The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 2 (of 8)
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Title: The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth — Volume 2 (of 8)
Author: William Wordsworth
Editor: William Angus Knight
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH — VOLUME 2 (OF 8) ***
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
EDITED BY
WILLIAM KNIGHT
VOL. II
1896
CONTENTS
Peter Bell
Lines, composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the Banks
of the Wye during a tour, July 13, 1798
There was a Boy
The Two Thieves; or, the Last Stage of Avarice
Written with a Slate Pencil upon a Stone, the largest of a Heap lying
near a Deserted Quarry, upon one of the Islands at Rydal
1799
Influence of Natural Objects in calling forth and strengthening the
Imagination in Boyhood and Early Youth
The Simplon Pass
Nutting
Written in Germany, on one of the Coldest Days of the Century
A Poet's Epitaph
"Strange fits of passion have I known"
"She dwelt among the untrodden ways"
"I travelled among unknown men"
"Three years she grew in sun and shower"
"A slumber did my spirit seal"
Address to the Scholars of the Village School of----
Matthew
The Two April Mornings
The Fountain
To a Sexton
The Danish Boy
Lucy Gray; or, Solitude
Ruth
1800
"On Nature's invitation do I come"
"Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak"
Ellen Irwin; or, The Braes of Kirtle
Hart-Leap Well
The Idle Shepherd-Boys; or, Dungeon-Ghyll Force
The Pet-Lamb
The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale
Poems on the Naming of Places:
"It was an April morning: fresh and clear"
To Joanna
"There is an Eminence,--of these our hills"
"A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags"
To M. H.
The Waterfall and the Eglantine
The Oak and the Broom
"'Tis said, that some have died for love"
The Childless Father
Song for the Wandering Jew
The Brothers
The Seven Sisters; or, The Solitude of Binnorie
Rural Architecture
A Character
Inscription for the spot where the Hermitage stood on St. Herbert's
Island, Derwent-Water
Written with a Pencil upon a Stone in the Wall of the House (an
Out-House), on the Island at Grasmere
Michael
1801
The Sparrow's Nest
"Pelion and Ossa flourish side by side"
Selections from Chaucer Modernised:
The Prioress' Tale
The Cuckoo and the Nightingale
Troilus and Cresida
1802
The Sailor's Mother
Alice Fell; or, Poverty
Beggars
Sequel to the Foregoing
To a Butterfly
The Emigrant Mother
To the Cuckoo
"My heart leaps up when I behold"
Written in March, while resting on the Bridge at the Foot of Brothers
Water
The Redbreast chasing the Butterfly
To a Butterfly
Foresight
To the Small Celandine
To the Same Flower
Stanzas written in my Pocket Copy of Thomson's "Castle of Indolence"
Resolution and Independence
"I grieved for Buonaparte"
A Farewell
"The sun has long been set"
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802
Composed by the Sea-side, near Calais, August, 1802
Calais, August, 1802
Composed near Calais, on the Road leading to Ardres, August 7, 1802
Calais, August 15, 1802
"It is a beauteous evening, calm and free"
On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic
The King of Sweden
To Toussaint L'Ouverture
Composed in the Valley near Dover, on the Day of Landing
September 1, 1802
September, 1802, near Dover
Written in London, September, 1802
London, 1802
"Great men have been among us; hands that penned"
"It is not to be thought of that the Flood"
"When I have borne in memory what has tamed"
Composed after a Journey across the Hambleton Hills, Yorkshire
To H. C.
To the Daisy
To the Same Flower
To the Daisy
Louisa
To a Young Lady, who had been Reproached for taking Long Walks in the
Country
1803
The Green Linnet
Yew-Trees
"Who fancied what a pretty sight"
"It is no Spirit who from heaven hath flown"
Memorials of a Tour in Scotland:
Departure from the Vale of Grasmere. August, 1803
At the Grave of Burns, 1803. Seven Years after his Death
Thoughts suggested the Day following, on the Banks of Nith, near the
Poet's Residence
To the Sons of Burns, after Visiting the Grave of their Father
To a Highland Girl
Glen-Almain; or, The Narrow Glen
Stepping Westward
The Solitary Reaper
Address to Kilchurn Castle
Rob Roy's Grave
Sonnet composed at----Castle
Yarrow Unvisited
The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband
"Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale"
The Blind Highland Boy
October, 1803
"There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear"
October, 1803
"England! the time is come when thou should'st wean"
October, 1803
To the Men of Kent. October, 1803
In the Pass of Killicranky
Anticipation. October, 1803
Lines on the Expected Invasion, 1803
* * * * *
WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS
* * * * *
PETER BELL: A TALE [A]
Composed 1798. [B]--Published 1819.
'What's in a Name?' [C]
'Brutus will start a Spirit as soon as Cæsar!' [D]
To ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., P.L., ETC., ETC.
MY DEAR FRIEND--The Tale of 'Peter Bell', which I now introduce to
your notice, and to that of the Public, has, in its Manuscript state,
nearly survived its _minority_:--for it first saw the light in the
summer of 1798. During this long interval, pains have been taken at
different times to make the production less unworthy of a favourable
reception; or, rather, to fit it for filling _permanently_ a station,
however humble, in the Literature of our Country. This has, indeed,
been the aim of all my endeavours in Poetry, which, you know, have
been sufficiently laborious to prove that I deem the Art not lightly
to be approached; and that the attainment of excellence in it, may
laudably be made the principal object of intellectual pursuit by any
man, who, with reasonable consideration of circumstances, has faith in
his own impulses.
