs, Even with myself divided such delight, 240 Or looked that way for aught that might be clothed In human language), easily I passed From the remembrances of better things, And slipped into the ordinary works Of careless youth, unburthened, unalarmed. 245 _Caverns_ there were within my mind which sun Could never penetrate, yet did there not Want store of leafy _arbours_ where the light Might enter in at will. Companionships, Friendships, acquaintances, were welcome all. 250 We sauntered, played, or rioted; we talked Unprofitable talk at morning hours; Drifted about along the streets and walks, Read lazily in trivial books, went forth To gallop through the country in blind zeal 255 Of senseless horsemanship, or on the breast Of Cam sailed boisterously, and let the stars Come forth, perhaps without one quiet thought. Such was the tenor of the second act In this new life. Imagination slept, 260 And yet not utterly. I could not print Ground where the grass had yielded to the steps Of generations of illustrious men, Unmoved. I could not always lightly pass Through the same gateways, sleep where they had slept, 265 Wake where they waked, range that inclosure old, That garden of great intellects, undisturbed. Place also by the side of this dark sense Of noble feeling, that those spiritual men, Even the great Newton's own ethereal self, 270 Seemed humbled in these precincts thence to be The more endeared. Their several memories here (Even like their persons in their portraits clothed With the accustomed garb of daily life) Put on a lowly and a touching grace 275 Of more distinct humanity, that left All genuine admiration unimpaired. Beside the pleasant Mill of Trompington [D] I laughed with Chaucer in the hawthorn shade; Heard him, while birds were warbling, tell his tales 280 Of amorous passion. And that gentle Bard, Chosen by the Muses for their Page of State-- Sweet Spenser, moving through his clouded heaven With the moon's beauty and the moon's soft pace, I called him Brother, Englishman, and Friend! 285 Yea, our blind Poet, who, in his later day, Stood almost single; uttering odious truth-- Darkness before, and danger's voice behind, Soul awful--if the earth has ever lodged An awful soul--I seemed to see him here 290 Familiarly, and in his scholar's dress Bounding before me, yet a stripling youth-- A boy, no better, with his rosy cheeks Angelical, keen eye, courageous look, And conscious step of purity and pride. 295 Among the band of my compeers was one Whom chance had stationed in the very room Honoured by Milton's name. O temperate Bard! Be it confest that, for the first time, seated Within thy innocent lodge and oratory, 300 One of a festive circle, I poured out Libations, to thy memory drank, till pride And gratitude grew dizzy in a brain Never excited by the fumes of wine Before that hour, or since. Then, forth I ran 305 From the assembly; through a length of streets, Ran, ostrich-like, to reach our chapel door In not a desperate or opprobrious time, Albeit long after the importunate bell Had stopped, with wearisome Cassandra voice 310 No longer haunting the dark winter night. Call back, O Friend! [E] a moment to thy mind, The place itself and fashion of the rites. With careless ostentation shouldering up My surplice, [F] through the inferior throng I clove 315 Of the plain Burghers, who in audience stood On the last skirts of their permitted ground, Under the pealing organ. Empty thoughts! I am ashamed of them: and that great Bard, And thou, O Friend! who in thy ample mind 320 Hast placed me high above my best deserts, Ye will forgive the weakness of that hour, In some of its unworthy vanities, Brother to many more. In this mixed sort The months passed on, remissly, not given up 325 To wilful alienation from the right, Or walks of open scandal, but in vague And loose indifference, easy likings, aims Of a low pitch--duty and zeal dismissed, Yet Nature, or a happy course of things 330 Not doing in their stead the needful work. The memory languidly revolved, the heart Reposed in noontide rest, the inner pulse Of contemplation almost failed to beat. Such life might not inaptly be compared 335 To a floating island, an amphibious spot Unsound, of spongy texture, yet withal Not wanting a fair face of water weeds And pleasant flowers. [G] The thirst of living praise, Fit reverence for the glorious Dead, the sight 340 Of those long vistas, sacred catacombs, Where mighty minds lie visibly entombed, Have often stirred the heart of youth, and bred A fervent love of rigorous discipline.-- Alas! such high emotion touched not me. 345 Look was there none within these walls to shame My easy spirits, and discountenance Their light composure, far less to instil A calm resolve of mind, firmly addressed To puissant efforts. Nor was this the blame 350 Of others, but my own; I should, in truth, As far as doth concern my single self, Misdeem most widely, lodging it elsewhere: For I, bred up 'mid Nature's luxuries, Was a spoiled child, and rambling like the wind, 355 As I had done in daily intercourse With those crystalline rivers, solemn heights, And mountains, ranging like a fowl of the air, I was ill-tutored for captivity; To quit my pleasure, and, from month to month, 360 Take up a station calmly on the perch Of sedentary peace. Those lovely forms Had also left less space within my mind, Which, wrought upon instinctively, had found A freshness in those objects of her love, 365 A winning power, beyond all other power. Not that I slighted books, [H]--that were to lack All sense,--but other passions in me ruled, Passions more fervent, making me less prompt To in-door study than was wise or well, 370 Or suited to those years. Yet I, though used In magisterial liberty to rove, Culling such flowers of learning as might tempt A random choice, could shadow forth a place (If now I yield not to a flattering dream) 375 Whose studious aspect should have bent me down To instantaneous service; should at once Have made me pay to science and to arts And written lore, acknowledged my liege lord, A homage frankly offered up, like that 380 Which I had paid to Nature. Toil and pains In this recess, by thoughtful Fancy built, Should spread from heart to heart; and stately groves, Majestic edifices, should not want A corresponding dignity within. 385 The congregating temper that pervades Our unripe years, not wasted, should be taught To minister to works of high attempt-- Works which the enthusiast would perform with love. Youth should be awed, religiously possessed 390 With a conviction of the power that waits On knowledge, when sincerely sought and prized For its own sake, on glory and on praise If but by labour won, and fit to endure The passing day; should learn to put aside 395 Her trappings here, should strip them off abashed Before antiquity and stedfast truth And strong book-mindedness; and over all A healthy sound simplicity should reign, A seemly plainness, name it what you will, 400 Republican or pious. If these thoughts Are a gratuitous emblazonry That mocks the recreant age _we_ live in, then Be Folly and False-seeming free to affect Whatever formal gait of discipline 405 Shall raise them highest in their own esteem-- Let them parade among the Schools at will, But spare the House of God. Was ever known The witless shepherd who persists to drive A flock that thirsts not to a pool disliked? 410 A weight must surely hang on days begun And ended with such mockery. Be wise, Ye Presidents and Deans, and, till the spirit Of ancient times revive, and youth be trained At home in pious service, to your bells 415 Give seasonable rest, for 'tis a sound Hollow as ever vexed the tranquil air; And your officious doings bring disgrace On the plain steeples of our English Church, Whose worship, 'mid remotest village trees, 420 Suffers for this. Even Science, too, at hand In daily sight of this irreverence, Is smitten thence with an unnatural taint, Loses her just authority, falls beneath Collateral suspicion, else unknown. 425 This truth escaped me not, and I confess, That having 'mid my native hills given loose To a schoolboy's vision, I had raised a pile Upon the basis of the coming time, That fell in ruins round me. Oh, what joy 430 To see a sanctuary for our country's youth Informed with such a spirit as might be Its own protection; a primeval grove, Where, though the shades with cheerfulness were filled, Nor indigent of songs warbled from crowds 435 In under-coverts, yet the countenance Of the whole place should bear a stamp of awe; A habitation sober and demure For ruminating creatures; a domain For quiet things to wander in; a haunt 440 In which the heron should delight to feed By the shy rivers, and the pelican Upon the cypress spire in lonely thought Might sit and sun himself.--Alas! Alas! In vain for such solemnity I looked; 445 Mine eyes were crossed by butterflies, ears vexed By chattering popinjays; the inner heart Seemed trivial, and the impresses without Of a too gaudy region. Different sight Those venerable Doctors saw of old, 450 When all who dwelt within these famous walls Led in abstemiousness a studious life; When, in forlorn and naked chambers cooped And crowded, o'er the ponderous books they hung Like caterpillars eating out their way 455 In silence, or with keen devouring noise Not to be tracked or fathered. Princes then At matins froze, and couched at curfew-time, Trained up through piety and zeal to prize Spare diet, patient labour, and plain weeds. 460 O seat of Arts! renowned throughout the world! Far different service in those homely days The Muses' modest nurslings underwent From their first childhood: in that glorious time When Learning, like a stranger come from far, 465 Sounding through Christian lands her trumpet, roused Peasant and king; when boys and youths, the growth Of ragged villages and crazy huts, Forsook their homes, and, errant in the quest Of Patron, famous school or friendly nook, 470 Where, pensioned, they in shelter might sit down, From town to town and through wide scattered realms Journeyed with ponderous folios in their hands; And often, starting from some covert place, Saluted the chance comer on the road, 475 Crying, "An obolus, a penny give To a poor scholar!" [I]--when illustrious men, Lovers of truth, by penury constrained, Bucer, Erasmus, or Melancthon, read Before the doors or windows of their cells 480 By moonshine through mere lack of taper light. But peace to vain regrets! We see but darkly Even when we look behind us, and best things Are not so pure by nature that they needs Must keep to all, as fondly all believe, 485 Their highest promise. If the mariner, When at reluctant distance he hath passed Some tempting island, could but know the ills That must have fallen upon him had he brought His bark to land upon the wished-for shore, 490 Good cause would oft be his to thank the surf Whose white belt scared him thence, or wind that blew Inexorably adverse: for myself I grieve not; happy is the gownd youth, Who only misses what I missed, who falls 495 No lower than I fell. I did not love, Judging not ill perhaps, the timid course Of our scholastic studies; could have wished To see the river flow with ampler range And freer pace; but more, far more, I grieved 500 To see displayed among an eager few, Who in the field of contest persevered, Passions unworthy of youth's generous heart And mounting spirit, pitiably repaid, When so disturbed, whatever palms are won. 505 From these I turned to travel with the shoal Of more unthinking natures, easy minds And pillowy; yet not wanting love that makes The day pass lightly on, when foresight sleeps, And wisdom and the pledges interchanged 510 With our own inner being are forgot. Yet was this deep vacation not given up To utter waste. Hitherto I had stood In my own mind remote from social life, (At least from what we commonly so name,) 515 Like a lone shepherd on a promontory Who lacking occupation looks far forth Into the boundless sea, and rather makes Than finds what he beholds. And sure it is, That this first transit from the smooth delights 520 And wild outlandish walks of simple youth To something that resembles an approach Towards human business, to a privileged world Within a world, a midway residence With all its intervenient imagery, 525 Did better suit my visionary mind, Far better, than to have been bolted forth; Thrust out abruptly into Fortune's way Among the conflicts of substantial life; By a more just gradation did lead on 530 To higher things; more naturally matured, For permanent possession, better fruits, Whether of truth or virtue, to ensue. In serious mood, but oftener, I confess, With playful zest of fancy did we note 535 (How could we less?) the manners and the ways Of those who lived distinguished by the badge Of good or ill report; or those with whom By frame of Academic discipline We were perforce connected, men whose sway 540 And known authority of office served To set our minds on edge, and did no more. Nor wanted we rich pastime of this kind, Found everywhere, but chiefly in the ring Of the grave Elders, men unsecured, grotesque 545 In character, tricked out like aged trees Which through the lapse of their infirmity Give ready place to any random seed That chooses to be reared upon their trunks. Here on my view, confronting vividly 550 Those shepherd swains whom I had lately left, Appeared a different aspect of old age; How different! yet both distinctly marked, Objects embossed to catch the general eye, Or portraitures for special use designed, 555 As some might seem, so aptly do they serve To illustrate Nature's book of rudiments-- That book upheld as with maternal care When she would enter on her tender scheme Of teaching comprehension with delight, 560 And mingling playful with pathetic thoughts. The surfaces of artificial life And manners finely wrought, the delicate race Of colours, lurking, gleaming up and down Through that state arras woven with silk and gold; 565 This wily interchange of snaky hues, Willingly or unwillingly revealed, I neither knew nor cared for; and as such Were wanting here, I took what might be found Of less elaborate fabric. At this day 570 I smile, in many a mountain solitude Conjuring up scenes as obsolete in freaks Of character, in points of wit as broad, As aught by wooden images performed For entertainment of the gaping crowd 575 At wake or fair. And oftentimes do flit Remembrances before me of old men-- Old humourists, who have been long in their graves, And having almost in my mind put off Their human names, have into phantoms passed 580 Of texture midway between life and books. I play the loiterer: 'tis enough to note That here in dwarf proportions were expressed The limbs of the great world; its eager strifes Collaterally pourtrayed, as in mock fight, 585 A tournament of blows, some hardly dealt Though short of mortal combat; and whate'er Might in this pageant be supposed to hit An artless rustic's notice, this way less, More that way, was not wasted upon me--590 And yet the spectacle may well demand A more substantial name, no mimic show, Itself a living part of a live whole, A creek in the vast sea; for, all degrees And shapes of spurious fame and short-lived praise 595 Here sate in state, and fed with daily alms Retainers won away from solid good; And here was Labour, his own bond-slave; Hope, That never set the pains against the prize; Idleness halting with his weary clog, 600 And poor misguided Shame, and witless Fear, And simple Pleasure foraging for Death; Honour misplaced, and Dignity astray; Feuds, factions, flatteries, enmity, and guile Murmuring submission, and bald government, 605 (The idol weak as the idolater), And Decency and Custom starving Truth, And blind Authority beating with his staff The child that might have led him; Emptiness Followed as of good omen, and meek Worth 610 Left to herself unheard of and unknown. Of these and other kindred notices I cannot say what portion is in truth The naked recollection of that time, And what may rather have been called to life 615 By after-meditation. But delight That, in an easy temper lulled asleep, Is still with Innocence its own reward, This was not wanting. Carelessly I roamed As through a wide museum from whose stores 620 A casual rarity is singled out And has its brief perusal, then gives way To others, all supplanted in their turn; Till 'mid this crowded neighbourhood of things That are by nature most unneighbourly, 625 The head turns round and cannot right itself; And though an aching and a barren sense Of gay confusion still be uppermost, With few wise longings and but little love, Yet to the memory something cleaves at last, 630 Whence profit may be drawn in times to come. Thus in submissive idleness, my Friend! The labouring time of autumn, winter, spring, Eight months! rolled pleasingly away; the ninth Came and returned me to my native hills. 635 * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: Wordsworth went from York to Cambridge, entering it by the coach road from the north-west. This was doubtless the road which now leads to the city from Girton. "The long-roofed chapel of King's College" must have been seen from that road.--Ed.] [Footnote B: The Hoop Inn still exists, not now so famous as in the end of last century.--Ed.] [Footnote C: He entered St. John's College in October 1787. His rooms in the College were unknown to the officials a dozen years ago, although they are pretty clearly indicated by Wordsworth in this passage. They were in the first of the three courts of St. John's; they were above the College kitchens; and from the window of his bedroom he could look into the antechapel of Trinity, with its statue of Newton. They have been recently removed in connection with sundry improvements in the college kitchen. For details, see the 'Life of Wordsworth' which will follow this edition of his Works.--Ed.] [Footnote D: A village two and a half miles south of Cambridge. "There are still some remains of the mill here celebrated by Chaucer in his Reve's Tale." (Lewis' 'Topographical Dictionary of England', vol. iv. p. 390.)--Ed.] [Footnote E: S. T. C., who entered Cambridge when Wordsworth left it.--Ed.] [Footnote F: On certain days a surplice is worn, instead of a gown, by the undergraduates.--Ed.] [Footnote G: Compare the poem 'Floating Island', by Dorothy Wordsworth.--Ed.] [Footnote H: The following extract from a letter of Dorothy Wordsworth's illustrates the above and other passages of this book. It was written from Forncett, on the 26th of June, 1791. She is speaking of her two brothers, William and Christopher. Of Christopher she says: "His abilities, though not so great, perhaps, as his brother's, may be of more use to him, as he has not fixed his mind upon any particular species of reading or conceived an aversion to any. He is not fond of mathematics, but has resolution sufficient to study them; because it will be impossible for him to obtain a fellowship without them. William lost the chance, indeed the certainty, of a fellowship, by not combating his inclinations. He gave way to his natural dislike to studies so dry as many parts of the mathematics, consequently could not succeed in Cambridge. He reads Italian, Spanish, French, Greek, Latin, and English; but never opens a mathematical book.... Do not think from what I have said that he reads not at all; for he does read a great deal, and not only poetry, in these languages he is acquainted with, but History also," etc. etc. Ed.] [Footnote I: 'Date obolum Belisario'. Belisarius, a general of the Emperor Justinian's, died 564 A.D. The story of his begging charity is probably a legend, but the "begging scholar" was common in Christendom throughout the Middle Ages, and was met with in the last century.