The Poem of 'Peter Bell', as the Prologue will show, was composed
under a belief that the Imagination not only does not require for its
exercise the intervention of supernatural agency, but that, though
such agency be excluded, the faculty may be called forth as
imperiously and for kindred results of pleasure, by incidents, within
the compass of poetic probability, in the humblest departments of
daily life. Since that Prologue was written, _you_ have exhibited most
splendid effects of judicious daring, in the opposite and usual
course. Let this acknowledgment make my peace with the lovers of the
supernatural; and I am persuaded it will be admitted, that to you, as
a Master in that province of the art, the following Tale, whether from
contrast or congruity, is not an unappropriate offering. Accept it,
then, as a public testimony of affectionate admiration from one with
whose name yours has been often coupled (to use your own words) for
evil and for good; and believe me to be, with earnest wishes that life
and health may be granted you to complete the many important works in
which you are engaged, and with high respect, Most faithfully yours,
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
RYDAL MOUNT, April 7, 1819.
[Written at Alfoxden. Founded upon an anecdote which I read in a
newspaper, of an ass being found hanging his head over a canal in a
wretched posture. Upon examination a dead body was found in the water,
and proved to be the body of its master. The countenance, gait, and
figure of Peter were taken from a wild rover with whom I walked from
Builth, on the river Wye, downwards, nearly as far as the town of Hay.
He told me strange stories. It has always been a pleasure to me through
life, to catch at every opportunity that has occurred in my rambles of
becoming acquainted with this class of people. The number of Peter's
wives was taken from the trespasses, in this way, of a lawless creature,
who lived in the county of Durham, and used to be attended by many
women, sometimes not less than half a dozen, as disorderly as himself,
and a story went in the country that he had been heard to say, while
they were quarrelling, "Why can't ye be quiet, there's none so many of
you?" Benoni, or the child of sorrow, I knew when I was a schoolboy. His
mother had been deserted by a gentleman in the neighbourhood, she
herself being a gentlewoman by birth. The circumstances of her story
were told me by my dear old dame, Ann Tyson, who was her confidante. The
lady died broken-hearted. In the woods of Alfoxden I used to take great
delight in noticing the habits, tricks, and physiognomy of asses; and I
have no doubt that I was thus put upon writing the poem out of liking
for the creature that is often so dreadfully abused. The crescent moon,
which makes such a figure in the prologue, assumed this character one
evening while I was watching its beauty in front of Alfoxden House. I
intended this poem for the volume before spoken of, but it was not
published for more than twenty years afterwards. The worship of the
Methodists, or Ranters, is often heard during the stillness of the
summer evening, in the country, with affecting accompaniments of rural
beauty. In both the psalmody and voice of the preacher there is, not
unfrequently, much solemnity likely to impress the feelings of the
rudest characters under favourable circumstances.--I. F.]
Classed by Wordsworth among his "Poems of the Imagination."--ED.
PROLOGUE
There's something in a flying horse,
There's something [1] in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like [2] the crescent-moon. 5
And now I _have_ a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon:
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up--and you shall see me soon! 10
The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
Rocking and roaring like a sea;
The noise of danger's in [3] your ears,
And ye have all a thousand fears
Both for my little Boat and me! 15
Meanwhile untroubled I admire [4]
The pointed horns of my canoe;
And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,
Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you! 20
Away we go, my Boat and I--
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds [5] we dive,
Each is contented with the other. 25
Away we go--and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars. 30
Up goes my Boat among [6] the stars
Through many a breathless field of light,
Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
Up goes my little Boat so bright! 35
The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull--
We pry among them all; have shot
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not! 40
The towns in Saturn are decayed,
And melancholy Spectres throng them;--[7]
The Pleiads, that appear to kiss
Each other in the vast abyss,
With joy I sail among [8] them, 45
Swift Mercury resounds with mirth,
Great Jove is full of stately bowers;
But these, and all that they contain,
What are they to that tiny grain,
That little Earth [9] of ours? 50
Then back to Earth, the dear green Earth:--
Whole ages if I here should roam,
The world for my remarks and me
Would not a whit the better be;
I've left my heart at home. 55
See! there she is, [10] the matchless Earth!
There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean!
Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear
Through the grey clouds; the Alps are here,
Like waters in commotion! 60
Yon tawny slip is Libya's sands
That silver thread the river Dnieper;
And look, where clothed in brightest green
Is a sweet Isle, of isles the Queen;
Ye fairies, from all evil keep her! 65
And see the town where I was born!
Around those happy fields we span
In boyish gambols;--I was lost
Where I have been, but on this coast
I feel I am a man. 70
Never did fifty things at once
Appear so lovely, never, never;--
How tunefully the forests ring!
To hear the earth's soft murmuring
Thus could I hang for ever! 75
"Shame on you!" cried my little Boat,
"Was ever such a homesick [11] Loon,
Within a living Boat to sit,
And make no better use of it;
A Boat twin-sister of the crescent-moon! 80
[12]
"Ne'er in the breast of full-grown Poet
Fluttered so faint a heart before;--
Was it the music of the spheres
That overpowered your mortal ears?
--Such din shall trouble them no more. 85
"These nether precincts do not lack
Charms of their own;--then come with me;
I want a comrade, and for you
There's nothing that I would not do;
Nought is there that you shall not see. 90
"Haste! and above Siberian snows
We'll sport amid the boreal morning;
Will mingle with her lustres gliding
Among the stars, the stars now hiding,
And now the stars adorning. 95
"I know the secrets of a land
Where human foot did never stray;
Fair is that land [13] as evening skies,
And cool, though in the depth it lies
Of burning Africa. 100
"Or we'll into the realm of Faery,
Among the lovely shades of things;
The shadowy forms of mountains bare,
And streams, and bowers, and ladies fair,
The shades of palaces and kings! 105
"Or, if you thirst with hardy zeal
Less quiet regions to explore,
Prompt voyage shall to you reveal
How earth and heaven are taught to feel
The might of magic lore!" 110
"My little vagrant Form of light,
My gay and beautiful Canoe,
Well have you played your friendly part;
As kindly take what from my heart
Experience forces--then adieu! 115
"Temptation lurks among your words;
But, while these pleasures you're pursuing
Without impediment or let,
No wonder if you quite forget [14]
What on the earth is doing. 120
"There was a time when all mankind
Did listen with a faith sincere
To tuneful tongues in mystery versed;
_Then_ Poets fearlessly rehearsed
The wonders of a wild career. 125
"Go--(but the world's a sleepy world,
And 'tis, I fear, an age too late)
Take with you some ambitious Youth!
For, restless Wanderer! I, in truth, [15]
Am all unfit to be your mate. 130
"Long have I loved what I behold,
The night that calms, the day that cheers;
The common growth of mother-earth
Suffices me--her tears, her mirth,
Her humblest mirth and tears. 135
"The dragon's wing, the magic ring,
I shall not covet for my dower,
If I along that lowly way
With sympathetic heart may stray,
And with a soul of power. 140
"These given, what more need I desire
To stir, to soothe, or elevate?
What nobler marvels than the mind
May in life's daily prospect find,
May find or there create? 145
"A potent wand doth Sorrow wield;
What spell so strong as guilty Fear!
Repentance is a tender Sprite;
If aught on earth have heavenly might,
'Tis lodged within her silent tear. 150
"But grant my wishes,--let us now
Descend from this ethereal height;
Then take thy way, adventurous Skiff,
More daring far than Hippogriff,
And be thy own delight! 155
"To the stone-table in my garden,
Loved haunt of many a summer hour, [E]
The Squire is come: his daughter Bess
Beside him in the cool recess
Sits blooming like a flower. 160
"With these are many more convened;
They know not I have been so far;--
I see them there, in number nine,
Beneath the spreading Weymouth-pine!
I see them--there they are! 165
"There sits the Vicar and his Dame;
And there my good friend, Stephen Otter;
And, ere the light of evening fail,
To them I must relate the Tale
Of Peter Bell the Potter." 170
Off flew the Boat--away she flees,
Spurning her freight with indignation! [16]
"And I, as well as I was able,
On two poor legs, toward my stone-table
Limped on with sore vexation. [17] 175
"O, here he is!" cried little Bess--
She saw me at the garden-door;
"We've waited anxiously and long,"
They cried, and all around me throng,
Full nine of them or more! 180
"Reproach me not--your fears be still--
Be thankful we again have met;--
Resume, my Friends! within the shade
Your seats, and quickly [18] shall be paid
The well-remembered debt." 185
I spake with faltering voice, like one
Not wholly rescued from the pale
Of a wild dream, or worse illusion;
But, straight, to cover my confusion,
Began the promised Tale. [19] 190
PART FIRST
All by the moonlight river side
Groaned the poor Beast--alas! in vain;
The staff was raised to loftier height,
And the blows fell with heavier weight
As Peter struck--and struck again. [20] 195
[21]
"Hold!" cried the Squire, "against the rules
Of common sense you're surely sinning;
This leap is for us all too bold; [22]
Who Peter was, let that be told,
And start from the beginning." 200
--"A Potter, [F] Sir, he was by trade,"
Said I, becoming quite collected;
"And wheresoever he appeared,
Full twenty times was Peter feared
For once that Peter was respected. 205
"He two-and-thirty years or more,
Had been a wild and woodland rover;
Had heard the Atlantic surges roar
On farthest Cornwall's rocky shore,
And trod the cliffs of Dover. 210
"And he had seen Caernarvon's towers,
And well he knew the spire of Sarum;
And he had been where Lincoln bell
Flings o'er the fen that ponderous knell--
A far-renowned alarum. [23] 215
"At Doncaster, at York, and Leeds,
And merry Carlisle had he been;
And all along the Lowlands fair,
All through the bonny shire of Ayr;
And far as Aberdeen. 220
"And he had been at Inverness;
And Peter, by the mountain-rills,
Had danced his round with Highland lasses;
And he had lain beside his asses
On lofty Cheviot Hills: 225
"And he had trudged through Yorkshire dales,
Among the rocks and winding _scars_;
Where deep and low the hamlets lie
Beneath their little patch of sky
And little lot of stars: 230
"And all along the indented coast,
Bespattered with the salt-sea foam;
Where'er a knot of houses lay
On headland, or in hollow bay;--
Sure never man like him did roam! 235
"As well might Peter, in the Fleet,
Have been fast bound, a begging debtor;--
He travelled here, he travelled there;--
But not the value of a hair
Was heart or head the better. 240
"He roved among the vales and streams,
In the green wood and hollow dell;
They were his dwellings night and day,--
But nature ne'er could find the way
Into the heart of Peter Bell. 245
"In vain, through every changeful year,
Did Nature lead him as before;
A primrose by a river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more. 250
"Small change it made in Peter's heart
To see his gentle panniered train
With more than vernal pleasure feeding,
Where'er the tender grass was leading
Its earliest green along the lane. 255
"In vain, through water, earth, and air,
The soul of happy sound was spread,
When Peter on some April morn,
Beneath the broom or budding thorn,
Made the warm earth his lazy bed. 260
"At noon, when, by the forest's edge
He lay beneath the branches high,
The soft blue sky did never melt
Into his heart; he never felt
The witchery of the soft blue sky! 265
"On a fair prospect some have looked
And felt, as I have heard them say,
As if the moving time had been
A thing as steadfast as the scene
On which they gazed themselves away. 270
"Within the breast of Peter Bell
These silent raptures found no place; [24]
He was a Carl as wild and rude
As ever hue-and-cry pursued,
As ever ran a felon's race. 275
"Of all that lead a lawless life,
Of all that love their lawless lives,
In city or in village small,
He was the wildest far of all;--
He had a dozen wedded wives. 280
"Nay, start not!--wedded wives--and twelve!