--Ed.] * * * * * BOOK FOURTH SUMMER VACATION Bright was the summer's noon when quickening steps Followed each other till a dreary moor Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose top [A] Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, I overlooked the bed of Windermere, 5 Like a vast river, stretching in the sun. With exultation, at my feet I saw Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays, A universe of Nature's fairest forms Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst, 10 Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay. I bounded down the hill shouting amain For the old Ferryman; to the shout the rocks Replied, and when the Charon of the flood Had staid his oars, and touched the jutting pier, [B] 15 I did not step into the well-known boat Without a cordial greeting. Thence with speed Up the familiar hill I took my way [C] Towards that sweet Valley [D] where I had been reared; 'Twas but a short hour's walk, ere veering round 20 I saw the snow-white church upon her hill [E] Sit like a thrond Lady, sending out A gracious look all over her domain. [F] Yon azure smoke betrays the lurking town; With eager footsteps I advance and reach 25 The cottage threshold where my journey closed. Glad welcome had I, with some tears, perhaps, From my old Dame, so kind and motherly, [G] While she perused me with a parent's pride. The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew 30 Upon thy grave, good creature! While my heart Can beat never will I forget thy name. Heaven's blessing be upon thee where thou liest After thy innocent and busy stir In narrow cares, thy little daily growth 35 Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years, And more than eighty, of untroubled life, [H] Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood Honoured with little less than filial love. What joy was mine to see thee once again, 40 Thee and thy dwelling, and a crowd of things About its narrow precincts all beloved, [I] And many of them seeming yet my own! Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts Have felt, and every man alive can guess? 45 The rooms, the court, the garden were not left Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat Round the stone table under the dark pine, [K] Friendly to studious or to festive hours; Nor that unruly child of mountain birth, 50 The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed Within our garden, [L] found himself at once, As if by trick insidious and unkind, Stripped of his voice [M] and left to dimple down (Without an effort and without a will) 55 A channel paved by man's officious care. [N] I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again, And in the press of twenty thousand thoughts, [O] "Ha," quoth I, "pretty prisoner, are you there!" Well might sarcastic Fancy then have whispered, 60 "An emblem here behold of thy own life; In its late course of even days with all Their smooth enthralment;" but the heart was full, Too full for that reproach. My aged Dame Walked proudly at my side: she guided me; 65 I willing, nay--nay, wishing to be led. --The face of every neighbour whom I met Was like a volume to me; some were hailed Upon the road, some busy at their work, Unceremonious greetings interchanged 70 With half the length of a long field between. Among my schoolfellows I scattered round Like recognitions, but with some constraint Attended, doubtless, with a little pride, But with more shame, for my habiliments, 75 The transformation wrought by gay attire. Not less delighted did I take my place At our domestic table: and, [P] dear Friend In this endeavour simply to relate A Poet's history, may I leave untold 80 The thankfulness with which I laid me down In my accustomed bed, more welcome now Perhaps than if it had been more desired Or been more often thought of with regret; That lowly bed whence I had heard the wind 85 Roar and the rain beat hard, where I so oft Had lain awake on summer nights to watch The moon in splendour couched among the leaves Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood; [Q] Had watched her with fixed eyes while to and fro 90 In the dark summit of the waving tree She rocked with every impulse of the breeze. Among the favourites whom it pleased me well To see again, was one by ancient right Our inmate, a rough terrier of the hills; 95 By birth and call of nature pre-ordained To hunt the badger and unearth the fox Among the impervious crags, but having been From youth our own adopted, he had passed Into a gentler service. And when first 100 The boyish spirit flagged, and day by day Along my veins I kindled with the stir, The fermentation, and the vernal heat Of poesy, affecting private shades Like a sick Lover, then this dog was used 105 To watch me, an attendant and a friend, Obsequious to my steps early and late, Though often of such dilatory walk Tired, and uneasy at the halts I made. A hundred times when, roving high and low 110 I have been harassed with the toil of verse, Much pains and little progress, and at once Some lovely Image in the song rose up Full-formed, like Venus rising from the sea; Then have I darted forwards to let 115 My hand upon his back with stormy joy, Caressing him again and yet again. And when at evening on the public way I sauntered, like a river murmuring And talking to itself when all things 120 Are still, the creature trotted on before; Such was his custom; but whene'er he met A passenger approaching, he would turn To give me timely notice, and straightway, Grateful for that admonishment, I 125 My voice, composed my gait, and, with the air And mien of one whose thoughts are free, advanced To give and take a greeting that might save My name from piteous rumours, such as wait On men suspected to be crazed in brain. 130 Those walks well worthy to be prized and loved-- Regretted!--that word, too, was on my tongue, But they were richly laden with all good, And cannot be remembered but with thanks And gratitude, and perfect joy of heart--135 Those walks in all their freshness now came back Like a returning Spring. When first I made Once more the circuit of our little lake, If ever happiness hath lodged with man, That day consummate happiness was mine, 140 Wide-spreading, steady, calm, contemplative. The sun was set, or setting, when I left Our cottage door, and evening soon brought on A sober hour, not winning or serene, For cold and raw the air was, and untuned; 145 But as a face we love is sweetest then When sorrow damps it, or, whatever look It chance to wear, is sweetest if the heart Have fulness in herself; even so with me It fared that evening. Gently did my soul 150 Put off her veil, and, self-transmuted, stood Naked, as in the presence of her God. While on I walked, a comfort seemed to touch A heart that had not been disconsolate: Strength came where weakness was not known to be, 155 At least not felt; and restoration came Like an intruder knocking at the door Of unacknowledged weariness. I took The balance, and with firm hand weighed myself. --Of that external scene which round me lay, 160 Little, in this abstraction, did I see; Remembered less; but I had inward hopes And swellings of the spirit, was rapt and soothed, Conversed with promises, had glimmering views How life pervades the undecaying mind; 165 How the immortal soul with God-like power Informs, creates, and thaws the deepest sleep That time can lay upon her; how on earth, Man, if he do but live within the light Of high endeavours, daily spreads abroad 170 His being armed with strength that cannot fail. Nor was there want of milder thoughts, of love Of innocence, and holiday repose; And more than pastoral quiet, 'mid the stir Of boldest projects, and a peaceful end 175 At last, or glorious, by endurance won. Thus musing, in a wood I sate me down Alone, continuing there to muse: the slopes And heights meanwhile were slowly overspread With darkness, and before a rippling breeze 180 The long lake lengthened out its hoary line, And in the sheltered coppice where I sate, Around me from among the hazel leaves, Now here, now there, moved by the straggling wind, Came ever and anon a breath-like sound, 185 Quick as the pantings of the faithful dog, The off and on companion of my walk; And such, at times, believing them to be, I turned my head to look if he were there; Then into solemn thought I passed once more. 190 A freshness also found I at this time In human Life, the daily life of those Whose occupations really I loved; The peaceful scene oft filled me with surprise Changed like a garden in the heat of spring 195 After an eight-days' absence. For (to omit The things which were the same and yet appeared Fair otherwise) amid this rural solitude, A narrow Vale where each was known to all, 'Twas not indifferent to a youthful mind 200 To mark some sheltering bower or sunny nook, Where an old man had used to sit alone, Now vacant; pale-faced babes whom I had left In arms, now rosy prattlers at the feet Of a pleased grandame tottering up and down; 205 And growing girls whose beauty, filched away With all its pleasant promises, was gone To deck some slighted playmate's homely cheek. Yes, I had something of a subtler sense, And often looking round was moved to smiles 210 Such as a delicate work of humour breeds; I read, without design, the opinions, thoughts, Of those plain-living people now observed With clearer knowledge; with another eye I saw the quiet woodman in the woods, 215 The shepherd roam the hills. With new delight, This chiefly, did I note my grey-haired Dame; Saw her go forth to church or other work Of state, equipped in monumental trim; Short velvet cloak, (her bonnet of the like), 220 A mantle such as Spanish Cavaliers Wore in old time. Her smooth domestic life, Affectionate without disquietude, Her talk, her business, pleased me; and no less Her clear though shallow stream of piety 225 That ran on Sabbath days a fresher course; With thoughts unfelt till now I saw her read Her Bible on hot Sunday afternoons, And loved the book, when she had dropped asleep And made of it a pillow for her head. 230 Nor less do I remember to have felt, Distinctly manifested at this time, A human-heartedness about my love For objects hitherto the absolute wealth Of my own private being and no more: 235 Which I had loved, even as a blessed spirit Or Angel, if he were to dwell on earth, Might love in individual happiness. But now there opened on me other thoughts Of change, congratulation or regret, 240 A pensive feeling! It spread far and wide; The trees, the mountains shared it, and the brooks, The stars of Heaven, now seen in their old haunts-- White Sirius glittering o'er the southern crags, Orion with his belt, and those fair Seven, 245 Acquaintances of every little child, And Jupiter, my own beloved star! Whatever shadings of mortality, Whatever imports from the world of death Had come among these objects heretofore, 250 Were, in the main, of mood less tender: strong, Deep, gloomy were they, and severe; the scatterings Of awe or tremulous dread, that had given way In later youth to yearnings of a love Enthusiastic, to delight and hope. 255 As one who hangs down-bending from the side Of a slow-moving boat, upon the breast Of a still water, solacing himself With such discoveries as his eye can make Beneath him in the bottom of the deep, 260 Sees many beauteous sights--weeds, fishes, flowers. Grots, pebbles, roots of trees, and fancies more, Yet often is perplexed and cannot part The shadow from the substance, rocks and sky, Mountains and clouds, reflected in the depth 265 Of the clear flood, from things which there abide In their true dwelling; now is crossed by gleam Of his own image, by a sun-beam now, And wavering motions sent he knows not whence, Impediments that make his task more sweet; 270 Such pleasant office have we long pursued Incumbent o'er the surface of past time With like success, nor often have appeared Shapes fairer or less doubtfully discerned Than these to which the Tale, indulgent Friend! 275 Would now direct thy notice. Yet in spite Of pleasure won, and knowledge not withheld, There was an inner falling off--I loved, Loved deeply all that had been loved before, More deeply even than ever: but a swarm 280 Of heady schemes jostling each other, gawds, And feast and dance, and public revelry, And sports and games (too grateful in themselves, Yet in themselves less grateful, I believe, Than as they were a badge glossy and fresh 285 Of manliness and freedom) all conspired To lure my mind from firm habitual quest Of feeding pleasures, to depress the zeal And damp those yearnings which had once been mine-- A wild, unworldly-minded youth, given up 290 To his own eager thoughts. It would demand Some skill, and longer time than may be spared, To paint these vanities, and how they wrought In haunts where they, till now, had been unknown. It seemed the very garments that I wore 295 Preyed on my strength, and stopped the quiet stream Of self-forgetfulness. Yes, that heartless chase Of trivial pleasures was a poor exchange For books and nature at that early age. 'Tis true, some casual knowledge might be gained 300 Of character or life; but at that time, Of manners put to school I took small note, And all my deeper passions lay elsewhere. Far better had it been to exalt the mind By solitary study, to uphold 305 Intense desire through meditative peace; And yet, for chastisement of these regrets, The memory of one particular hour Doth here rise up against me. 'Mid a throng Of maids and youths, old men, and matrons staid, 310 A medley of all tempers, I had passed The night in dancing, gaiety, and mirth, With din of instruments and shuffling feet, And glancing forms, and tapers glittering, And unaimed prattle flying up and down; [R] 315 Spirits upon the stretch, and here and there Slight shocks of young love-liking interspersed, Whose transient pleasure mounted to the head, And tingled through the veins. Ere we retired, The cock had crowed, and now the eastern sky 320 Was kindling, not unseen, from humble copse And open field, through which the pathway wound, And homeward led my steps. Magnificent The morning rose, in memorable pomp, Glorious as e'er I had beheld--in front, 325 The sea lay laughing at a distance; near, The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds, Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light; And in the meadows and the lower grounds Was all the sweetness of a common dawn--330 Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds, [S] And labourers going forth to till the fields. Ah! need I say, dear Friend! that to the brim My heart was full; I made no vows, but vows Were then made for me; bond unknown to me 335 Was given, that I should be, else sinning greatly, A dedicated Spirit. On I walked In thankful blessedness, which yet survives. [T] Strange rendezvous! My mind was at that time A parti-coloured show of grave and gay, 340 Solid and light, short-sighted and profound; Of inconsiderate habits and sedate, Consorting in one mansion unreproved. The worth I knew of powers that I possessed, Though slighted and too oft misused. Besides, 345 That summer, swarming as it did with thoughts Transient and idle, lacked not intervals When Folly from the frown of fleeting Time Shrunk, and the mind experienced in herself Conformity as just as that of old 350 To the end and written spirit of God's works, Whether held forth in Nature or in Man, Through pregnant vision, separate or conjoined. When from our better selves we have too long Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, 355 Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, How gracious, how benign, is Solitude; How potent a mere image of her sway; Most potent when impressed upon the mind With an appropriate human centre--hermit, 360 Deep in the bosom of the wilderness; Votary (in vast cathedral, where no foot Is treading, where no other face is seen) Kneeling at prayers; or watchman on the top Of lighthouse, beaten by Atlantic waves; 365 Or as the soul of that great Power is met Sometimes embodied on a public road, When, for the night deserted, it assumes A character of quiet more profound Than pathless wastes. Once, when those summer months 370 Were flown, and autumn brought its annual show Of oars with oars contending, sails with sails, Upon Winander's spacious breast, it chanced That--after I had left a flower-decked room (Whose in-door pastime, lighted up, survived 375 To a late hour), and spirits overwrought Were making night do penance for a day Spent in a round of strenuous idleness--[U] My homeward course led up a long ascent, Where the road's watery surface, to the top 380 Of that sharp rising, glittered to the moon And bore the semblance of another stream Stealing with silent lapse to join the brook That murmured in the vale. [V] All else was still; No living thing appeared in earth or air, 385 And, save the flowing water's peaceful voice, Sound there was none--but, lo! an uncouth shape, Shown by a sudden turning of the road, So near that, slipping back into the shade Of a thick hawthorn, I could mark him well, 390 Myself unseen. He was of stature tall, A span above man's common measure, tall, Stiff, lank, and upright; a more meagre man Was never seen before by night or day. Long were his arms, pallid his hands; his mouth 395 Looked ghastly in the moonlight: from behind, A mile-stone propped him; I could also ken That he was clothed in military garb, Though faded, yet entire. Companionless, No dog attending, by no staff sustained, 400 He stood, and in his very dress appeared A desolation, a simplicity, To which the trappings of a gaudy world Make a strange back-ground. From his lips, ere long, Issued low muttered sounds, as if of pain 405 Or some uneasy thought; yet still his form Kept the same awful steadiness--at his feet His shadow lay, and moved not. From self-blame Not wholly free, I watched him thus; at length Subduing my heart's specious cowardice, 410 I left the shady nook where I had stood And hailed him. Slowly from his resting-place He rose, and with a lean and wasted arm In measured gesture lifted to his head Returned my salutation; then resumed 415 His station as before; and when I asked His history, the veteran, in reply, Was neither slow nor eager; but, unmoved, And with a quiet uncomplaining voice, A stately air of mild indifference, 420 He told in few plain words a soldier's tale-- That in the Tropic Islands he had served, Whence he had landed scarcely three weeks past: That on his landing he had been dismissed, And now was travelling towards his native home. 425 This heard, I said, in pity, "Come with me." He stooped, and straightway from the ground took up An oaken staff by me yet unobserved-- A staff which must have dropt from his slack hand And lay till now neglected in the grass. 430 Though weak his step and cautious, he appeared To travel without pain, and I beheld, With an astonishment but ill suppressed, His ghostly figure moving at my side; Nor could I, while we journeyed thus, forbear 435 To turn from present hardships to the past, And speak of war, battle, and pestilence, Sprinkling this talk with questions, better spared, On what he might himself have seen or felt. He all the while was in demeanour calm, 440 Concise in answer; solemn and sublime He might have seemed, but that in all he said There was a strange half-absence, as of one Knowing too well the importance of his theme, But feeling it no longer. Our discourse 445 Soon ended, and together on we passed In silence through a wood gloomy and still. Up-turning, then, along an open field, We reached a cottage. At the door I knocked, And earnestly to charitable care 450 Commended him as a poor friendless man, Belated and by sickness overcome. Assured that now the traveller would repose In comfort, I entreated that henceforth He would not linger in the public ways, 455 But ask for timely furtherance and help Such as his state required. At this reproof, With the same ghastly mildness in his look, He said, "My trust is in the God of Heaven, And in the eye of him who passes me!" 460 The cottage door was speedily unbarred, And now the soldier touched his hat once more With his lean hand, and in a faltering voice, Whose tone bespake reviving interests Till then unfelt, he thanked me; I returned 465 The farewell blessing of the patient man, And so we parted. Back I cast a look, And lingered near the door a little space, Then sought with quiet heart my distant home. * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: On the road from Kendal to Windermere.--Ed.] [Footnote B: At the Ferry below Bowness.--Ed.] [Footnote C: From the Ferry over the ridge to Sawrey.--Ed.] [Footnote D: The Vale of Esthwaite.--Ed.] [Footnote E: Hawkshead Church; an old Norman structure, built in 1160, the year of the foundation of Furness Abbey. It is no longer "snow-white," a so-called Restoration having taken place within recent years, on architectural principles. The plaster is stripped from the outside of the church, which is now of a dull stone colour. "Apart from poetic sentiment," wrote Dr. Cradock (the late Principal of Brasenose College, Oxford), "it may be doubted whether the pale colour, still preserved at Grasmere and other churches in the district, does not better harmonize with the scenery and atmosphere of the Lake country.". The most interesting feature in the interior is the private chapel of Archbishop Sandys.