But how one wife could e'er come near him,
In simple truth I cannot tell;
For, be it said of Peter Bell,
To see him was to fear him. 285
"Though Nature could not touch his heart
By lovely forms, and silent [25] weather,
And tender sounds, yet you might see
At once, that Peter Bell and she
Had often been together. 290
"A savage wildness round him hung
As of a dweller out of doors;
In his whole figure and his mien
A savage character was seen
Of mountains and of dreary moors. 295
"To all the unshaped half-human thoughts
Which solitary Nature feeds
'Mid summer storms or winter's ice,
Had Peter joined whatever vice
The cruel city breeds. 300
"His face was keen as is the wind
That cuts along the hawthorn-fence;
Of courage you saw little there,
But, in its stead, a medley air
Of cunning and of impudence. 305
"He had a dark and sidelong walk,
And long and slouching was his gait;
Beneath his looks so bare and bold,
You might perceive, his spirit cold
Was playing with some inward bait. 310
"His forehead wrinkled was and furred;
A work, one half of which was done
By thinking of his '_whens_,' and '_hows_';
And half, by knitting of his brows
Beneath the glaring sun. 315
"There was a hardness in his cheek,
There was a hardness in his eye,
As if the man had fixed his face,
In many a solitary place,
Against the wind and open sky!" 320
* * * * *
One night, (and now my little Bess!
We've reached at last the promised Tale;)
One beautiful November night,
When the full moon was shining bright
Upon the rapid river Swale, 325
Along the river's winding banks
Peter was travelling all alone;
Whether to buy or sell, or led
By pleasure running in his head,
To me was never known. 330
He trudged along through copse and brake,
He trudged along o'er hill and dale;
Nor for the moon cared he a tittle,
And for the stars he cared as little,
And for the murmuring river Swale. 335
But, chancing to espy a path
That promised to cut short the way;
As many a wiser man hath done,
He left a trusty guide for one
That might his steps betray. 340
To a thick wood he soon is brought
Where cheerily [26] his course he weaves,
And whistling loud may yet be heard,
Though often buried, like a bird
Darkling, among the boughs and leaves. 345
But quickly Peter's mood is changed,
And on he drives with cheeks that burn
In downright fury and in wrath;--
There's little sign the treacherous path
Will to the road return! 350
The path grows dim, and dimmer still;
Now up, now down, the Rover wends,
With all the sail that he can carry,
Till brought to a deserted quarry--[27]
And there the pathway ends. 355
[28]
He paused--for shadows of strange shape,
Massy and black, before him lay;
But through the dark, and through the cold, [29]
And through the yawning fissures old,
Did Peter boldly press his way 360
Right through the quarry;--and behold
A scene of soft and lovely hue!
Where blue and grey, and tender green,
Together make [30] as sweet a scene
As ever human eye did view. 365
Beneath the clear blue sky he saw
A little field of meadow ground;
But field or meadow name it not;
Call it of earth a small green plot,
With rocks encompassed round. 370
The Swale flowed under the grey rocks,
But he flowed quiet and unseen;--
You need a strong and stormy gale
To bring the noises of the Swale
To that green spot, so calm and green! 375
[31]
And is there no one dwelling here,
No hermit with his beads and glass?
And does no little cottage look
Upon this soft and fertile nook?
Does no one live near this green grass? 380
Across the [32] deep and quiet spot
Is Peter driving through the grass--
And now has reached the skirting trees; [33]
When, turning round his head, he sees
A solitary Ass. 385
[34]
"A prize!" cries Peter--but he first
Must spy about him far and near: [35]
There's not a single house in sight,
No woodman's hut, no cottage light--
Peter, you need not fear! 390
There's nothing to be seen but woods,
And rocks that spread a hoary gleam,
And this one Beast, that from the bed
Of the green meadow hangs his head
Over the silent stream. 395
His head is with a halter bound;
The halter seizing, Peter leapt
Upon the Creature's back, [36] and plied
With ready heels his shaggy side; [37]
But still the Ass his station kept. 400
[38]
Then Peter gave a sudden jerk,
A jerk that from a dungeon-floor
Would have pulled up an iron ring;
But still the heavy-headed Thing
Stood just as he had stood before! 405
Quoth Peter, leaping from his seat,
"There is some plot against me laid";
Once more the little meadow-ground
And all the hoary cliffs around
He cautiously surveyed. 410
All, all is silent--rocks and woods,
All still and silent--far and near!