--Ed.] [Footnote F: Hawkshead Church is a conspicuous object as you approach the town, whether by the Ambleside road, or from Sawrey. It is the latter approach that is here described.--Ed.] [Footnote G: Anne Tyson,--Ed.] [Footnote H: Anne Tyson seems to have removed from Hawkshead village to Colthouse, on the opposite side of the Vale, and lived there for some time before her death. Along with Dr. Cradock I examined the Parish Registers of Hawkshead in the autumn of 1882, and we found the following entry belonging to the year 1796. "Anne Tyson of Colthouse, widow, died May 25th buried 28th, in Churchyard, aged 83." Her removal to Colthouse is confirmed, in a curious way, by a reminiscence of William Wordsworth's (the poet's son), who told me that if asked where the dame's house was, he would have pointed to a spot on the eastern side of the valley, and out of the village altogether; his father having taken him from Rydal Mount to Hawkshead when a mere boy, and pointed out that spot. Doubtless Wordsworth took his son to the cottage at Colthouse, where Anne Tyson died, as the earlier abode in Hawkshead village is well known, and its site is indisputable.--Ed.] [Footnote I: Compare book i. ll. 499-506, p. 148.--Ed.] [Footnote K: There is no trace and no tradition at Hawkshead of the "stone table under the dark pine," For a curious parallel to this 'sunny seat Round the stone table under the dark pine,' I am indebted to Dr. Cradock. He points out that in the prologue to 'Peter Bell', vol. ii p.9, we have the lines, 'To the stone-table in my garden, Loved haunt of many a summer hour,' Ed.] [Footnote L: There can be little doubt as to the identity of "the famous brook" "within our garden" boxed, which gives the name of Flag Street to one of the alleys of Hawkshead. "Persons have visited the cottage," wrote Dr. Cradock, "without discovering it; and yet it is not forty yards distant, and is still exactly as described. On the opposite side of the lane leading to the cottage, and a few steps above it, is a narrow passage through some new stone buildings. On emerging from this, you meet a small garden, the farther side of which is bounded by the brook, confined on both sides by larger flags, and also covered by flags of the same Coniston formation, through the interstices of which you may see and hear the stream running freely. The upper flags are now used as a footpath, and lead by another passage back into the village. No doubt the garden has been reduced in size, by the use of that part of it fronting the lane for building purposes. The stream, before it enters the area of buildings and gardens, is open by the lane side, and seemingly comes from the hills to the westwards. The large flags are extremely hard and durable, and it is probably that the very flags which paved the channel in Wordsworth's time may still be doing the same duty." The house adjoining this garden was not Dame Tyson's but a Mr. Watson's. Possibly, however, some of the boys had free access to the latter, so that Wordsworth could speak of it as "our garden;" or, Dame Tyson may have rented it. See Note II. in the Appendix to this volume, p. 386.--Ed.] [Footnote M: Not wholly so.--Ed.] [Footnote N: See note on preceding page.--Ed.] [Footnote O: Compare the sonnet in vol. iv.: 'Beloved Vale!' I said, 'when I shall con ... By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost.' There can be little doubt that it is to the "famous brook" of 'The Prelude' that reference is made in the later sonnet, and still more significantly in the earlier poem 'The Fountain', vol. ii. p. 91. Compare the MS. variants of that poem, printed as footnotes, from Lord Coleridge's copy of the Poems: 'Down to the vale with eager speed Behold this streamlet run, From subterranean bondage freed, And glittering in the sun.' with the lines in 'The Prelude': 'The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed Within our garden, found himself at once, ... Stripped of his voice and left to dimple down, etc.' This is doubtless the streamlet called Town Beck; and it is perhaps the most interesting of all the spots alluded to by Wordsworth which can be traced out in the Hawkshead district, I am indebted to Mr. Rawnsley for the following note: "From the village, nay, from the poet's very door when he lived at Anne Tyson's, a good path leads on, past the vicarage, quite to its upland place of birth. It has eaten its way deeply into the soil; in one place there is a series of still pools, that overflow and fall into others, with quiet sound; at other spots, it is bustling and busy. Fine timber is found on either side of it, the roots of the trees often laid bare by the passing current. In one or two places by the side of this beck, and beneath the shadow of lofty oaks, may be found boulder stones, grey and moss-covered. Birds make hiding-places for themselves in these oak and hazel bushes by the stream. Following it up, we find it receives, at a tiny ford, the tribute of another stream from the north-west, and comes down between the adjacent hills (well wooded to the summit) from meadows of short-cropped grass, and to these from the open moorland, where it takes its rise. Every conceivable variety of beauty of sound and sight in streamlet life is found as we follow the course of this Town Beck. We owe much of Wordsworth's intimate acquaintance with streamlet beauty to it." Compare 'The Fountain' in detail with this passage in 'The Prelude'.--Ed.] [Footnote P: So it is in the editions of 1850 and 1857; but it should evidently be "nor, dear Friend!"--Ed.] [Footnote Q: The ash tree is gone, but there is no doubt as to the place where it grew. Mr. Watson, whose father owned and inhabited the house immediately opposite to Mrs. Tyson's cottage in Wordsworth's time (see a previous note), told me that a tall ash tree grew on the proper right front of the cottage, where an outhouse is now built. If this be so, Wordsworth's bedroom must have been that on the proper left, with the smaller of the two windows. The cottage faces nearly south-west. In the upper flat there are two bedrooms to the front, with oak flooring, one of which must have been Wordsworth's. See Note II. (p. 386) in Appendix to this volume.--Ed.] [Footnote R: In one of the small mountain farm-houses near Hawkshead.--Ed.] [Footnote S: Compare 'Paradise Lost', book viii. l. 528: 'Walks, and the melody of birds.' Ed.] [Footnote T: Dr. Cradock has suggested to me the probable course of that morning walk. "All that can be safely said as to the course of that memorable morning walk is that, in that neighbourhood, a view of the sea can only be obtained at a considerable elevation; also that if the words 'in _front_ the sea lay laughing' are to be taken as rigidly exact, the poet's progress towards Hawkshead must have been in a direction mainly southerly, and therefore from the country north of that place. These and all other conditions of the description are answered in several parts of the range of hills lying between Elterwater and Hawkshead." See Appendix, Note III. p. 389.--Ed.] [Footnote U: Compare the sixth line of the poem, beginning 'This Lawn, a carpet all alive.' (1829.) And Horace, 'Epistol', lib. i. ep. xi. l. 28: 'Strenua nos exercet inertia.' Ed.] [Footnote V: The "brook" is Sawrey beck, and the "long ascent" is the second of the two, in crossing from Windermere to Hawkshead, and going over the ridge between the two Sawreys. It is only at that point that a brook can be heard "murmuring in the vale." The road is the old one, above the ferry, marked in the Ordnance Survey Map, by the Briers, not the new road which makes a curve to the south, and cannot be described as a "sharp rising."--Ed.] * * * * * BOOK FIFTH BOOKS When Contemplation, like the night-calm felt Through earth and sky, spreads widely, and sends deep Into the soul its tranquillising power, Even then I sometimes grieve for thee, O Man, Earth's paramount Creature! not so much for woes 5 That thou endurest; heavy though that weight be, Cloud-like it mounts, or touched with light divine Doth melt away; but for those palms achieved, Through length of time, by patient exercise Of study and hard thought; there, there, it is 10 That sadness finds its fuel. Hitherto, In progress through this Verse, my mind hath looked Upon the speaking face of earth and heaven As her prime teacher, intercourse with man Established by the sovereign Intellect, 15 Who through that bodily image hath diffused, As might appear to the eye of fleeting time, A deathless spirit. Thou also, man! hast wrought, For commerce of thy nature with herself, Things that aspire to unconquerable life; 20 And yet we feel--we cannot choose but feel-- That they must perish. Tremblings of the heart It gives, to think that our immortal being No more shall need such garments; and yet man, As long as he shall be the child of earth, 25 Might almost "weep to have" [A] what he may lose, Nor be himself extinguished, but survive, Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate. A thought is with me sometimes, and I say,-- Should the whole frame of earth by inward throes 30 Be wrenched, or fire come down from far to scorch Her pleasant habitations, and dry up Old Ocean, in his bed left singed and bare, Yet would the living Presence still subsist Victorious, and composure would ensue, 35 And kindlings like the morning--presage sure Of day returning and of life revived. [B] But all the meditations of mankind, Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth By reason built, or passion, which itself 40 Is highest reason in a soul sublime; The consecrated works of Bard and Sage, Sensuous or intellectual, wrought by men, Twin labourers and heirs of the same hopes; Where would they be? Oh! why hath not the Mind 45 Some element to stamp her image on In nature somewhat nearer to her own? [C] Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail? One day, when from my lips a like complaint 50 Had fallen in presence of a studious friend, He with a smile made answer, that in truth 'Twas going far to seek disquietude; But on the front of his reproof confessed That he himself had oftentimes given way 55 To kindred hauntings. Whereupon I told, That once in the stillness of a summer's noon, While I was seated in a rocky cave By the sea-side, perusing, so it chanced, The famous history of the errant knight 60 Recorded by Cervantes, these same thoughts Beset me, and to height unusual rose, While listlessly I sate, and, having closed The book, had turned my eyes toward the wide sea. On poetry and geometric truth, 65 And their high privilege of lasting life, From all internal injury exempt, I mused, upon these chiefly: and at length, My senses yielding to the sultry air, Sleep seized me, and I passed into a dream. 70 I saw before me stretched a boundless plain Of sandy wilderness, all black and void, And as I looked around, distress and fear Came creeping over me, when at my side, Close at my side, an uncouth shape appeared 75 Upon a dromedary, mounted high. He seemed an Arab of the Bedouin tribes: A lance he bore, and underneath one arm A stone, and in the opposite hand a shell Of a surpassing brightness. At the sight 80 Much I rejoiced, not doubting but a guide Was present, one who with unerring skill Would through the desert lead me; and while yet I looked and looked, self-questioned what this freight Which the new-comer carried through the waste 85 Could mean, the Arab told me that the stone (To give it in the language of the dream) Was "Euclid's Elements;" and "This," said he, "Is something of more worth;" and at the word Stretched forth the shell, so beautiful in shape, 90 In colour so resplendent, with command That I should hold it to my ear. I did so, And heard that instant in an unknown tongue, Which yet I understood, articulate sounds, A loud prophetic blast of harmony; 95 An Ode, in passion uttered, which foretold Destruction to the children of the earth By deluge, now at hand. No sooner ceased The song, than the Arab with calm look declared That all would come to pass of which the voice 100 Had given forewarning, and that he himself Was going then to bury those two books: The one that held acquaintance with the stars, And wedded soul to soul in purest bond Of reason, undisturbed by space or time; 105 The other that was a god, yea many gods, Had voices more than all the winds, with power To exhilarate the spirit, and to soothe, Through every clime, the heart of human kind. While this was uttering, strange as it may seem, 110 I wondered not, although I plainly saw The one to be a stone, the other a shell; Nor doubted once but that they both were books, Having a perfect faith in all that passed. Far stronger, now, grew the desire I felt 115 To cleave unto this man; but when I prayed To share his enterprise, he hurried on Reckless of me: I followed, not unseen, For oftentimes he cast a backward look, Grasping his twofold treasure.--Lance in rest, 120 He rode, I keeping pace with him; and now He, to my fancy, had become the knight Whose tale Cervantes tells; yet not the knight, But was an Arab of the desert too; Of these was neither, and was both at once. 125 His countenance, meanwhile, grew more disturbed; And, looking backwards when he looked, mine eyes Saw, over half the wilderness diffused, A bed of glittering light: I asked the cause: "It is," said he, "the waters of the deep 130 Gathering upon us;" quickening then the pace Of the unwieldy creature he bestrode, He left me: I called after him aloud; He heeded not; but, with his twofold charge Still in his grasp, before me, full in view, 135 Went hurrying o'er the illimitable waste, With the fleet waters of a drowning world In chase of him; whereat I waked in terror, And saw the sea before me, and the book, In which I had been reading, at my side. [D] 140 Full often, taking from the world of sleep This Arab phantom, which I thus beheld, This semi-Quixote, I to him have given A substance, fancied him a living man, A gentle dweller in the desert, crazed 145 By love and feeling, and internal thought Protracted among endless solitudes; Have shaped him wandering upon this quest! Nor have I pitied him; but rather felt Reverence was due to a being thus employed; 150 And thought that, in the blind and awful lair Of such a madness, reason did lie couched. Enow there are on earth to take in charge Their wives, their children, and their virgin loves, Or whatsoever else the heart holds dear; 155 Enow to stir for these; yea, will I say, Contemplating in soberness the approach Of an event so dire, by signs in earth Or heaven made manifest, that I could share That maniac's fond anxiety, and go 160 Upon like errand. Oftentimes at least Me hath such strong enhancement overcome, When I have held a volume in my hand, Poor earthly casket of immortal verse, Shakespeare, or Milton, labourers divine! 165 Great and benign, indeed, must be the power Of living nature, which could thus so long Detain me from the best of other guides And dearest helpers, left unthanked, unpraised, Even in the time of lisping infancy; 170 And later down, in prattling childhood even, While I was travelling back among those days, How could I ever play an ingrate's part? Once more should I have made those bowers resound, By intermingling strains of thankfulness 175 With their own thoughtless melodies; at least It might have well beseemed me to repeat Some simply fashioned tale, to tell again, In slender accents of sweet verse, some tale That did bewitch me then, and soothes me now. 180 O Friend! O Poet! brother of my soul, Think not that I could pass along untouched By these remembrances. Yet wherefore speak? Why call upon a few weak words to say What is already written in the hearts 185 Of all that breathe?--what in the path of all Drops daily from the tongue of every child, Wherever man is found? The trickling tear Upon the cheek of listening Infancy Proclaims it, and the insuperable look 190 That drinks as if it never could be full. That portion of my story I shall leave There registered: whatever else of power Or pleasure sown, or fostered thus, may be Peculiar to myself, let that remain 195 Where still it works, though hidden from all search Among the depths of time. Yet is it just That here, in memory of all books which lay Their sure foundations in the heart of man, Whether by native prose, or numerous verse, [E] 200 That in the name of all inspird souls-- From Homer the great Thunderer, from the voice That roars along the bed of Jewish song, And that more varied and elaborate, Those trumpet-tones of harmony that shake 205 Our shores in England,--from those loftiest notes Down to the low and wren-like warblings, made For cottagers and spinners at the wheel, And sun-burnt travellers resting their tired limbs, Stretched under wayside hedge-rows, ballad tunes, 210 Food for the hungry ears of little ones, And of old men who have survived their joys-- 'Tis just that in behalf of these, the works, And of the men that framed them, whether known, Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves, 215 That I should here assert their rights, attest Their honours, and should, once for all, pronounce Their benediction; speak of them as Powers For ever to be hallowed; only less, For what we are and what we may become, 220 Than Nature's self, which is the breath of God, Or His pure Word by miracle revealed. Rarely and with reluctance would I stoop To transitory themes; yet I rejoice, And, by these thoughts admonished, will pour out 225 Thanks with uplifted heart, that I was reared Safe from an evil which these days have laid Upon the children of the land, a pest That might have dried me up, body and soul. This verse is dedicate to Nature's self, 230 And things that teach as Nature teaches: then, Oh! where had been the Man, the Poet where, Where had we been, we two, beloved Friend! If in the season of unperilous choice, In lieu of wandering, as we did, through vales 235 Rich with indigenous produce, open ground Of Fancy, happy pastures ranged at will, We had been followed, hourly watched, and noosed, Each in his several melancholy walk Stringed like a poor man's heifer at its feed, 240 Led through the lanes in forlorn servitude; Or rather like a stalled ox debarred From touch of growing grass, that may not taste A flower till it have yielded up its sweets A prelibation to the mower's scythe. [F] 245 Behold the parent hen amid her brood, Though fledged and feathered, and well pleased to part And straggle from her presence, still a brood, And she herself from the maternal bond Still undischarged; yet doth she little more 250 Than move with them in tenderness and love, A centre to the circle which they make; And now and then, alike from need of theirs And call of her own natural appetites, She scratches, ransacks up the earth for food, 255 Which they partake at pleasure. Early died My honoured Mother, she who was the heart And hinge of all our learnings and our loves: [G] She left us destitute, and, as we might, Trooping together. Little suits it me 260 To break upon the sabbath of her rest With any thought that looks at others' blame; Nor would I praise her but in perfect love. Hence am I checked: but let me boldly say, In gratitude, and for the sake of truth, 265 Unheard by her, that she, not falsely taught, Fetching her goodness rather from times past, Than shaping novelties for times to come, Had no presumption, no such jealousy, Nor did by habit of her thoughts mistrust 270 Our nature, but had virtual faith that He Who fills the mother's breast with innocent milk, Doth also for our nobler part provide, Under His great correction and control, As innocent instincts, and as innocent food; 275 Or draws for minds that are left free to trust In the simplicities of opening life Sweet honey out of spurned or dreaded weeds. This was her creed, and therefore she was pure From anxious fear of error or mishap, 280 And evil, overweeningly so called; Was not puffed up by false unnatural hopes, Nor selfish with unnecessary cares, Nor with impatience from the season asked More than its timely produce; rather loved 285 The hours for what they are, than from regard Glanced on their promises in restless pride. Such was she--not from faculties more strong Than others have, but from the times, perhaps, And spot in which she lived, and through a grace 290 Of modest meekness, simple-mindedness, A heart that found benignity and hope, Being itself benign. My drift I fear Is scarcely obvious; but, that common sense May try this modern system by its fruits, 295 Leave let me take to place before her sight A specimen pourtrayed with faithful hand. Full early trained to worship seemliness, This model of a child is never known To mix in quarrels; that were far beneath 300 Its dignity; with gifts he bubbles o'er As generous as a fountain; selfishness May not come near him, nor the little throng Of flitting pleasures tempt him from his path; The wandering beggars propagate his name, 305 Dumb creatures find him tender as a nun, And natural or supernatural fear, Unless it leap upon him in a dream, Touches him not. To enhance the wonder, see How arch his notices, how nice his sense 310 Of the ridiculous; not blind is he To the broad follies of the licensed world, Yet innocent himself withal, though shrewd, And can read lectures upon innocence; A miracle of scientific lore, 315 Ships he can guide across the pathless sea, And tell you all their cunning; he can read The inside of the earth, and spell the stars; He knows the policies of foreign lands; Can string you names of districts, cities, towns, 320 The whole world over, tight as beads of dew Upon a gossamer thread; he sifts, he weighs; All things are put to question; he must live Knowing that he grows wiser every day Or else not live at all, and seeing too 325 Each little drop of wisdom as it falls Into the dimpling cistern of his heart: For this unnatural growth the trainer blame, Pity the tree.--Poor human vanity, Wert thou extinguished, little would be left 330 Which he could truly love; but how escape? For, ever as a thought of purer, birth Rises to lead him toward a better clime, Some intermeddler still is on the watch To drive him back, and pound him, like a stray, 335 Within the pinfold of his own conceit. Meanwhile old grandame earth is grieved to find The playthings, which her love designed for him, Unthought of: in their woodland beds the flowers Weep, and the river sides are all forlorn. 340 Oh! give us once again the wishing cap Of Fortunatus, and the invisible coat Of Jack the Giant-killer, Robin Hood, And Sabra in the forest with St. George! The child, whose love is here, at least, doth reap 345 One precious gain, that he forgets himself. These mighty workmen of our later age, Who, with a broad highway, have overbridged The froward chaos of futurity, Tamed to their bidding; they who have the skill 350 To manage books, and things, and make them act On infant minds as surely as the sun Deals with a flower; the keepers of our time, The guides and wardens of our faculties, Sages who in their prescience would control 355 All accidents, and to the very road Which they have fashioned would confine us down, Like engines; when will their presumption learn, That in the unreasoning progress of the world A wiser spirit is at work for us, 360 A better eye than theirs, most prodigal Of blessings, and most studious of our good, Even in what seem our most unfruitful hours? [H] There was a Boy: ye knew him well, ye cliffs And islands of Winander!--many a time 365 At evening, when the earliest stars began To move along the edges of the hills, Rising or setting, would he stand alone Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake, And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands 370 Pressed closely palm to palm, and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him [I]; and they would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, 375 Responsive to his call, with quivering peals, And long halloos and screams, and echoes loud, Redoubled and redoubled, concourse wild Of jocund din; and, when a lengthened pause Of silence came and baffled his best skill, 380 Then sometimes, in that silence while he hung Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise Has carried far into his heart the voice Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind, 385 With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received Into the bosom of the steady lake. This Boy was taken from his mates, and died In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. 390 Fair is the spot, most beautiful the vale Where he was born; the grassy churchyard hangs Upon a slope above the village school, [K] And through that churchyard when my way has led On summer evenings, I believe that there 395 A long half hour together I have stood Mute, looking at the grave in which he lies! [L] Even now appears before the mind's clear eye That self-same village church; I see her sit (The thrond Lady whom erewhile we hailed) 400 On her green hill, forgetful of this Boy Who slumbers at her feet,--forgetful, too, Of all her silent neighbourhood of graves, And listening only to the gladsome sounds That, from the rural school ascending, [M] play 405 Beneath her and about her. May she long Behold a race of young ones like to those With whom I herded!--(easily, indeed, We might have fed upon a fatter soil Of arts and letters--but be that forgiven)--410 A race of real children; not too wise, Too learned, or too good; [N] but wanton, fresh, And bandied up and down by love and hate; Not unresentful where self-justified; Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest, shy; 415 Mad at their sports like withered leaves in winds; Though doing wrong and suffering, and full oft Bending beneath our life's mysterious weight Of pain, and doubt, and fear, yet yielding not In happiness to the happiest upon earth. 420 Simplicity in habit, truth in speech, Be these the daily strengtheners of their minds; May books and Nature be their early joy! And knowledge, rightly honoured with that name-- Knowledge not purchased by the loss of power! 425 Well do I call to mind the very week When I was first intrusted to the care Of that sweet Valley; when its paths, its shores, And brooks [O] were like a dream of novelty To my half-infant thoughts; that very week, 430 While I was roving up and down alone, Seeking I knew not what, I chanced to cross One of those open fields, which, shaped like ears, Make green peninsulas on Esthwaite's Lake: Twilight was coming on, yet through the gloom 435 Appeared distinctly on the opposite shore A heap of garments, as if left by one Who might have there been bathing. Long I watched, But no one owned them; meanwhile the calm lake Grew dark with all the shadows on its breast, 440 And, now and then, a fish up-leaping snapped The breathless stillness. [P] The succeeding day, Those unclaimed garments telling a plain tale Drew to the spot an anxious crowd; some looked In passive expectation from the shore, 445 While from a boat others hung o'er the deep, Sounding with grappling irons and long poles. At last, the dead man, 'mid that beauteous scene Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright Rose, with his ghastly face, a spectre shape 450 Of terror; yet no soul-debasing fear, Young as I was, a child not nine years old, Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen Such sights before, among the shining streams Of fary land, the forest of romance. 455 Their spirit hallowed the sad spectacle With decoration of ideal grace; A dignity, a smoothness, like the works Of Grecian art, and purest poesy. A precious treasure had I long possessed, 460 A little yellow, canvas-covered book, A slender abstract of the Arabian tales; And, from companions in a new abode, When first I learnt, that this dear prize of mine Was but a block hewn from a mighty quarry--465 That there were four large volumes, laden all With kindred matter, 'twas to me, in truth, A promise scarcely earthly. Instantly, With one not richer than myself, I made A covenant that each should lay aside 470 The moneys he possessed, and hoard up more, Till our joint savings had amassed enough To make this book our own. Through several months, In spite of all temptation, we preserved Religiously that vow; but firmness failed, 475 Nor were we ever masters of our wish. And when thereafter to my father's house The holidays returned me, there to find That golden store of books which I had left, What joy was mine! How often in the course 480 Of those glad respites, though a soft west wind Ruffled the waters to the angler's wish For a whole day together, have I lain Down by thy side, O Derwent! murmuring stream, On the hot stones, and in the glaring sun, 485 And there have read, devouring as I read, Defrauding the day's glory, desperate! Till with a sudden bound of smart reproach, Such as an idler deals with in his shame, I to the sport betook myself again. 490 A gracious spirit o'er this earth presides, And o'er the heart of man: invisibly It comes, to works of unreproved delight, And tendency benign, directing those Who care not, know not, think not what they do. 495 The tales that charm away the wakeful night In Araby, romances; legends penned For solace by dim light of monkish lamps; Fictions, for ladies of their love, devised By youthful squires; adventures endless, spun 500 By the dismantled warrior in old age, Out of the bowels of those very schemes In which his youth did first extravagate; These spread like day, and something in the shape Of these will live till man shall be no more. 505 Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are ours, And _they must_ have their food. Our childhood sits, Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne That hath more power than all the elements. I guess not what this tells of Being past, 510 Nor what it augurs of the life to come; [Q] But so it is, and, in that dubious hour, That twilight when we first begin to see This dawning earth, to recognise, expect, And in the long probation that ensues, 515 The time of trial, ere we learn to live In reconcilement with our stinted powers; To endure this state of meagre vassalage, Unwilling to forego, confess, submit, Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows 520 To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed And humbled down; oh! then we feel, we feel, We know where we have friends. Ye dreamers, then, Forgers of daring tales! we bless you then, Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape 525 Philosophy will call you: _then_ we feel With what, and how great might ye are in league, Who make our wish, our power, our thought a deed, An empire, a possession,--ye whom time And seasons serve; all Faculties to whom 530 Earth crouches, the elements are potter's clay, Space like a heaven filled up with northern lights, Here, nowhere, there, and everywhere at once. Relinquishing this lofty eminence For ground, though humbler, not the less a tract 535 Of the same isthmus, which our spirits cross In progress from their native continent To earth and human life, the Song might dwell On that delightful time of growing youth, When craving for the marvellous gives way 540 To strengthening love for things that we have seen; When sober truth and steady sympathies, Offered to notice by less daring pens, Take firmer hold of us, and words themselves Move us with conscious pleasure. I am sad 545 At thought of raptures now for ever flown; [R] Almost to tears I sometimes could be sad To think of, to read over, many a page, Poems withal of name, which at that time Did never fail to entrance me, and are now 550 Dead in my eyes, dead as a theatre Fresh emptied of spectators. Twice five years Or less I might have seen, when first my mind With conscious pleasure opened to the charm Of words in tuneful order, found them sweet 555 For their own _sakes_, a passion, and a power; And phrases pleased me chosen for delight, For pomp, or love. Oft, in the public roads Yet unfrequented, while the morning light Was yellowing the hill tops, I went abroad 560 With a dear friend, [S] and for the better part Of two delightful hours we strolled along By the still borders of the misty lake, [T] Repeating favourite verses with one voice, Or conning more, as happy as the birds 565 That round us chaunted. Well might we be glad, Lifted above the ground by airy fancies, More bright than madness or the dreams of wine; And, though full oft the objects of our love Were false, and in their splendour overwrought, [U] 570 Yet was there surely then no vulgar power Working within us,--nothing less, in truth, Than that most noble attribute of man, Though yet untutored and inordinate, That wish for something loftier, more adorned, 575 Than is the common aspect, daily garb, Of human life. What wonder, then, if sounds Of exultation echoed through the groves! For, images, and sentiments, and words, And everything encountered or pursued 580 In that delicious world of poesy, Kept holiday, a never-ending show, With music, incense, festival, and flowers! Here must we pause: this only let me add, From heart-experience, and in humblest sense 585 Of modesty, that he, who in his youth A daily wanderer among woods and fields With living Nature hath been intimate, Not only in that raw unpractised time Is stirred to extasy, as others are, 590 By glittering verse; but further, doth receive, In measure only dealt out to himself, Knowledge and increase of enduring joy From the great Nature that exists in works Of mighty Poets. Visionary power 595 Attends the motions of the viewless winds, Embodied in the mystery of words: There, darkness makes abode, and all the host Of shadowy things work endless changes,--there, As in a mansion like their proper home, 600 Even forms and substances are circumfused By that transparent veil with light divine, And, through the turnings intricate of verse, Present themselves as objects recognised, In flashes, and with glory not their own. 605 * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: This quotation I am unable to trace.--Ed.] [Footnote B: Compare Emily Bronte's statement of the same, in the last verse she wrote: 'Though Earth and Man were gone, And suns and universes ceased to be, And Thou wert left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee. There is not room for Death, Nor atom that His might could render void; Thou--THOU art Being and Breath, And what THOU art may never be destroyed.' Ed.] [Footnote C: "Because she would then become farther and farther removed from the source of essential life and being, diffused instead of concentrated." (William Davies).--Ed.] [Footnote D: Mr. A. J. Duffield, the translator of Don Quixote, wrote me the following letter on Wordsworth and Cervantes, which I transcribe in full. "So far as I can learn Wordsworth had not read any critical work on Don Quixote before he wrote the fifth book of 'The Prelude', [a] nor for that matter had any criticism of the master-piece of Cervantes then appeared. Yet Wordsworth, 'by patient exercise Of study and hard thought,' has given us not only a most poetical insight into the real nature of the 'Illustrious Hidalgo of La Mancha'; he has shown us that it was a nature compacted of the madman and the poet, and this in language so appropriate, that the consideration of it cannot fail to give pleasure to all who have found a reason for weighing Wordsworth's words. "He demands 'Oh! why hath not the Mind Some element to stamp her image on?' then falls asleep, 'his senses yielding to the sultry air,' and he sees before him 'stretched a boundless plain Of sandy wilderness, all black and void, And as I looked around, distress and fear Came creeping over me, when at my side, Close at my side, an uncouth shape appeared Upon a dromedary, mounted high. He seemed an Arab ...' Here we have the plains of Montiel, and the poet realising all that Don Quixote felt on that day of July, 'the hottest of the year,' when he first set out on his quest and met with nothing worth recording. 'The uncouth shape' is of course the Don himself, the 'dromedary' is Rozinante, and the 'Arab' doubtless is Cid Hamete Benengeli. "Taking such an one for the guide, 'who with unerring skill Would through the desert lead me,' is a most sweet play of humour like to the lambent flame of his whose satire was as a summer breath, and who smiled all the time he wrote, although he wrote chiefly in a prison. 'The loud prophetic blast of harmony' is doubtless a continuation of this humour, down to the lines 'Nor doubted once but that they both were books, Having a perfect faith in all that passed.' "Our poet now becomes positive, 'Lance in rest, He rode, I keeping pace with him; and now He, to my fancy, had become the knight Whose tale Cervantes tells; _yet not the knight But was an Arab of the desert too_, Of these was neither, and was both at once.' This is absolutely true, and was one of the earliest complaints made a century and a half ago, when Spaniards began to criticise their one great book. They could not tell at times whether Don Quixote was speaking, or Cervantes, or Cid Hamete Benengeli. 'A bed of glittering light' is a delightful description of the attitude of Don Quixote's mind towards external nature while passing through the desert. 'It is,' said he, 'the waters of the deep Gathering upon us.' "It was, of course, only the mirage; but this he changed to suit his own purpose into the 'waters of the deep,' as he changed the row of Castilian wind-mills into giants, and the roar of the fulling mills into the din of war. "Wordsworth is now awake from his dream, but turning all he saw in it into a reality, as only the poet can, he feels that 'Reverence was due to a being thus employed; And thought that, _in the blind and awful lair Of such a madness, reason did lie couched._' Here again is a most profound description of the creation of Cervantes. Don Quixote was mad, but his was a madness that proceeded from that 'blind and awful lair,' a disordered stomach, rather than from an injured brain. Had Don Quixote not forsaken the exercise of the chase and early rising, if he had not taken to eating chestnuts at night, cold spiced meat, together with onions and 'ollas podridas', then proceeding to read exciting, unnatural tales of love and war, he would not have gone mad. "But his reason only lay 'couched,' not overthrown. Only give him a dose of the balsam of Fierabras, his reason shall spring out of its lair, like a lion from out its hiding-place, as indeed it did; and you then have that wonderful piece of rhetoric, which describes the army of Alifanfaron in the eighteenth chapter, Part I. "There are many other things worthy of note, such as 'crazed By love and feeling, and internal thought Protracted among endless solitudes,' all of which are 'fit epithets blessed in the marriage of pure words,' which the author of 'The Prelude', without any special learning, or personal knowledge of Spain, has given us, and are so striking as to compel us once again to go to Wordsworth and say, 'we do not all understand thee yet, not all that thou hast given us.' Very truly yours, A. J. Duffield." Ed.] [Footnote E: Compare 'Paradise Lost', v. 1. 150: 'In prose or numerous verse.' Ed.] [Footnote F: Wordsworth's earliest teachers, before he was sent to Hawkshead School, were his mother and the Rev. Mr. Gilbanks at Cockermouth, and Mrs. Anne Birkett at Penrith. His mother and Dame Birkett taught him to read, and trained his infant memory. Mr. Gilbanks also gave him elementary instruction; while his father made him commit to memory portions of the English poets. At Hawkshead he read English literature, learned Latin and Mathematics, and wrote both English and Latin verse. There was little or no method, and no mechanical or artificial drill in his early education. Though he was taught both languages and mathematics he was left as free to range the "happy pastures" of literature, as to range the Hawkshead woods on autumn nights in pursuit of woodcocks. It is likely that the reference in the above passage is to his education both in childhood and in youth, although specially to the former. In his 'Autobiographical Memoranda', Wordsworth says, "Of my earliest days at School I have little to say, but that they were very happy ones, chiefly because I was left at liberty, then and in the vacations, to read whatever books I liked. For example, I read all Fielding's works, 'Don Quixote', 'Gil Blas', and any part of Swift that I liked; 'Gulliver's Travels' and the 'Tale of a Tub' being both much to my taste." As Wordsworth alludes to Coleridge's education, along with his own, "in the season of unperilous choice," the reference is probably to Coleridge's early time at the vicarage of Ottery St. Mary's, Devonshire, and at the Grammar School there, as well as at Christ's Hospital in London, where (with Charles Lamb as school-companion) he was as enthusiastic in his exploits in the New River, as he was an eager student of books.--Ed.] [Footnote G: Mrs. Wordsworth died at Penrith, in the year 1778, the poet's eighth year.