Only the Ass, with motion dull,
Upon the pivot of his skull
Turns round his long left ear. 415
Thought Peter, What can mean all this?
Some ugly witchcraft must be here!
--Once more the Ass, with motion dull,
Upon the pivot of his skull
Turned round his long left ear. 420
Suspicion ripened into dread;
Yet with deliberate action slow,
His staff high-raising, in the pride
Of skill, upon the sounding hide, [39]
He dealt a sturdy blow. 425
The poor Ass staggered with the shock;
And then, as if to take his ease, [40]
In quiet uncomplaining mood,
Upon the spot where he had stood,
Dropped gently down upon his knees; 430
As gently on [41] his side he fell;
And by the river's brink did lie;
And, while [42] he lay like one that mourned,
The patient Beast on Peter turned
His shining hazel eye. [43] 435
'Twas but one mild, reproachful look,
A look more tender than severe;
And straight in sorrow, not in dread,
He turned the eye-ball in his head
Towards the smooth river [44] deep and clear. 440
Upon the Beast the sapling rings;
His lank sides heaved, [45] his limbs they stirred;
He gave a groan, and then another,
Of that which went before the brother,
And then he gave a third. 445
All by the moonlight river side
He gave three miserable groans;
And not till now hath Peter seen
How gaunt the Creature is,--how lean
And sharp his staring bones! [46] 450
With legs stretched out and stiff he lay:--
No word of kind commiseration
Fell at the sight from Peter's tongue;
With hard contempt his heart was wrung,
With hatred and vexation. 455
The meagre beast lay still as death;
And Peter's lips with fury quiver;
Quoth he, "You little mulish dog,
I'll fling your carcass like a log
Head-foremost down the river!" 460
An impious oath confirmed the threat--
Whereat from the earth on which he lay [47]
To all the echoes, south and north,
And east and west, the Ass sent forth
A long and clamorous bray! [48] 465
This outcry, on the heart of Peter,
Seems like a note of joy to strike,--
Joy at [49] the heart of Peter knocks;
But in the echo of the rocks
Was something Peter did not like. 470
Whether to cheer his coward breast,
Or that he could not break the chain,
In this serene and solemn hour,
Twined round him by demoniac power,
To the blind work he turned again. 475
Among the rocks and winding crags;
Among the mountains far away;
Once more the Ass did lengthen out
More ruefully a deep-drawn shout,
The hard dry see-saw of his horrible bray! [50] 480
What is there now in Peter's heart!
Or whence the might of this strange sound?
The moon uneasy looked and dimmer,
The broad blue heavens appeared to glimmer,
And the rocks staggered all around--485
From Peter's hand the sapling dropped!
Threat has he none to execute;
"If any one should come and see
That I am here, they'll think," quoth he,
"I'm helping this poor dying brute." 490
He scans the Ass from limb to limb,
And ventures now to uplift his eyes;
More steady looks the moon, and clear,
More like themselves the rocks appear
And touch more quiet skies. [51] 495
His scorn returns--his hate revives;
He stoops the Ass's neck to seize
With malice--that again takes flight;
For in the pool a startling sight
Meets him, among the inverted trees. [52] 500
Is it the moon's distorted face?
The ghost-like image of a cloud?
Is it a gallows [53] there portrayed?
Is Peter of himself afraid?
Is it a coffin,--or a shroud? 505
A grisly idol hewn in stone?
Or imp from witch's lap let fall?
Perhaps a ring of shining fairies?
Such as pursue their feared vagaries [54]
In sylvan bower, or haunted hall? 510
Is it a fiend that to a stake
Of fire his desperate self is tethering?
Or stubborn spirit doomed to yell
In solitary ward or cell,
Ten thousand miles from all his brethren? 515
[55]
Never did pulse so quickly throb,
And never heart so loudly panted; [56]
He looks, he cannot choose but look;
Like some one reading in a book--[57]
A book that is enchanted. 520
Ah, well-a-day for Peter Bell!
He will be turned to iron soon,
Meet Statue for the court of Fear!
His hat is up--and every hair
Bristles, and whitens in the moon! 525
He looks, he ponders, looks again;
He sees a motion--hears a groan;
His eyes will burst--his heart will break--
He gives a loud and frightful shriek,
And back he falls, [58] as if his life were flown! 530
PART SECOND
We left our Hero in a trance,
Beneath the alders, near the river;
The Ass is by the river-side,
And, where the feeble breezes glide,
Upon the stream the moonbeams quiver. 535
A happy respite! but at length
He feels the glimmering of the moon;
Wakes with glazed eye, and feebly sighing--
To sink, perhaps, where he is lying,
Into a second swoon! [59] 540
He lifts his head, he sees his staff;
He touches--'tis to him a treasure!
Faint recollection seems to tell
That he is yet where mortals dwell--
A thought received with languid pleasure! 545
His head upon his elbow propped,
Becoming less and less perplexed,
Sky-ward he looks--to rock and wood--
And then--upon the glassy [60] flood
His wandering eye is fixed. 550
Thought he, that is the face of one
In his last sleep securely bound!