--Ed.] [Footnote H: Compare, in 'Expostulation and Reply' (vol. i. p. 273), 'Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum Of things for ever speaking, That nothing of itself will come, But we must still be seeking?' Ed.] [Footnote I: See the Fenwick note to the poem, 'There was a Boy', vol. ii. p. 57, and Wordsworth's reference to his schoolfellow William Raincock.--Ed.] [Footnote K: Hawkshead Grammar School.--Ed.] [Footnote L: Lines 364-97 were first published in "Lyrical Ballads," 1800, and appeared in all the subsequent collective editions of the poems, standing first in the group of "Poems of the Imagination." The grave of this "immortal boy" cannot be identified. His name, and everything about him except what is here recorded, is unknown; but he was, in all likelihood, a school companion of Wordsworth's at Hawkshead. 'And through that churchyard when my way has led On summer evenings.' One may localize the above description almost anywhere at Hawkshead--Ed.] [Footnote M: Hawkshead School, in which Wordsworth was taught for eight years--from 1778 to 1786--was founded by Archbishop Sandys of York, in 1585, and the building is still very much as it was in Wordsworth's time. The main school-room is on the ground floor. One small chamber on the first floor was used, in the end of last century, by the head master, as a private class-room, for teaching a few advanced pupils. In another is a small library, formed in part by the donations of the scholars; it having been a custom for each pupil to present a volume on leaving the school, or to send one afterwards. Very probably one of the volumes now in the library was presented by Wordsworth. There are several which were presented by his school-fellows, during the years in which Wordsworth was at Hawkshead. The master, in 1877, promised me that he would search through his somewhat musty treasures, to see if he could discover a book with the poet's autograph; but I never heard of his success. On the wall of the room containing the library is a tablet, recording the names of several masters. There also, in an old oak chest, is kept the original charter of the school. The oak benches downstairs are covered with the names or initials of the boys, deeply cut; and, amongst them, the name of William Wordsworth--but not those of his brothers Richard, John, or Christopher--may be seen. For further details as to the Hawkshead School, see the 'Life' of the Poet in this edition. Towards the close of last century, when Wordsworth and his three brothers were educated there, the school was one of the best educational institutions in the north of England.--Ed.] [Footnote N: Compare in the lines beginning "She was a Phantom of delight" p. 2: 'Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food.' Ed.] [Footnote O: Compare book iv. ll. 50 and 383, with relative notes--Ed.] [Footnote P: Compare in 'Fidelity', p. 45: 'There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer.' Ed.] [Footnote Q: Compare the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', stanza v.--Ed.] [Footnote R: Compare, in 'Tintern Abbey', vol. ii. p.54: 'That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures.' And in the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', vol. viii.: 'What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight.' Ed.] [Footnote S: This friend of his boyhood, with whom Wordsworth spent these "delightful hours," is as unknown as is the immortal Boy of Windermere, who blew "mimic hootings to the silent owls," and who sleeps in the churchyard "above the village school" of Hawkshead, and the Lucy of the Goslar poems. Compare, however, p. 163. Wordsworth _may_ refer to John Fleming of Rayrigg, with whom he used to take morning walks round Esthwaite: '... five miles Of pleasant wandering ...' Ed.] [Footnote T: Esthwaite.--Ed.] [Footnote U: Probably they were passages from Goldsmith, or Pope, or writers of their school. The verses which he wrote upon the completion of the second century of the foundation of the school were, as he himself tells us, "a tame imitation of Pope's versification, and a little in his style."--Ed.] * * * * * SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Sub-Footnote a: Wordsworth studied Spanish during the winter he spent at Orleans (1792). Don Quixote was one of the books he had read when at the Hawkshead school.--Ed.] * * * * * BOOK SIXTH CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS The leaves were fading when to Esthwaite's banks And the simplicities of cottage life I bade farewell; and, one among the youth Who, summoned by that season, reunite As scattered birds troop to the fowler's lure, 5 Went back to Granta's cloisters, [A] not so prompt Or eager, though as gay and undepressed In mind, as when I thence had taken flight A few short months before. I turned my face Without repining from the coves and heights 10 Clothed in the sunshine of the withering fern; [B] Quitted, not both, the mild magnificence Of calmer lakes and louder streams; and you, Frank-hearted maids of rocky Cumberland, You and your not unwelcome days of mirth, 15 Relinquished, and your nights of revelry, And in my own unlovely cell sate down In lightsome mood--such privilege has youth That cannot take long leave of pleasant thoughts. The bonds of indolent society 20 Relaxing in their hold, henceforth I lived More to myself. Two winters may be passed Without a separate notice: many books Were skimmed, devoured, or studiously perused, But with no settled plan. [C] I was detached 25 Internally from academic cares; Yet independent study seemed a course Of hardy disobedience toward friends And kindred, proud rebellion and unkind. This spurious virtue, rather let it bear 30 A name it now deserves, this cowardice, Gave treacherous sanction to that over-love Of freedom which encouraged me to turn From regulations even of my own As from restraints and bonds. Yet who can tell--35 Who knows what thus may have been gained, both then And at a later season, or preserved; What love of nature, what original strength Of contemplation, what intuitive truths, The deepest and the best, what keen research, 40 Unbiassed, unbewildered, and unawed? The Poet's soul was with me at that time; Sweet meditations, the still overflow Of present happiness, while future years Lacked not anticipations, tender dreams, 45 No few of which have since been realised; And some remain, hopes for my future life. Four years and thirty, told this very week, [D] Have I been now a sojourner on earth, By sorrow not unsmitten; yet for me 50 Life's morning radiance hath not left the hills, Her dew is on the flowers. Those were the days Which also first emboldened me to trust With firmness, hitherto but lightly touched By such a daring thought, that I might leave 55 Some monument behind me which pure hearts Should reverence. The instinctive humbleness, Maintained even by the very name and thought Of printed books and authorship, began To melt away; and further, the dread awe 60 Of mighty names was softened down and seemed Approachable, admitting fellowship Of modest sympathy. Such aspect now, Though not familiarly, my mind put on, Content to observe, to achieve, and to enjoy. 65 All winter long, whenever free to choose, Did I by night frequent the College groves And tributary walks; the last, and oft The only one, who had been lingering there Through hours of silence, till the porter's bell, 70 A punctual follower on the stroke of nine, Rang with its blunt unceremonious voice, Inexorable summons! Lofty elms, Inviting shades of opportune recess, Bestowed composure on a neighbourhood 75 Unpeaceful in itself. A single tree With sinuous trunk, boughs exquisitely wreathed, Grew there; [E] an ash which Winter for himself Decked out with pride, and with outlandish grace: Up from the ground, and almost to the top, 80 The trunk and every master branch were green With clustering ivy, and the lightsome twigs And outer spray profusely tipped with seeds That hung in yellow tassels, while the air Stirred them, not voiceless. Often have I stood 85 Foot-bound uplooking at this lovely tree Beneath a frosty moon. The hemisphere Of magic fiction, verse of mine perchance May never tread; but scarcely Spenser's self Could have more tranquil visions in his youth, 90 Or could more bright appearances create Of human forms with superhuman powers, Than I beheld loitering on calm clear nights Alone, beneath this fairy work of earth. On the vague reading of a truant youth [F] 95 'Twere idle to descant. My inner judgment Not seldom differed from my taste in books. As if it appertained to another mind, And yet the books which then I valued most Are dearest to me _now_; for, having scanned, 100 Not heedlessly, the laws, and watched the forms Of Nature, in that knowledge I possessed A standard, often usefully applied, Even when unconsciously, to things removed From a familiar sympathy.--In fine, 105 I was a better judge of thoughts than words, Misled in estimating words, not only By common inexperience of youth, But by the trade in classic niceties, The dangerous craft of culling term and phrase 110 From languages that want the living voice To carry meaning to the natural heart; To tell us what is passion, what is truth, What reason, what simplicity and sense. Yet may we not entirely overlook 115 The pleasure gathered from the rudiments Of geometric science. Though advanced In these inquiries, with regret I speak, No farther than the threshold, [G] there I found Both elevation and composed delight: 120 With Indian awe and wonder, ignorance pleased With its own struggles, did I meditate On the relation those abstractions bear To Nature's laws, and by what process led, Those immaterial agents bowed their heads 125 Duly to serve the mind of earth-born man; From star to star, from kindred sphere to sphere, From system on to system without end. More frequently from the same source I drew A pleasure quiet and profound, a sense 130 Of permanent and universal sway, And paramount belief; there, recognised A type, for finite natures, of the one Supreme Existence, the surpassing life Which--to the boundaries of space and time, 135 Of melancholy space and doleful time, Superior, and incapable of change, Nor touched by welterings of passion--is, And hath the name of, God. Transcendent peace And silence did await upon these thoughts 140 That were a frequent comfort to my youth. 'Tis told by one whom stormy waters threw, With fellow-sufferers by the shipwreck spared, Upon a desert coast, that having brought To land a single volume, saved by chance, 145 A treatise of Geometry, he wont, Although of food and clothing destitute, And beyond common wretchedness depressed, To part from company and take this book (Then first a self-taught pupil in its truths) 150 To spots remote, and draw his diagrams With a long staff upon the sand, and thus Did oft beguile his sorrow, and almost Forget his feeling: so (if like effect From the same cause produced, 'mid outward things 155 So different, may rightly be compared), So was it then with me, and so will be With Poets ever. Mighty is the charm Of those abstractions to a mind beset With images, and haunted by herself, 160 And specially delightful unto me Was that clear synthesis built up aloft So gracefully; even then when it appeared Not more than a mere plaything, or a toy To sense embodied: not the thing it is 165 In verity, an independent world, Created out of pure intelligence. Such dispositions then were mine unearned By aught, I fear, of genuine desert-- Mine, through heaven's grace and inborn aptitudes. 170 And not to leave the story of that time Imperfect, with these habits must be joined, Moods melancholy, fits of spleen, that loved A pensive sky, sad days, and piping winds, The twilight more than dawn, autumn than spring; [H] 175 A treasured and luxurious gloom of choice And inclination mainly, and the mere Redundancy of youth's contentedness. --To time thus spent, add multitudes of hours Pilfered away, by what the Bard who sang 180 Of the Enchanter Indolence hath called "Good-natured lounging," [I] and behold a map Of my collegiate life--far less intense Than duty called for, or, without regard To duty, _might_ have sprung up of itself 185 By change of accidents, or even, to speak Without unkindness, in another place. Yet why take refuge in that plea?--the fault, This I repeat, was mine; mine be the blame. In summer, making quest for works of art, 190 Or scenes renowned for beauty, I explored That streamlet whose blue current works its way Between romantic Dovedale's spiry rocks; [K] Pried into Yorkshire dales, [L] or hidden tracts Of my own native region, and was blest 195 Between these sundry wanderings with a joy Above all joys, that seemed another morn Risen on mid noon; [M] blest with the presence, Friend! Of that sole Sister, her who hath been long Dear to thee also, thy true friend and mine, [N] 200 Now, after separation desolate, Restored to me--such absence that she seemed A gift then first bestowed. [O] The varied banks Of Emont, hitherto unnamed in song, [P] And that monastic castle, 'mid tall trees, 205 Low-standing by the margin of the stream, [Q] A mansion visited (as fame reports) By Sidney, [R] where, in sight of our Helvellyn, Or stormy Cross-fell, snatches he might pen Of his Arcadia, by fraternal love 210 Inspired;--that river and those mouldering towers Have seen us side by side, when, having clomb The darksome windings of a broken stair, And crept along a ridge of fractured wall, Not without trembling, we in safety looked 215 Forth, through some Gothic window's open space, And gathered with one mind a rich reward From the far-stretching landscape, by the light Of morning beautified, or purple eve; Or, not less pleased, lay on some turret's head, 220 Catching from tufts of grass and hare-bell flowers Their faintest whisper to the passing breeze, Given out while mid-day heat oppressed the plains. Another maid there was, [S] who also shed A gladness o'er that season, then to me, 225 By her exulting outside look of youth And placid under-countenance, first endeared; That other spirit, Coleridge! who is now So near to us, that meek confiding heart, So reverenced by us both. O'er paths and fields 230 In all that neighbourhood, through narrow lanes Of eglantine, and through the shady woods, And o'er the Border Beacon, and the waste [T] Of naked pools, and common crags that lay Exposed on the bare felt, were scattered love, 235 The spirit of pleasure, and youth's golden gleam. O Friend! we had not seen thee at that time, And yet a power is on me, and a strong Confusion, and I seem to plant thee there. Far art thou wandered now in search of health 240 And milder breezes,--melancholy lot! [U] But thou art with us, with us in the past, The present, with us in the times to come. There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair, No languor, no dejection, no dismay, 245 No absence scarcely can there be, for those Who love as we do. Speed thee well! divide With us thy pleasure; thy returning strength, Receive it daily as a joy of ours; Share with us thy fresh spirits, whether gift 250 Of gales Etesian or of tender thoughts. [V] I, too, have been a wanderer; but, alas! How different the fate of different men. Though mutually unknown, yea nursed and reared As if in several elements, we were framed 255 To bend at last to the same discipline, Predestined, if two beings ever were, To seek the same delights, and have one health, One happiness. Throughout this narrative, Else sooner ended, I have borne in mind 260 For whom it registers the birth, and marks the growth, Of gentleness, simplicity, and truth, And joyous loves, that hallow innocent days Of peace and self-command. Of rivers, fields, And groves I speak to thee, my Friend! to thee, 265 Who, yet a liveried schoolboy, in the depths Of the huge city, [W] on the leaded roof Of that wide edifice, [X] thy school and home, Wert used to lie and gaze upon the clouds Moving in heaven; or, of that pleasure tired, 270 To shut thine eyes, and by internal light See trees, and meadows, and thy native stream, [Y] Far distant, thus beheld from year to year Of a long exile. Nor could I forget, In this late portion of my argument, 275 That scarcely, as my term of pupilage Ceased, had I left those academic bowers When thou wert thither guided. [Z] From the heart Of London, and from cloisters there, thou camest, And didst sit down in temperance and peace, 280 A rigorous student. [a] What a stormy course Then followed. [b] Oh! it is a pang that calls For utterance, to think what easy change Of circumstances might to thee have spared A world of pain, ripened a thousand hopes, 285 For ever withered. Through this retrospect Of my collegiate life I still have had Thy after-sojourn in the self-same place Present before my eyes, have played with times And accidents as children do with cards, 290 Or as a man, who, when his house is built, A frame locked up in wood and stone, doth still, As impotent fancy prompts, by his fireside, Rebuild it to his liking. I have thought Of thee, thy learning, gorgeous eloquence, 295 And all the strength and plumage of thy youth, Thy subtle speculations, toils abstruse Among the schoolmen, and Platonic forms Of wild ideal pageantry, shaped out From things well-matched or ill, and words for things, 300 The self-created sustenance of a mind Debarred from Nature's living images, Compelled to be a life unto herself, And unrelentingly possessed by thirst Of greatness, love, and beauty. Not alone, 305 Ah! surely not in singleness of heart Should I have seen the light of evening fade From smooth Cam's silent waters: had we met, Even at that early time, needs must I trust In the belief, that my maturer age, 310 My calmer habits, and more steady voice, Would with an influence benign have soothed, Or chased away, the airy wretchedness That battened on thy youth. But thou hast trod A march of glory, which doth put to shame 315 These vain regrets; health suffers in thee, else Such grief for thee would be the weakest thought That ever harboured in the breast of man. A passing word erewhile did lightly touch On wanderings of my own, that now embraced 320 With livelier hope a region wider far. When the third summer freed us from restraint, A youthful friend, he too a mountaineer, [c] Not slow to share my wishes, took his staff, And sallying forth, we journeyed side by side, 325 Bound to the distant Alps. [d] A hardy slight Did this unprecedented course imply Of college studies and their set rewards; Nor had, in truth, the scheme been formed by me Without uneasy forethought of the pain, 330 The censures, and ill-omening of those To whom my worldly interests were dear. But Nature then was sovereign in my mind, And mighty forms, seizing a youthful fancy, Had given a charter to irregular hopes. 335 In any age of uneventful calm Among the nations, surely would my heart Have been possessed by similar desire; But Europe at that time was thrilled with joy, France standing on the top of golden hours, [e] 340 And human nature seeming born again. [f] Lightly equipped, [g] and but a few brief looks Cast on the white cliffs of our native shore From the receding vessel's deck, we chanced To land at Calais on the very eve 345 Of that great federal day; [h] and there we saw, In a mean city, and among a few, How bright a face is worn when joy of one Is joy for tens of millions. [h] Southward thence We held our way, direct through hamlets, towns, [i] 350 Gaudy with reliques of that festival, Flowers left to wither on triumphal arcs, And window-garlands. On the public roads, And, once, three days successively, through paths By which our toilsome journey was abridged, [k] 355 Among sequestered villages we walked And found benevolence and blessedness Spread like a fragrance everywhere, when spring Hath left no corner of the land untouched: Where elms for many and many a league in files 360 With their thin umbrage, on the stately roads Of that great kingdom, rustled o'er our heads, [m] For ever near us as we paced along: How sweet at such a time, with such delight On every side, in prime of youthful strength, 365 To feed a Poet's tender melancholy And fond conceit of sadness, with the sound Of undulations varying as might please The wind that swayed them; once, and more than once, Unhoused beneath the evening star we saw 370 Dances of liberty, and, in late hours Of darkness, dances in the open air Deftly prolonged, though grey-haired lookers on Might waste their breath in chiding. Under hills-- The vine-clad hills and slopes of Burgundy, 375 Upon the bosom of the gentle Sane We glided forward with the flowing stream, [n] Swift Rhone! thou wert the _wings_ on which we cut A winding passage with majestic ease Between thy lofty rocks. [o] Enchanting show 380 Those woods and farms and orchards did present And single cottages and lurking towns, Reach after reach, succession without end Of deep and stately vales! A lonely pair Of strangers, till day closed, we sailed along, 385 Clustered together with a merry crowd Of those emancipated, a blithe host Of travellers, chiefly delegates returning From the great spousals newly solemnised At their chief city, in the sight of Heaven. 