So toward the stream his head he bent,
And downward thrust his staff, intent
The river's depth to sound. [61] 555
_Now_--like a tempest-shattered bark,
That overwhelmed and prostrate lies,
And in a moment to the verge
Is lifted of a foaming surge--
Full suddenly the Ass doth rise! 560
His staring bones all shake with joy,
And close by Peter's side he stands:
While Peter o'er the river bends,
The little Ass his neck extends,
And fondly licks his hands. 565
Such life is in the Ass's eyes,
Such life is in his limbs and ears;
That Peter Bell, if he had been
The veriest coward ever seen,
Must now have thrown aside his fears. 570
The Ass looks on--and to his work
Is Peter quietly resigned;
He touches here--he touches there--
And now among the dead man's hair
His sapling Peter has entwined. 575
He pulls--and looks--and pulls again;
And he whom the poor Ass had lost,
The man who had been four days dead,
Head-foremost from the river's bed
Uprises like a ghost! [G] 580
And Peter draws him to dry land;
And through the brain of Peter pass
Some poignant twitches, fast and faster;
"No doubt," quoth he, "he is the Master
Of this poor miserable Ass!" 585
The meagre shadow that looks on--
What would he now? [62] what is he doing?
His sudden fit of joy is flown,--
He on his knees hath laid him down,
As if he were his grief renewing; 590
But no--that Peter on his back
Must mount, he shows well as he can: [63]
Thought Peter then, come weal or woe
I'll do what he would have me do,
In pity to this poor drowned man. 595
With that resolve he boldly mounts [64]
Upon the pleased and thankful Ass;
And then, without a moment's stay,
That [65] earnest Creature turned away,
Leaving the body on the grass. 600
Intent upon his faithful watch,
The Beast four days and nights had past;
A sweeter meadow ne'er was seen,
And there the Ass four days had been,
Nor ever once did break his fast: 605
Yet firm his step, and stout his heart;
The mead is crossed--the quarry's mouth
Is reached; but there the trusty guide
Into a thicket turns aside,
And deftly ambles [66] towards the south. 610
When hark a burst of doleful sound!
And Peter honestly might say,
The like came never to his ears,
Though he has been, full thirty years,
A rover--night and day! 615
'Tis not a plover of the moors,
'Tis not a bittern of the fen;
Nor can it be a barking fox,
Nor night-bird chambered in the rocks,
Nor wild-cat in a woody glen! 620
The Ass is startled--and stops short
Right in the middle of the thicket;
And Peter, wont to whistle loud
Whether alone or in a crowd,
Is silent as a silent cricket. 625
What ails you now, my little Bess?
Well may you tremble and look grave!
This cry--that rings along the wood,
This cry--that floats adown the flood,
Comes from the entrance of a cave: 630
I see a blooming Wood-boy there,
And if I had the power to say
How sorrowful the wanderer is,
Your heart would be as sad as his
Till you had kissed his tears away! 635
Grasping [67] a hawthorn branch in hand,
All bright with berries ripe and red,
Into the cavern's mouth he peeps;
Thence back into the moonlight creeps;
Whom seeks he--whom?--the silent dead: [68] 640
His father!--Him doth he require--
Him hath he sought [69] with fruitless pains,
Among the rocks, behind the trees;
Now creeping on his hands and knees,
Now running o'er the open plains. 645
And hither is he come at last,
When he through such a day has gone,
By this dark cave to be distrest
Like a poor bird--her plundered nest
Hovering around with dolorous moan! 650
Of that intense and piercing cry
The listening Ass conjectures well; [70]
Wild as it is, he there can read
Some intermingled notes that plead
With touches irresistible. 655
But Peter--when he saw the Ass
Not only stop but turn, and change
The cherished tenor of his pace
That lamentable cry [71] to chase--
It wrought in him conviction strange; 660
A faith that, for the dead man's sake
And this poor slave who loved him well,
Vengeance upon his head will fall,
Some visitation worse than all
Which ever till this night befel. 665
Meanwhile the Ass to reach his home, [72]
Is striving stoutly as he may;
But, while he climbs the woody hill,
The cry grows weak--and weaker still;
And now at last it dies away. 670
So with his freight the Creature turns
Into a gloomy grove of beech,
Along the shade with footsteps [73] true
Descending slowly, till the two
The open moonlight reach. 675
And there, along the [74] narrow dell,
A fair smooth pathway you discern,
A length of green and open road--
As if it from a fountain flowed--
Winding away between the fern. 680
The rocks that tower on either side
Build up a wild fantastic scene;
Temples like those among the Hindoos,
And mosques, and spires, and abbey-windows,
And castles all with ivy green! 685
And, while the Ass pursues his way,
Along this solitary dell,
As pensively his steps advance,
The mosques and spires change countenance,
And look at Peter Bell! 690
That unintelligible cry
Hath left him high in preparation,--
Convinced that he, or soon or late,
This very night will meet his fate--
And so he sits in expectation! 695
[75]
The strenuous Animal hath clomb
With the green path; and now he wends
Where, shining like the smoothest sea,
In undisturbed immensity
A [76] level plain extends. 700
But whence this faintly-rustling sound
By which the journeying pair are chased?