390 Like bees they swarmed, gaudy and gay as bees; Some vapoured in the unruliness of joy, And with their swords flourished as if to fight The saucy air. In this proud company We landed--took with them our evening meal, 395 Guests welcome almost as the angels were To Abraham of old. The supper done, With flowing cups elate and happy thoughts We rose at signal given, and formed a ring And, hand in hand, danced round and round the board; 400 All hearts were open, every tongue was loud With amity and glee; we bore a name Honoured in France, the name of Englishmen, And hospitably did they give us hail, As their forerunners in a glorious course; 405 And round and round the board we danced again. With these blithe friends our voyage we renewed At early dawn. The monastery bells Made a sweet jingling in our youthful ears; The rapid river flowing without noise, 410 And each uprising or receding spire Spake with a sense of peace, at intervals Touching the heart amid the boisterous crew By whom we were encompassed. Taking leave Of this glad throng, foot-travellers side by side, 415 Measuring our steps in quiet, we pursued Our journey, and ere twice the sun had set Beheld the Convent of Chartreuse, and there Rested within an awful _solitude_: [p] Yes, for even then no other than a place 420 Of soul-affecting _solitude_ appeared That far-famed region, though our eyes had seen, As toward the sacred mansion we advanced, Arms flashing, and a military glare Of riotous men commissioned to expel 425 The blameless inmates, and belike subvert That frame of social being, which so long Had bodied forth the ghostliness of things In silence visible and perpetual calm. --"Stay, stay your sacrilegious hands!"--The voice 430 Was Nature's, uttered from her Alpine throne; I heard it then and seem to hear it now-- "Your impious work forbear, perish what may, Let this one temple last, be this one spot Of earth devoted to eternity!" 435 She ceased to speak, but while St. Bruno's pines [q] Waved their dark tops, not silent as they waved, And while below, along their several beds, Murmured the sister streams of Life and Death, [r] Thus by conflicting passions pressed, my heart 440 Responded; "Honour to the patriot's zeal! Glory and hope to new-born Liberty! Hail to the mighty projects of the time! Discerning sword that Justice wields, do thou Go forth and prosper; and, ye purging fires, 445 Up to the loftiest towers of Pride ascend, Fanned by the breath of angry Providence. But oh! if Past and Future be the wings, On whose support harmoniously conjoined Moves the great spirit of human knowledge, spare 450 These courts of mystery, where a step advanced Between the portals of the shadowy rocks Leaves far behind life's treacherous vanities, For penitential tears and trembling hopes Exchanged--to equalise in God's pure sight 455 Monarch and peasant: be the house redeemed With its unworldly votaries, for the sake Of conquest over sense, hourly achieved Through faith and meditative reason, resting Upon the word of heaven-imparted truth, 460 Calmly triumphant; and for humbler claim Of that imaginative impulse sent From these majestic floods, yon shining cliffs, The untransmuted shapes of many worlds, Cerulean ether's pure inhabitants, 465 These forests unapproachable by death, That shall endure as long as man endures, To think, to hope, to worship, and to feel, To struggle, to be lost within himself In trepidation, from the blank abyss 470 To look with bodily eyes, and be consoled." Not seldom since that moment have I wished That thou, O Friend! the trouble or the calm Hadst shared, when, from profane regards apart, In sympathetic reverence we trod 475 The floors of those dim cloisters, till that hour, From their foundation, strangers to the presence Of unrestricted and unthinking man. Abroad, how cheeringly the sunshine lay Upon the open lawns! Vallombre's groves 480 Entering, [s] we fed the soul with darkness; thence Issued, and with uplifted eyes beheld, In different quarters of the bending sky, The cross of Jesus stand erect, as if Hands of angelic powers had fixed it there, [t] 485 Memorial reverenced by a thousand storms; Yet then, from the undiscriminating sweep And rage of one State-whirlwind, insecure. 'Tis not my present purpose to retrace That variegated journey step by step. 490 A march it was of military speed, [u] And Earth did change her images and forms Before us, fast as clouds are changed in heaven. Day after day, up early and down late, From hill to vale we dropped, from vale to hill 495 Mounted--from province on to province swept, Keen hunters in a chase of fourteen weeks, [u] Eager as birds of prey, or as a ship Upon the stretch, when winds are blowing fair: Sweet coverts did we cross of pastoral life, 500 Enticing valleys, greeted them and left Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam [v] Of salutation were not passed away. Oh! sorrow for the youth who could have seen Unchastened, unsubdued, unawed, unraised 505 To patriarchal dignity of mind, And pure simplicity of wish and will, Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man, Pleased (though to hardship born, and compassed round With danger, varying as the seasons change), 510 Pleased with his daily task, or, if not pleased, Contented, from the moment that the dawn (Ah! surely not without attendant gleams Of soul-illumination) calls him forth To industry, by glistenings flung on rocks, 515 Whose evening shadows lead him to repose, [w] Well might a stranger look with bounding heart Down on a green recess, [x] the first I saw Of those deep haunts, an aboriginal vale, Quiet and lorded over and possessed 520 By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like tents Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns And by the river side. That very day, From a bare ridge [y] we also first beheld Unveiled the summit of Mont Blanc, and grieved 525 To have a soulless image on the eye That had usurped upon a living thought That never more could be. The wondrous Vale Of Chamouny stretched far below, and soon With its dumb cataracts and streams of ice, 530 A motionless array of mighty waves, Five rivers broad and vast, [z] made rich amends, And reconciled us to realities; There small birds warble from the leafy trees, The eagle soars high in the element, 535 There doth the reaper bind the yellow sheaf, The maiden spread the haycock in the sun, While Winter like a well-tamed lion walks, Descending from the mountain to make sport Among the cottages by beds of flowers. 540 Whate'er in this wide circuit we beheld, Or heard, was fitted to our unripe state Of intellect and heart. With such a book Before our eyes, we could not choose but read Lessons of genuine brotherhood, the plain 545 And universal reason of mankind, The truths of young and old. Nor, side by side Pacing, two social pilgrims, or alone Each with his humour, could we fail to abound In dreams and fictions, pensively composed: 550 Dejection taken up for pleasure's sake, And gilded sympathies, the willow wreath, And sober posies of funereal flowers, Gathered among those solitudes sublime From formal gardens of the lady Sorrow, 555 Did sweeten many a meditative hour. Yet still in me with those soft luxuries Mixed something of stem mood, an under-thirst Of vigour seldom utterly allayed. And from that source how different a sadness 560 Would issue, let one incident make known. When from the Vallais we had turned, and clomb Along the Simplon's steep and rugged road, [Aa] Following a band of muleteers, we reached A halting-place, where all together took 565 Their noon-tide meal. Hastily rose our guide, Leaving us at the board; awhile we lingered, Then paced the beaten downward way that led Right to a rough stream's edge, and there broke off; The only track now visible was one 570 That from the torrent's further brink held forth Conspicuous invitation to ascend A lofty mountain. After brief delay Crossing the unbridged stream, that road we took, And clomb with eagerness, till anxious fears 575 Intruded, for we failed to overtake Our comrades gone before. By fortunate chance, While every moment added doubt to doubt, A peasant met us, from whose mouth we learned That to the spot which had perplexed us first 580 We must descend, and there should find the road, Which in the stony channel of the stream Lay a few steps, and then along its banks; And, that our future course, all plain to sight, Was downwards, with the current of that stream. 585 Loth to believe what we so grieved to hear, For still we had hopes that pointed to the clouds, We questioned him again, and yet again; But every word that from the peasant's lips Came in reply, translated by our feelings, 590 Ended in this,--'that we had crossed the Alps'. Imagination--here the Power so called Through sad incompetence of human speech, That awful Power rose from the mind's abyss Like an unfathered vapour that enwraps, 595 At once, some lonely traveller. I was lost; Halted without an effort to break through; But to my conscious soul I now can say-- "I recognise thy glory:" in such strength Of usurpation, when the light of sense 600 Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed The invisible world, doth greatness make abode, There harbours; whether we be young or old, Our destiny, our being's heart and home, Is with infinitude, and only there; 605 With hope it is, hope that can never die, Effort, and expectation, and desire, And something evermore about to be. Under such banners militant, the soul Seeks for no trophies, struggles for no spoils 610 That may attest her prowess, blest in thoughts That are their own perfection and reward, Strong in herself and in beatitude That hides her, like the mighty flood of Nile Poured from his fount of Abyssinian clouds 615 To fertilise the whole Egyptian plain. The melancholy slackening that ensued Upon those tidings by the peasant given Was soon dislodged. Downwards we hurried fast, And, with the half-shaped road which we had missed, 620 Entered a narrow chasm. The brook and road [1] Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy strait, [Bb] And with them did we journey several hours At a slow pace. [2] The immeasurable height Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, 625 The stationary blasts of waterfalls, And in the narrow rent at every turn Winds thwarting winds, bewildered and forlorn, The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, 630 Black drizzling crags that spake by the way-side As if a voice were in them, the sick sight And giddy prospect of the raving stream, The unfettered clouds and region of the Heavens, Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light--635 Were all like workings of one mind, the features Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree; Characters of the great Apocalypse, The types and symbols of Eternity, Of first, and last, and midst, and without end. 640 That night our lodging was a house that stood Alone within the valley, at a point Where, tumbling from aloft, a torrent swelled The rapid stream whose margin we had trod; A dreary mansion, large beyond all need, [Cc] 645 With high and spacious rooms, deafened and stunned By noise of waters, making innocent sleep Lie melancholy among weary bones. Uprisen betimes, our journey we renewed, Led by the stream, ere noon-day magnified 650 Into a lordly river, broad and deep, Dimpling along in silent majesty, With mountains for its neighbours, and in view Of distant mountains and their snowy tops, And thus proceeding to Locarno's Lake, [Dd] 655 Fit resting-place for such a visitant. Locarno! spreading out in width like Heaven, How dost thou cleave to the poetic heart, Bask in the sunshine of the memory; And Como! thou, a treasure whom the earth 660 Keeps to herself, confined as in a depth Of Abyssinian privacy. I spake Of thee, thy chestnut woods, [Ee] and garden plots Of Indian corn tended by dark-eyed maids; Thy lofty steeps, and pathways roofed with vines, 665 Winding from house to house, from town to town, Sole link that binds them to each other; [Ff] walks, League after league, and cloistral avenues, Where silence dwells if music be not there: While yet a youth undisciplined in verse, 670 Through fond ambition of that hour I strove To chant your praise; [Gg] nor can approach you now Ungreeted by a more melodious Song, Where tones of Nature smoothed by learned Art May flow in lasting current. Like a breeze 675 Or sunbeam over your domain I passed In motion without pause; but ye have left Your beauty with me, a serene accord Of forms and colours, passive, yet endowed In their submissiveness with power as sweet 680 And gracious, almost might I dare to say, As virtue is, or goodness; sweet as love, Or the remembrance of a generous deed, Or mildest visitations of pure thought, When God, the giver of all joy, is thanked 685 Religiously, in silent blessedness; Sweet as this last herself, for such it is. With those delightful pathways we advanced, For two days' space, in presence of the Lake, That, stretching far among the Alps, assumed 690 A character more stern. The second night, From sleep awakened, and misled by sound Of the church clock telling the hours with strokes Whose import then we had not learned, we rose By moonlight, doubting not that day was nigh, 695 And that meanwhile, by no uncertain path, Along the winding margin of the lake, Led, as before, we should behold the scene Hushed in profound repose. We left the town Of Gravedona [Hh] with this hope; but soon 700 Were lost, bewildered among woods immense, And on a rock sate down, to wait for day. An open place it was, and overlooked, From high, the sullen water far beneath, On which a dull red image of the moon 705 Lay bedded, changing oftentimes its form Like an uneasy snake. From hour to hour We sate and sate, wondering, as if the night Had been ensnared by witchcraft. On the rock At last we stretched our weary limbs for sleep, 710 But _could not_ sleep, tormented by the stings Of insects, which, with noise like that of noon, Filled all the woods; the cry of unknown birds; The mountains more by blackness visible And their own size, than any outward light; 715 The breathless wilderness of clouds; the clock That told, with unintelligible voice, The widely parted hours; the noise of streams, And sometimes rustling motions nigh at hand, That did not leave us free from personal fear; 720 And, lastly, the withdrawing moon, that set Before us, while she still was high in heaven;-- These were our food; and such a summer's night [Ii] Followed that pair of golden days that shed On Como's Lake, and all that round it lay, 725 Their fairest, softest, happiest influence. But here I must break off, and bid farewell To days, each offering some new sight, or fraught With some untried adventure, in a course Prolonged till sprinklings of autumnal snow 730 Checked our unwearied steps. Let this alone Be mentioned as a parting word, that not In hollow exultation, dealing out Hyperboles of praise comparative; Not rich one moment to be poor for ever; 735 Not prostrate, overborne, as if the mind Herself were nothing, a mere pensioner On outward forms--did we in presence stand Of that magnificent region. On the front Of this whole Song is written that my heart 740 Must, in such Temple, needs have offered up A different worship. Finally, whate'er I saw, or heard, or felt, was but a stream That flowed into a kindred stream; a gale, Confederate with the current of the soul, 745 To speed my voyage; every sound or sight, In its degree of power, administered To grandeur or to tenderness,--to the one Directly, but to tender thoughts by means Less often instantaneous in effect; 750 Led me to these by paths that, in the main, Were more circuitous, but not less sure Duly to reach the point marked out by Heaven. Oh, most belovd Friend! a glorious time, A happy time that was; triumphant looks 755 Were then the common language of all eyes; As if awaked from sleep, the Nations hailed Their great expectancy: the fife of war Was then a spirit-stirring sound indeed, A black-bird's whistle in a budding grove. 760 We left the Swiss exulting in the fate Of their near neighbours; and, when shortening fast Our pilgrimage, nor distant far from home, We crossed the Brabant armies on the fret [Kk] For battle in the cause of Liberty. 765 A stripling, scarcely of the household then Of social life, I looked upon these things As from a distance; heard, and saw, and felt, Was touched, but with no intimate concern; I seemed to move along them, as a bird 770 Moves through the air, or as a fish pursues Its sport, or feeds in its proper element; I wanted not that joy, I did not need Such help; the ever-living universe, Turn where I might, was opening out its glories, 775 And the independent spirit of pure youth Called forth, at every season, new delights Spread round my steps like sunshine o'er green fields. * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: ... gloomy Pass, 1845.] [Variant 2: At a slow step 1845.] * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: To Cambridge. The Anglo-Saxons called it 'Grantabridge', of which Cambridge may be a corruption, Granta and Cam being different names for the same stream. Grantchester is still the name of a village near Cambridge. It is uncertain whether the village or the city itself is the spot of which Bede writes, "venerunt ad civitatulam quandam desolatam, qu lingua Anglorum 'Grantachester' vocatur." If it was Cambridge itself it had already an alternative name, _viz._ 'Camboricum'. Compare 'Cache-cache', a Tale in Verse, by William D. Watson. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. 1862: "Leaving our woods and mountains for the plains Of treeless level Granta." (p. 103.) ... "'Twas then the time When in two camps, like Pope and Emperor, Byron and Wordsworth parted Granta's sons." (p. 121.) Ed.] [Footnote B: Note the meaning, as well as the 'curiosa felicitas', of this phrase.--Ed.] [Footnote C: His Cambridge studies were very miscellaneous, partly owing to his strong natural disinclination to work by rule, partly to unmethodic training at Hawkshead, and to the fact that he had already mastered so much of Euclid and Algebra as to have a twelvemonth's start of the freshmen of his year. "Accordingly," he tells us, "I got into rather an idle way, reading nothing but Classic authors, according to my fancy, and Italian poetry. As I took to these studies with much interest my Italian master was proud of the progress I made. Under his correction I translated the Vision of Mirza, and two or three other papers of the 'Spectator' into Italian." Speaking of her brother Christopher, then at Cambridge, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote thus in 1793: "He is not so ardent in any of his pursuits as William is, but he is yet particularly attached to the same pursuits which have so irresistible an influence over William, _and deprive him of the power of chaining his attention to others discordant to his feelings._" Ed.] [Footnote D: April 1804.--Ed.] [Footnote E: There is no ash tree now in the grove of St. John's College, Cambridge, and no tradition as to where it stood. Covered as it was--trunk and branch--with "clustering ivy" in 1787, it survived till 1808 at any rate. See Note IV. in the Appendix to this volume, p. 390.--Ed.] [Footnote F: See notes on pp. 210 [Footnote F to Book V] and 223 Footnote C to this Book, above].--Ed.] [Footnote G: Before leaving Hawkshead he had mastered five books of Euclid, and in Algebra, simple and quadratic equations. See note, p. 223 [Footnote C to this Book, above].--Ed.] [Footnote H: Compare the second stanza of the 'Ode to Lycoris': 'Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn, And Autumn to the Spring.' Ed.] [Footnote I: Thomson. See the 'Castle of Indolence', canto I. stanza xv.