--A withered leaf is close behind, [77]
Light plaything for the sportive wind
Upon that solitary waste. 705
When Peter spied the moving thing,
It only doubled his distress; [78]
"Where there is not a bush or tree,
The very leaves they follow me--
So huge hath been my wickedness!" 710
To a close lane they now are come,
Where, as before, the enduring Ass
Moves on without a moment's stop,
Nor once turns round his head to crop
A bramble-leaf or blade of grass. 715
Between the hedges as they go,
The white dust sleeps upon the lane;
And Peter, ever and anon
Back-looking, sees, upon a stone,
Or in the dust, a crimson stain. 720
A stain--as of a drop of blood
By moonlight made more faint and wan;
Ha! why these sinkings of despair? [79]
He knows not how the blood comes there--
And Peter is a wicked man. 725
At length he spies a bleeding wound,
Where he had struck the Ass's head; [80]
He sees the blood, knows what it is,--
A glimpse of sudden joy was his,
But then it quickly fled; 730
Of him whom sudden death had seized
He thought,--of thee, O faithful Ass!
And once again those ghastly pains,
Shoot to and fro through heart and reins,
And through his brain like lightning pass. [81] 735
PART THIRD
I've heard of one, a gentle Soul,
Though given to sadness and to gloom,
And for the fact will vouch,--one night
It chanced that by a taper's light
This man was reading in his room; 740
Bending, as you or I might bend
At night o'er any pious book, [82]
When sudden blackness overspread
The snow white page on which he read,
And made the good man round him look. 745
The chamber walls were dark all round,--
And to his book he turned again;
--The light had left the lonely taper, [83]
And formed itself upon the paper
Into large letters--bright and plain! 750
The godly book was in his hand--
And, on the page, more black than coal,
Appeared, set forth in strange array,
A _word_--which to his dying day
Perplexed the good man's gentle soul. 755
The ghostly word, thus plainly seen, [84]
Did never from his lips depart;
But he hath said, poor gentle wight!
It brought full many a sin to light
Out of the bottom of his heart. 760
Dread Spirits! to confound the meek [85]
Why wander from your course so far,
Disordering colour, form, and stature!
--Let good men feel the soul of nature,
And see things as they are. 765
Yet, potent Spirits! well I know,
How ye, that play with soul and sense,
Are not unused to trouble friends
Of goodness, for most gracious ends--[86]
And this I speak in reverence! 770
But might I give advice to you,
Whom in my fear I love so well;
From men of pensive virtue go,
Dread Beings! and your empire show
On hearts like that of Peter Bell. 775
Your presence often have I [87] felt
In darkness and the stormy night;
And, with like force, [88] if need there be,
Ye can put forth your agency
When earth is calm, and heaven is bright. 780
Then, coming from the wayward world,
That powerful world in which ye dwell,
Come, Spirits of the Mind! and try,
To-night, beneath the moonlight sky,
What may be done with Peter Bell! 785
--O, would that some more skilful voice
My further labour might prevent!
Kind Listeners, that around me sit,
I feel that I am all unfit
For such high argument. 790
I've played, I've danced, [89] with my narration;
I loitered long ere I began:
Ye waited then on my good pleasure;
Pour out indulgence still, in measure
As liberal as ye can! 795
Our Travellers, ye remember well,
Are thridding a sequestered lane;
And Peter many tricks is trying,
And many anodynes applying,
To ease his conscience of its pain. 800
By this his heart is lighter far;
And, finding that he can account
So snugly [90] for that crimson stain,
His evil spirit up again
Does like an empty bucket mount. 805
And Peter is a deep logician
Who hath no lack of wit mercurial;
"Blood drops--leaves rustle--yet," quoth he,
"This poor man never, but for me,
Could have had Christian burial. 810
"And, say the best you can, 'tis plain,
That here has [91] been some wicked dealing;
No doubt the devil in me wrought;
I'm not the man who could have thought
An Ass like this was worth the stealing!" 815
So from his pocket Peter takes
His shining horn tobacco-box;
And, in a light and careless way,
As men who with their purpose play,
Upon the lid he knocks. 820
Let them whose voice can stop the clouds,
Whose cunning eye can see the wind,
Tell to a curious world the cause
Why, making here a sudden pause,
The Ass turned round his head, and _grinned_. 825
Appalling process! I have marked
The like on heath, in lonely wood;
And, verily, have seldom met
A spectacle more hideous--yet
It suited Peter's present mood. 830
And, grinning in his turn, his teeth
He in jocose defiance showed--
When, to upset [92] his spiteful mirth,
A murmur, pent within the earth,
In the dead earth beneath the road, 835
Rolled audibly! it swept along,
A muffled noise--a rumbling sound!--
'Twas by a troop of miners made,
Plying with gunpowder their trade,
Some twenty fathoms underground. 840
Small cause of dire effect! for, surely,
If ever mortal, King or Cotter,
Believed that earth was charged to quake
And yawn for his unworthy sake,
'Twas Peter Bell the Potter. 845
But, as an oak in breathless air
Will stand though to the centre hewn;
Or as the weakest things, if frost
Have stiffened them, maintain their post;
So he, beneath the gazing moon!--850
The Beast bestriding thus, he reached
A spot where, in a sheltering cove, [93]
A little chapel stands alone,
With greenest ivy overgrown,
And tufted with an ivy grove; 855
Dying insensibly away
From human thoughts and purposes,