--Ed.] [Footnote K: Dovedale, a rocky chasm, rather more than two miles long, not far from Ashburn, in Derbyshire. Thomas Potts writes of it thus: "The rugged, dissimilar, and frequently grotesque and fanciful appearance of the rocks distinguish the scenery of this valley from perhaps every other in the kingdom. In some places they shoot up in detached masses, in the form of spires or conical pyramids, to the height of 30 or 40 yards.... One rock, distinguished by the name of the Pike, from its spiry form and situation in the midst of the stream, was noticed in the second part of 'The Complete Angler', by Charles Cotton," etc. etc. ('The Beauties of England and Wales,' Derbyshire, vol. iii, pp. 425, 426, and 431. London, 1810.) Potts speaks of the "pellucid waters" of the Dove. "It is transparent to the bottom." (See Whately, 'Observations on Modern Gardening', p. 114.)--Ed.] [Footnote L: Doubtless Wharfedale, Wensleydale, and Swaledale.--Ed.] [Footnote M: Compare 'Paradise Lost', v. 310, and in Chapman's 'Blind Beggar of Alexandria': 'Now see a morning in an evening rise.' Ed.] [Footnote N: For glimpses of the friendship of Dorothy Wordsworth and Coleridge, see the 'Life' of the poet in the last volume of this edition.--Ed.] [Footnote O: The absence referred to--"separation desolate"--may refer both to the Hawkshead years, and to those spent at Cambridge; but doubtless the brother and sister met at Penrith, in vacation time from Hawkshead School; and, after William Wordsworth had gone to the university, Dorothy visited Cambridge, while the brother spent the Christmas holidays of 1790 at Forncett Rectory in Norfolk, where his sister was then staying, and where she spent several years with their uncle Cookson, the Canon of Windsor. It is more probable that the "separation desolate" refers to the interval between this Christmas of 1790 and their reunion at Halifax in 1794. In a letter dated Forncett, August 30, 1793, Dorothy says, referring to her brother, "It is nearly three years since we parted."--Ed.] [Footnote P: Thomas Wilkinson's poem on the River Emont had been written in 1787, but was not published till 1824.--Ed.] [Footnote Q: Brougham Castle, at the junction of the Lowther and the Emont, about a mile out of Penrith, south-east, on the Appleby road. This castle is associated with other poems. See the 'Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle'.--Ed.] [Footnote R: Sir Philip Sidney, author of 'Arcadia'.--Ed.] [Footnote S: Mary Hutchinson.--Ed.] [Footnote T: The Border Beacon is the hill to the north-east of Penrith. It is now covered with wood, but was in Wordsworth's time a "bare fell."--Ed.] [Footnote U: He had gone to Malta, "in search of health."--Ed.] [Footnote V: The Etesian gales are the mild north winds of the Mediterranean, which are periodical, lasting about six weeks in spring and autumn.--Ed.] [Footnote W: A blue-coat boy in London.--Ed.] [Footnote X: Christ's Hospital. Compare Charles Lamb's 'Christ's Hospital Five and Thirty Years Ago'. "Come back into memory, like as thou wert in the dayspring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee--the dark pillar not yet turned--Samuel Taylor Coleridge--Logician, Metaphysician, Bard!--How have I seen the casual passer through the cloisters stand still, entranced with admiration (while he weighed the disproportion between the _speech_ and the _garb_ of the young Mirandula), to hear thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mysteries of Jamblichus, or Plotinus (for even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philosophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar--while the walls of the old Grey Friars re-echoed to the accents of the _inspired charity boy_!" ('Essays of Elia.')--Ed.] [Footnote Y: The river Otter, in Devon, thus addressed by Coleridge in one of his early poems: 'Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West! How many various-fated years have passed, What blissful and what anguished hours, since last I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast, Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep imprest Sink the sweet scenes of Childhood, that mine eyes I never shut amid the sunny haze, But straight with all their tints, thy waters rise, Thy crowning plank, thy margin's willowy maze, And bedded sand that veined with various dyes Gleamed through thy bright transparence to the gaze! Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled Lone Manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs, Ah! that once more I were a careless child!' Ed.] [Footnote Z: Coleridge entered Jesus College, Cambridge, in February 1791, just a month after Wordsworth had taken his B. A. degree, and left the university.--Ed.] [Footnote a: Coleridge worked laboriously but unmethodically at Cambridge, studying philosophy and politics, besides classics and mathematics. He lost his scholarship however.--Ed.] [Footnote b: Debt and despondency; flight to London; enlistment in the Dragoons; residence in Bristol; Republican lectures; scheme, along with Southey, for founding a new community in America; its abandonment; his marriage; life at Nether Stowey; editing 'The Watchman'; lecturing on Shakespeare; contributing to 'The Morning Chronicle'; preaching in Unitarian pulpits; publishing his 'Juvenile Poems', etc. etc.; and throughout eccentric, impetuous, original--with contagious enthusiasm and overflowing genius--but erratic, self-confident, and unstable.--Ed.] [Footnote c: Robert Jones, of Plas-yn-llan, near Ruthin, Denbighshire, to whom the 'Descriptive Sketches', which record the tour, were dedicated.--Ed.] [Footnote d: See 'Descriptive Sketches', vol. i. p. 35.--Ed.] [Footnote e: Compare Shakespeare, 'Sonnets', 16: 'Now stand you on the top of happy hours.' Ed.] [Footnote f: In 1790, most of what could be shaken in the order of European, and especially of French society and government, _was_ shaken and changed. By the new constitution of 1790, to which the French king took an oath of fidelity, his power was reduced to a shadow, and two years later France became a Republic. "We crossed at the time," wrote Wordsworth to his sister, "when the whole nation was mad with joy in consequence of the Revolution." Ed.] [Footnote g: "We went staff in hand, without knapsacks, and carrying each his needments tied up in a pocket handkerchief, with about twenty pounds a-piece in our pockets." W. W. ('Autobiographical Memoranda.)--Ed.] [Footnote h: July 14, 1790. "We crossed from Dover and landed at Calais, on the eve of the day when the King was to swear fidelity to the new constitution: an event which was solemnised with due pomp at Calais." W. W. ('Autobiographical Memoranda.') See also the sonnet "dedicated to National Independence and Liberty," vol. ii. p. 332. beginning, 'Jones! as from Calais southward you and I, and compare the human nature seeming born again' of 'The Prelude', book vi. I, 341, with "the pomp of a too-credulous day" and the "homeless sound of joy" of the sonnet.--Ed.] [Footnote i: They went by Ardres, Pronne, Soissons, Chteau Thierry, Szanne, Bar le Duc, Chtillon-sur-Seine, Nuits, to Chlons-sur-Sane; and thence sailed down to Lyons. See Fenwick note to 'Stray Pleasures' (vol. iv.) "The town of Chlons, where my friend Jones and I halted a day, when we crossed France, so far on foot. There we embarqued, and floated down to Lyons." Ed.] [Footnote k: Compare 'Descriptive Sketches', vol. i. p 40: 'Or where her pathways straggle as they please By lonely farms and secret villages.' Ed.] [Footnote m: "Her road elms rustling thin above my head." (See 'Descriptive Sketches', vol. i. pp. 39, 40, and compare the two passages in detail.)--Ed.] [Footnote n: On the 29th July 1790.--Ed.] [Footnote o: They were at Lyons on the 30th July.--Ed.] [Footnote p: They reached the Chartreuse on the 4th of August, and spent two days there "contemplating, with increasing pleasure," says Wordsworth, "its wonderful scenery."--Ed.] [Footnote q: The forest of St. Bruno, near the Chartreuse.--Ed.] [Footnote r: "Names of rivers at the Chartreuse."--W. W. 1793. They are called in 'Descriptive Sketches', vol. i. p. 41, "the mystic streams of Life and Death."--Ed.] [Footnote s: "Name of one of the vallies of the Chartreuse."--W. W. 1793.] [Footnote t: "Alluding to crosses seen on the spiry rocks of the Chartreuse, which have every appearance of being inaccessible."--W. W. 1793.] [Footnote u: It extended from July 13 to September 29. See the detailed Itinerary, vol. i. p. 332, and Wordsworth's letter to his sister, from Keswill, describing the trip.--Ed.] [Footnote v: See the account of "Urseren's open vale serene," and the paragraph which follows it in 'Descriptive Sketches', vol. i. pp. 50, 51.--Ed.] [Footnote w: See the account of these "abodes of peaceful man," in 'Descriptive Sketches', ll. 208-253.--Ed.] [Footnote x: Probably the valley between Martigny and the Col de Balme.--Ed.] [Footnote y: Wordsworth and Jones crossed from Martigny to Chamouni on the 11th of August. The "bare ridge," from which they first "beheld unveiled the summit of Mont Blanc," and were disenchanted, was doubtless the Col de Balme. The first view of the great mountain is not impressive as seen from that point, or indeed from any of the possible routes to Chamouni from the Rhone valley, until the village is almost reached. The best approach is from Sallanches by St. Gervais.--Ed.] [Footnote z: Compare Coleridge's 'Hymn before sun-rise in the Vale of Chamouni', and Shelley's 'Mont Blanc', with Wordsworth's description of the Alps, here in 'The Prelude', in 'Descriptive Sketches', and in the 'Memorials of a Tour on the Continent'.--Ed.] [Footnote Aa: August 17, 1790.--Ed.] [Footnote Bb: This passage beginning, "The brook and road," was first published, amongst the "Poems of the Imagination," in the edition of 1845, under the title of 'The Simplon Pass' (see vol. ii. p. 69). It is doubtless to this walk down the Italian side of the Simplon route that Wordsworth refers in the letter to his sister from Keswill, in which he says, "The impression of there hours of our walk among these Alps will never be effaced." Ed.] [Footnote Cc: The old hospice in the Simplon, which is beside a torrent below the level of the road, about 22 miles from Duomo d'Ossola.--Ed.] [Footnote Dd: "From Duomo d'Ossola we proceeded to the lake of Locarno, to visit the Boromean Islands, and thence to Como." (W. W. to his sister.) The lake of Locarno is now called Lago Maggiore.--Ed.] [Footnote Ee: "The shores of the lake consist of steeps, covered with large sweeping woods of chestnut, spotted with villages." (W. W. to his sister.)--Ed.] [Footnote Ff: "A small footpath is all the communication by land between one village and another on the side along which we passed, for upwards of thirty miles. We entered on this path about noon, and, owing to the steepness of the banks, were soon unmolested by the sun, which illuminated the woods, rocks, and villages of the opposite shore." (See letter of W. W. from Keswill.)--Ed.] [Footnote Gg: See 'Descriptive Sketches', vol. i. pp. 42-46.--Ed.] [Footnote Hh: They followed the lake of Como to its head, leaving Gravedona on the 20th August.--Ed.] [Footnote Ii: August 21, 1790.--Ed.] [Footnote Kk: They reached Cologne on the 28th September, having floated down the Rhine in a small boat; and from Cologne went to Calais, through Belgium.--Ed.] * * * * * BOOK SEVENTH RESIDENCE IN LONDON Six changeful years have vanished since I first Poured out (saluted by that quickening breeze Which met me issuing from the City's [A] walls) A glad preamble to this Verse: [B] I sang Aloud, with fervour irresistible 5 Of short-lived transport, like a torrent bursting, From a black thunder-cloud, down Scafell's side To rush and disappear. But soon broke forth (So willed the Muse) a less impetuous stream, That flowed awhile with unabating strength, 10 Then stopped for years; not audible again Before last primrose-time, [C] Beloved Friend! The assurance which then cheered some heavy thoughts On thy departure to a foreign land [D] Has failed; too slowly moves the promised work. 15 Through the whole summer have I been at rest, [E] Partly from voluntary holiday, And part through outward hindrance. But I heard, After the hour of sunset yester-even, Sitting within doors between light and dark, 20 A choir of redbreasts gathered somewhere near My threshold,--minstrels from the distant woods Sent in on Winter's service, to announce, With preparation artful and benign, That the rough lord had left the surly North 25 On his accustomed journey. The delight, Due to this timely notice, unawares Smote me, and, listening, I in whispers said, "Ye heartsome Choristers, ye and I will be Associates, and, unscared by blustering winds, 30 Will chant together." Thereafter, as the shades Of twilight deepened, going forth, I spied A glow-worm underneath a dusky plume Or canopy of yet unwithered fern, Clear-shining, like a hermit's taper seen 35 Through a thick forest. Silence touched me here No less than sound had done before; the child Of Summer, lingering, shining, by herself, The voiceless worm on the unfrequented hills, Seemed sent on the same errand with the choir 40 Of Winter that had warbled at my door, And the whole year breathed tenderness and love. The last night's genial feeling overflowed Upon this morning, and my favourite grove, Tossing in sunshine its dark boughs aloft, [F] 45 As if to make the strong wind visible, Wakes in me agitations like its own, A spirit friendly to the Poet's task, Which we will now resume with lively hope, Nor checked by aught of tamer argument 50 That lies before us, needful to be told. Returned from that excursion, [G] soon I bade Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats [H] Of gownd students, quitted hall and bower, And every comfort of that privileged ground, 55 Well pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among The unfenced regions of society. Yet, undetermined to what course of life I should adhere, and seeming to possess A little space of intermediate time 60 At full command, to London first I turned, [I] In no disturbance of excessive hope, By personal ambition unenslaved, Frugal as there was need, and, though self-willed, From dangerous passions free. Three years had flown [K] 65 Since I had felt in heart and soul the shock Of the huge town's first presence, and had paced Her endless streets, a transient visitant: [K] Now, fixed amid that concourse of mankind Where Pleasure whirls about incessantly, 70 And life and labour seem but one, I filled An idler's place; an idler well content To have a house (what matter for a home?) That owned him; living cheerfully abroad With unchecked fancy ever on the stir, 75 And all my young affections out of doors. There was a time when whatsoe'er is feigned Of airy palaces, and gardens built By Genii of romance; or hath in grave Authentic history been set forth of Rome, 80 Alcairo, Babylon, or Persepolis; Or given upon report by pilgrim friars, Of golden cities ten months' journey deep Among Tartarian wilds--fell short, far short, Of what my fond simplicity believed 85 And thought of London--held me by a chain Less strong of wonder and obscure delight. Whether the bolt of childhood's Fancy shot For me beyond its ordinary mark, 'Twere vain to ask; but in our flock of boys 90 Was One, a cripple from his birth, whom chance Summoned from school to London; fortunate And envied traveller! When the Boy returned, After short absence, curiously I scanned His mien and person, nor was free, in sooth, 95 From disappointment, not to find some change In look and air, from that new region brought, As if from Fairy-land. Much I questioned him; And every word he uttered, on my ears Fell flatter than a cagd parrot's note, 100 That answers unexpectedly awry, And mocks the prompter's listening. Marvellous things Had vanity (quick Spirit that appears Almost as deeply seated and as strong In a Child's heart as fear itself) conceived 105 For my enjoyment. Would that I could now Recal what then I pictured to myself, Of mitred Prelates, Lords in ermine clad, The King, and the King's Palace, and, not last, Nor least, Heaven bless him! the renowned Lord Mayor: 110 Dreams not unlike to those which once begat A change of purpose in young Whittington, When he, a friendless and a drooping boy, Sate on a stone, and heard the bells speak out Articulate music. [L] Above all, one thought 115 Baffled my understanding: how men lived Even next-door neighbours, as we say, yet still Strangers, not knowing each the other's name. O, wond'rous power of words, by simple faith Licensed to take the meaning that we love! 120 Vauxhall and Ranelagh! I then had heard Of your green groves, [M] and wilderness of lamps Dimming the stars, and fireworks magical, And gorgeous ladies, under splendid domes, Floating in dance, or warbling high in air 125 The songs of spirits! Nor had Fancy fed With less delight upon that other class Of marvels, broad-day wonders permanent: The River proudly bridged; the dizzy top And Whispering Gallery of St. Paul's; the tombs 130 Of Westminster; the Giants of Guildhall; Bedlam, and those carved maniacs at the gates, [N] Perpetually recumbent; Statues--man, And the horse under him--in gilded pomp Adorning flowery gardens, 'mid vast squares; 135 The Monument, [O] and that Chamber of the Tower [P] Where England's sovereigns sit in long array, Their steeds bestriding,--every mimic shape Cased in the gleaming mail the monarch wore, Whether for gorgeous tournament addressed, 140 Or life or death upon the battle-field. Those bold imaginations in due time Had vanished, leaving others in their stead: And now I looked upon the living scene; Familiarly perused it; oftentimes, 145 In spite of strongest disappointment, pleased Through courteous self-submission, as a tax Paid to the object by prescriptive right. Rise up, thou monstrous ant-hill on the plain Of a too busy world! Before me flow, 150 Thou endless stream of men and moving things! Thy every-day appearance, as it strikes-- With wonder heightened, or sublimed by awe-- On strangers, of all ages; the quick dance Of colours, lights, and forms; the deafening din; 155 The comers and the goers face to face, Face after face; the string of dazzling wares, Shop after shop, with symbols, blazoned names, And all the tradesman's honours overhead: Here, fronts of houses, like a title-page, 160 With letters huge inscribed from top to toe, Stationed above the door, like guardian saints; There, allegoric shapes, female or male, Or physiognomies of real men, Land-warriors, kings, or admirals of the sea, 165 Boyle, Shakespeare, Newton, or the attractive head Of some quack-doctor, famous in his day. Meanwhile the roar continues, till at length, Escaped as from an enemy, we turn Abruptly into some sequestered nook, 170 Still as a sheltered place when winds blow loud! At leisure, thence, through tracts of thin resort, And sights and sounds that come at intervals, We take our way. A raree-show is here, With children gathered round; another street 175 Presents a company of dancing dogs, Or dromedary, with an antic pair Of monkeys on his back; a minstrel band Of Savoyards; or, single and alone, An English ballad-singer. Private courts, 180 Gloomy as coffins, and unsightly lanes Thrilled by some female vendor's scream, belike The very shrillest of all London cries, May then entangle our impatient steps; Conducted through those labyrinths, unawares, 185 To privileged regions and inviolate, Where from their airy lodges studious lawyers Look out on waters, walks, and gardens green. Thence back into the throng, until we reach, Following the tide that slackens by degrees, 190 Some half-frequented scene, where wider streets Bring straggling breezes of suburban air. Here files of ballads dangle from dead walls; Advertisements, of giant-size, from high Press forward, in all colours, on the sight; 195 These, bold in conscious merit, lower down; _That_, fronted with a most imposing word, Is, peradventure, one in masquerade. As on the broadening causeway we advance, Behold, turned upwards, a face hard and strong 200 In lineaments, and red with over-toil. 'Tis one encountered here and everywhere; A travelling cripple, by the trunk cut short, And stumping on his arms. In sailor's garb Another lies at length, beside a range 205 Of well-formed characters, with chalk inscribed Upon the smooth flat stones: the Nurse is here, The Bachelor, that loves to sun himself, The military Idler, and the Dame, That field-ward takes her walk with decent steps. 210 Now homeward through the thickening hubbub, where See, among less distinguishable shapes, The begging scavenger, with hat in hand; The Italian, as he thrids his way with care, Steadying, far-seen, a frame of images 215 Upon his head; with basket at his breast The Jew; the stately and slow-moving Turk, With freight of slippers piled beneath his arm! Enough;--the mighty concourse I surveyed With no unthinking mind, well pleased to note 220 Among the crowd all specimens of man, Through all the colours which the sun bestows, And every character of form and face: The Swede, the Russian; from the genial south, The Frenchman and the Spaniard; from remote 225 America, the Hunter-Indian; Moors, Malays, Lascars, the Tartar, the Chinese, And Negro Ladies in white muslin gowns. At leisure, then, I viewed, from day to day, The spectacles within doors,--birds and beasts 230 Of every nature, and strange plants convened From every clime; and, next, those sights that ape The absolute presence of reality, Expressing, as in mirror, sea and land, And what earth is, and what she has to shew. 235 I do not here allude to subtlest craft, By means refined attaining purest ends, But imitations, fondly made in plain Confession of man's weakness and his loves. Whether the Painter, whose ambitious skill 240 Submits to nothing less than taking in A whole horizon's circuit, do with power, Like that of angels or commissioned spirits, Fix us upon some lofty pinnacle, Or in a ship on waters, with a world 245 Of life, and life-like mockery beneath, Above, behind, far stretching and before; Or more mechanic artist represent By scale exact, in model, wood or clay, From blended colours also borrowing help, 250 Some miniature of famous spots or things,-- St. Peter's Church; or, more aspiring aim, In microscopic vision, Rome herself; Or, haply, some choice rural haunt,--the Falls Of Tivoli; and, high upon that steep, 255 The Sibyl's mouldering Temple! every tree, Villa, or cottage, lurking among rocks Throughout the landscape; tuft, stone scratch minute-- All that the traveller sees when he is there. Add to these exhibitions, mute and still, 260 Others of wider scope, where living men, Music, and shifting pantomimic scenes, Diversified the allurement. Need I fear To mention by its name, as in degree, Lowest of these and humblest in attempt, 265 Yet richly graced with honours of her own, Half-rural Sadler's Wells? [Q] Though at that time Intolerant, as is the way of youth Unless itself be pleased, here more than once Taking my seat, I saw (nor blush to add, 270 With ample recompense) giants and dwarfs, Clowns, conjurors, posture-masters, harlequins, Amid the uproar of the rabblement, Perform their feats. Nor was it mean delight To watch crude Nature work in untaught minds; 275 To note the laws and progress of belief; Though obstinate on this way, yet on that How willingly we travel, and how far! To have, for instance, brought upon the scene The champion, Jack the Giant-killer: Lo! 280 He dons his coat of darkness; on the stage Walks, and achieves his wonders, from the eye Of living Mortal covert, "as the moon Hid in her vacant interlunar cave." [R] Delusion bold! and how can it be wrought? 285 The garb he wears is black as death, the word "_Invisible_" flames forth upon his chest. Here, too, were "forms and pressures of the time," [S] Rough, bold, as Grecian comedy displayed When Art was young; dramas of living men, 290 And recent things yet warm with life; a sea-fight, Shipwreck, or some domestic incident Divulged by Truth and magnified by Fame, Such as the daring brotherhood of late Set forth, too serious theme for that light place--295 I mean, O distant Friend! a story drawn From our own ground,--the Maid of Buttermere,--[T] And how, unfaithful to a virtuous wife Deserted and deceived, the spoiler came And wooed the artless daughter of the hills, 300 And wedded her, in cruel mockery Of love and marriage bonds. [U] These words to thee Must needs bring back the moment when we first, Ere the broad world rang with the maiden's name, Beheld her serving at the cottage inn, 305 Both stricken, as she entered or withdrew, With admiration of her modest mien And carriage, marked by unexampled grace. We since that time not unfamiliarly Have seen her,--her discretion have observed, 310 Her just opinions, delicate reserve, Her patience, and humility of mind Unspoiled by commendation and the excess Of public notice--an offensive light To a meek spirit suffering inwardly. 315 From this memorial tribute to my theme I was returning, when, with sundry forms Commingled--shapes which met me in the way That we must tread--thy image rose again, Maiden of Buttermere! She lives in peace 320 Upon the spot where she was born and reared; Without contamination doth she live In quietness, without anxiety: Beside the mountain chapel, sleeps in earth Her new-born infant, fearless as a lamb 325 That, thither driven from some unsheltered place, Rests underneath the little rock-like pile When storms are raging. Happy are they both-- Mother and child!--These feelings, in themselves Trite, do yet scarcely seem so when I think 330 On those ingenuous moments of our youth Ere we have learnt by use to slight the crimes And sorrows of the world. Those simple days Are now my theme; and, foremost of the scenes, Which yet survive in memory, appears 335 One, at whose centre sate a lovely Boy, A sportive infant, who, for six months' space, Not more, had been of age to deal about Articulate prattle--Child as beautiful As ever clung around a mother's neck, 340 Or father fondly gazed upon with pride. There, too, conspicuous for stature tall And large dark eyes, beside her infant stood The mother; but, upon her cheeks diffused, False tints too well accorded with the glare 345 From play-house lustres thrown without reserve On every object near. The Boy had been The pride and pleasure of all lookers-on In whatsoever place, but seemed in this A sort of alien scattered from the clouds. 350 Of lusty vigour, more than infantine He was in limb, in cheek a summer rose Just three parts blown--a cottage-child--if e'er, By cottage-door on breezy mountain side, Or in some sheltering vale, was seen a babe 355 By Nature's gifts so favoured. Upon a board Decked with refreshments had this child been placed, _His_ little stage in the vast theatre, And there he sate surrounded with a throng Of chance spectators, chiefly dissolute men 360 And shameless women, treated and caressed; Ate, drank, and with the fruit and glasses played, While oaths and laughter and indecent speech Were rife about him as the songs of birds Contending after showers. The mother now 365 Is fading out of memory, but I see The lovely Boy as I beheld him then Among the wretched and the falsely gay, Like one of those who walked with hair unsinged Amid the fiery furnace. Charms and spells 370 Muttered on black and spiteful instigation Have stopped, as some believe, the kindliest growths. Ah, with how different spirit might a prayer Have been preferred, that this fair creature, checked By special privilege of Nature's love, 375 Should in his childhood be detained for ever! But with its universal freight the tide Hath rolled along, and this bright innocent, Mary! may now have lived till he could look With envy on thy nameless babe that sleeps, 380 Beside the mountain chapel, undisturbed. Four rapid years had scarcely then been told [V] Since, travelling southward from our pastoral hills, I heard, and for the first time in my life, The voice of woman utter blasphemy--385 Saw woman as she is, to open shame Abandoned, and the pride of public vice; I shuddered, for a barrier seemed at once Thrown in, that from humanity divorced Humanity, splitting the race of man 390 In twain, yet leaving the same outward form. Distress of mind ensued upon the sight And ardent meditation. Later years Brought to such spectacle a milder sadness. Feelings of pure commiseration, grief 395 For the individual and the overthrow Of her soul's beauty; farther I was then But seldom led, or wished to go; in truth The sorrow of the passion stopped me there. But let me now, less moved, in order take 400 Our argument. Enough is said to show How casual incidents of real life, Observed where pastime only had been sought, Outweighed, or put to flight, the set events And measured passions of the stage, albeit 405 By Siddons trod in the fulness of her power. Yet was the theatre my dear delight; The very gilding, lamps and painted scrolls, And all the mean upholstery of the place, Wanted not animation, when the tide 410 Of pleasure ebbed but to return as fast With the ever-shifting figures of the scene, Solemn or gay: whether some beauteous dame Advanced in radiance through a deep recess Of thick entangled forest, like the moon 415 Opening the clouds; or sovereign king, announced With flourishing trumpet, came in full-blown state Of the world's greatness, winding round with train Of courtiers, banners, and a length of guards; Or captive led in abject weeds, and jingling 420 His slender manacles; or romping girl Bounced, leapt, and pawed the air; or mumbling sire, A scare-crow pattern of old age dressed up In all the tatters of infirmity All loosely put together, hobbled in, 425 Stumping upon a cane with which he smites, From time to time, the solid boards, and makes them Prate somewhat loudly of the whereabout [W] Of one so overloaded with his years. But what of this! the laugh, the grin, grimace, 430 The antics striving to outstrip each other, Were all received, the least of them not lost, With an unmeasured welcome. Through the night, Between the show, and many-headed mass Of the spectators, and each several nook 435 Filled with its fray or brawl, how eagerly And with what flashes, as it were, the mind Turned this way--that way! sportive and alert And watchful, as a kitten when at play, While winds are eddying round her, among straws 440 And rustling leaves. Enchanting age and sweet! Romantic almost, looked at through a space, How small, of intervening years! For then, Though surely no mean progress had been made In meditations holy and sublime, 445 Yet something of a girlish child-like gloss Of novelty survived for scenes like these; Enjoyment haply handed down from times When at a country-playhouse, some rude barn Tricked out for that proud use, if I perchance 450 Caught, on a summer evening through a chink In the old wall, an unexpected glimpse Of daylight, the bare thought of where I was Gladdened me more than if I had been led Into a dazzling cavern of romance, 455 Crowded with Genii busy among works Not to be looked at by the common sun. The matter that detains us now may seem, To many, neither dignified enough Nor arduous, yet will not be scorned by them, 460 Who, looking inward, have observed the ties That bind the perishable hours of life Each to the other, and the curious props By which the world of memory and thought Exists and is sustained. More lofty themes, 465 Such as at least do wear a prouder face, Solicit our regard; but when I think Of these, I feel the imaginative power Languish within me; even then it slept, When, pressed by tragic sufferings, the heart 470 Was more than full; amid my sobs and tears It slept, even in the pregnant season of youth. For though I was most passionately moved And yielded to all changes of the scene With an obsequious promptness, yet the storm 475 Passed not beyond the suburbs of the mind; Save when realities of act and mien, The incarnation of the spirits that move In harmony amid the Poet's world, Rose to ideal grandeur, or, called forth 480 By power of contrast, made me recognise, As at a glance, the things which I had shaped, And yet not shaped, had seen and scarcely seen, When, having closed the mighty Shakespeare's page, I mused, and thought, and felt, in solitude. 485 Pass we from entertainments, that are such Professedly, to others titled higher, Yet, in the estimate of youth at least, More near akin to those than names imply,-- I mean the brawls of lawyers in their courts 490 Before the ermined judge, or that great stage [X] Where senators, tongue-favoured men, perform, Admired and envied. Oh! the beating heart, When one among the prime of these rose up,-- One, of whose name from childhood we had heard 495 Familiarly, a household term, like those, The Bedfords, Glosters, Salsburys, of old Whom the fifth Harry talks of. [Y] Silence! hush! This is no trifler, no short-flighted wit, No stammerer of a minute, painfully 500 Delivered. No! the Orator hath yoked The Hours, like young Aurora, to his car: Thrice welcome Presence! how can patience e'er Grow weary of attending on a track That kindles with such glory! All are charmed, 505 Astonished; like a hero in romance, He winds away his never-ending horn; Words follow words, sense seems to follow sense: What memory and what logic! till the strain Transcendent, superhuman as it seemed, 510 Grows tedious even in a young man's ear. Genius of Burke! forgive the pen seduced By specious wonders, and too slow to tell Of what the ingenuous, what bewildered men, Beginning to mistrust their boastful guides, 515 And wise men, willing to grow wiser, caught, Rapt auditors! from thy most eloquent tongue-- Now mute, for ever mute in the cold grave. I see him,--old, but Vigorous in age,-- Stand like an oak whose stag-horn branches start 520 Out of its leafy brow, the more to awe The younger brethren of the grove. But some-- While he forewarns, denounces, launches forth, Against all systems built on abstract rights, Keen ridicule; the majesty proclaims 525 Of Institutes and Laws, hallowed by time; Declares the vital power of social ties Endeared by Custom; and with high disdain, Exploding upstart Theory, insists Upon the allegiance to which men are born--530 Some--say at once a froward multitude-- Murmur (for truth is hated, where not loved) As the winds fret within the olian cave, Galled by their monarch's chain. The times were big With ominous change, which, night by night, provoked 535 Keen struggles, and black clouds of passion raised; But memorable moments intervened, When Wisdom, like the Goddess from Jove's brain, Broke forth in armour of resplendent words, Startling the Synod. Could a youth, and one 540 In ancient story versed, whose breast had heaved Under the weight of classic eloquence, Sit, see, and hear, unthankful, uninspired? Nor did the Pulpit's oratory fail To achieve its higher triumph. Not unfelt 545 Were its admonishments, nor lightly heard The awful truths delivered thence by tongues Endowed with various power to search the soul; Yet ostentation, domineering, oft Poured forth harangues, how sadly out of place!--550 There have I seen a comely bachelor, Fresh from a toilette of two hours, ascend His rostrum, with seraphic glance look up, And, in a tone elaborately low Beginning, lead his voice through many a maze 555 A minuet course; and, winding up his mouth, From time to time, into an orifice Most delicate, a lurking eyelet, small, And only not invisible, again Open it out, diffusing thence a smile 560 Of rapt irradiation, exquisite. Meanwhile the Evangelists, Isaiah, Job, Moses, and he who penned, the other day, The Death of Abel, [Z] Shakespeare, and the Bard Whose genius spangled o'er a gloomy theme 565 With fancies thick as his inspiring stars, [a] And Ossian (doubt not, 'tis the naked truth) Summoned from streamy Morven [b]--each and all Would, in their turns, lend ornaments and flowers To entwine the crook of eloquence that helped 570 This pretty Shepherd, pride of all the plains, To rule and guide his captivated flock. I glance but at a few conspicuous marks, Leaving a thousand others, that, in hall, Court, theatre, conventicle, or shop, 575 In public room or private, park or street, Each fondly reared on his own pedestal, Looked out for admiration. Folly, vice, Extravagance in gesture, mien, and dress, And all the strife of singularity, 580 Lies to the ear, and lies to every sense-- Of these, and of the living shapes they wear, There is no end. Such candidates for regard, Although well pleased to be where they were found, I did not hunt after, nor greatly prize, 585 Nor made unto myself a secret boast Of reading them with quick and curious eye; But, as a common produce, things that are To-day, to-morrow will be, took of them Such willing note, as, on some errand bound 590 That asks not speed, a Traveller might bestow On sea-shells that bestrew the sandy beach, Or daisies swarming through the fields of June. But foolishness and madness in parade, Though most at home in this their dear domain, 595 Are scattered everywhere, no rarities, Even to the rudest novice of the Schools. Me, rather, it employed, to note, and keep In memory, those individual sights Of courage, or integrity, or truth, 600 Or tenderness, which there, set off by foil, Appeared more touching. One will I select; A Father--for he bore that sacred name-- Him saw I, sitting in an open square, Upon a corner-stone of that low wall, 605 Wherein were fixed the iron pales that fenced A spacious grass-plot; there, in silence, sate This One Man, with a sickly babe outstretched Upon his knee, whom he had thither brought For sunshine, and to breathe the fresher air. 610 Of those who passed, and me who looked at him, He took no heed; but in his brawny arms (The Artificer was to the elbow bare, And from his work this moment had been stolen) He held the child, and, bending over it, 615 As if he were afraid both of the sun And of the air, which he had come to seek, Eyed the poor babe with love unutterable. As the black storm upon the mountain top Sets off the sunbeam in the valley, so 620 That huge fermenting mass of human-kind Serves as a solemn back-ground, or relief, To single forms and objects, whence they draw, For feeling and contemplative regard, More than inherent liveliness and power. 625 How oft, amid those overflowing streets, Have I gone forward with the crowd, and said Unto myself, "The face of every one That passes by me is a mystery!" Thus have I looked, nor ceased to look, oppressed 630 By thoughts of what and whither, when and how, Until the shapes before my eyes became A second-sight procession, such as glides Over still mountains, or appears in dreams; And once, far-travelled in such mood, beyond 635 The reach of common indication, lost Amid the moving pageant, I was smitten Abruptly, with the view (a sight not rare) Of a blind Beggar, who, with upright face, Stood, propped against a wall, upon his chest 640 Wearing a written paper, to explain His story, whence he came, and who he was. Caught by the spectacle my mind turned round As with the might of waters; an apt type This label seemed of the utmost we can know, 645 Both of ourselves and of the universe; And, on the shape of that unmoving man, His steadfast face and sightless eyes, I gazed, As if admonished from another world. Though reared upon the base of outward things, 650 Structures like these the excited spirit mainly Builds for herself; scenes different there are, Full-formed, that take, with small internal help, Possession of the faculties,--the peace That comes with night; the deep solemnity 655 Of nature's intermediate hours of rest, When the great tide of human life stands still; The business of the day to come, unborn, Of that gone by, locked up, as in the grave; The blended calmness of the heavens and earth, 660 Moonlight and stars, and empty streets, and sounds Unfrequent as in deserts; at late hours Of winter evenings, when unwholesome rains Are falling hard, with people yet astir, The feeble salutation from the voice 665 Of some unhappy woman, now and then Heard as we pass, when no one looks about, Nothing is listened to. But these, I fear, Are falsely catalogued; things that are, are not, As the mind answers to them, or the heart 670 Is prompt, or slow, to feel. What say you, then, To times, when half the city shall break out Full of one passion, vengeance, rage, or fear? To executions, to a street on fire, Mobs, riots, or rejoicings? From these sights 675 Take one,--that ancient festival, the Fair, Holden where martyrs suffered in past time, And named of St. Bartholomew; [c] there, see A work completed to our hands, that lays, If any spectacle on earth can do, 680 The whole creative powers of man asleep!-- For once, the Muse's help will we implore, And she shall lodge us, wafted on her wings, Above the press and danger of the crowd, Upon some showman's platform. What a shock 685 For eyes and ears! what anarchy and din, Barbarian and infernal,--a phantasma, Monstrous in colour, motion, shape, sight, sound! 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