It seemed--wall, window, roof and tower [94]--
To bow to some transforming power,
And blend with the surrounding trees. 860
As ruinous a place it was,
Thought Peter, in the shire of Fife
That served my turn, when following still
From land to land a reckless will [95]
I married my sixth wife! 865
The unheeding Ass moves slowly on,
And now is passing by an inn
Brim-full of a carousing crew,
That make, [96] with curses not a few,
An uproar and a drunken din. 870
I cannot well express the thoughts
Which Peter in those noises found;--
A stifling power compressed his frame,
While-as a swimming darkness came [97]
Over that dull and dreary sound. 875
For well did Peter know the sound;
The language of those drunken joys
To him, a jovial soul, I ween,
But a few hours ago, had been
A gladsome and a welcome noise. 880
_Now_, [98] turned adrift into the past,
He finds no solace in his course;
Like planet-stricken men of yore,
He trembles, smitten to the core
By strong compunction and remorse. 885
But, more than all, his heart is stung
To think of one, almost a child;
A sweet and playful Highland girl,
As light and beauteous as a squirrel,
As beauteous and as wild! 890
Her dwelling was a lonely house, [99]
A cottage in a heathy dell;
And she put on her gown of green,
And left her mother at sixteen,
And followed Peter Bell. 895
But many good and pious thoughts
Had she; and, in the kirk to pray,
Two long Scotch miles, through rain or snow,
To kirk she had been used to go,
Twice every Sabbath-day. 900
And, when she followed Peter Bell,
It was to lead an honest life;
For he, with tongue not used to falter,
Had pledged his troth before the altar
To love her as his wedded wife. 905
A mother's hope is hers;--but soon
She drooped and pined like one forlorn;
From Scripture she a name [100] did borrow;
Benoni, or the child of sorrow,
She called her babe unborn. 910
For she had learned how Peter lived,
And took it in most grievous part;
She to the very bone was worn,
And, ere that little child was born,
Died of a broken heart. 915
And now the Spirits of the Mind
Are busy with poor Peter Bell;
Upon the rights of visual sense
Usurping, with a prevalence
More terrible than magic spell. [101] 920
Close by a brake of flowering furze
(Above it shivering aspens play)
He sees an unsubstantial creature,
His very self in form and feature,
Not four yards from the broad highway: 925
And stretched beneath the furze he sees
The Highland girl--it is no other;
And hears her crying as she cried,
The very moment that she died,
"My mother! oh my mother!" 930
The sweat pours down from Peter's face,
So grievous is his heart's contrition;
With agony his eye-balls ache
While he beholds by the furze-brake
This miserable vision! 935
Calm is the well-deserving brute,
_His_ peace hath no offence betrayed;
But now, while down that slope he wends,
A voice to Peter's ear [102] ascends,
Resounding from the woody glade: 940
The voice, though clamorous as a horn
Re-echoed by a naked rock,
Comes from that tabernacle--List! [103]
Within, a fervent [104] Methodist
Is preaching to no heedless flock! 945
"Repent! repent!" he cries aloud,
"While yet ye may find mercy;--strive
To love the Lord with all your might;
Turn to him, seek him day and night,
And save your souls alive! 950
"Repent! repent! though ye have gone,
Through paths of wickedness and woe,
After the Babylonian harlot;
And, though your sins be red as scarlet,
They shall be white as snow!" 955
Even as he passed the door, these words
Did plainly come to Peter's ears;
And they such joyful tidings were,
The joy was more than he could bear!--
He melted into tears. 960
Sweet tears of hope and tenderness!
And fast they fell, a plenteous shower!
His nerves, his sinews seemed to melt;
Through all his iron frame was felt
A gentle, a relaxing, power! 965
Each fibre of his frame was weak;
Weak all the animal within;
But, in its helplessness, grew mild
And gentle as an infant child,
An infant that has known no sin. 970
'Tis said, meek Beast! that, through Heaven's grace,[105] [H]
He not unmoved did notice now
The cross [I] upon thy shoulder scored,
For lasting impress, by the Lord [106]
To whom all human-kind shall bow; 975
Memorial of his touch--that day [107]
When Jesus humbly deigned to ride,
Entering the proud Jerusalem,
By an immeasurable stream [J]
Of shouting people deified! 980
Meanwhile the persevering Ass,
Turned towards a gate that hung in view
Across a shady lane; [108] his chest
Against the yielding gate he pressed
And quietly passed through. 985
And up the stony lane he goes;
No ghost more softly ever trod;
Among the stones and pebbles, he
Sets down his hoofs inaudibly,
As if with felt his hoofs were shod. 990
Along the lane the trusty Ass
Went twice two hundred yards or more,
And no one could have guessed his aim,--
Till to a lonely house he came,
And stopped beside the door. [109] 995
Thought Peter, 'tis the poor man's home!
He listens--not a sound is heard
Save from the trickling household rill;
But, stepping o'er the cottage-sill,
Forthwith a little Girl appeared. 1000
She to the Meeting-house was bound
In hopes [110] some tidings there to gather:
No glimpse it is, no doubtful gleam;
She saw--and uttered with a scream,
"My father! here's my father!" 1005
The very word was plainly heard,
Heard plainly by the wretched Mother--
Her joy was like a deep affright:
And forth she rushed into the light,
And saw it was another! 1010
And, instantly, upon the earth,
Beneath the full moon shining bright,
Close to [111] the Ass's feet she fell;
At the same moment Peter Bell
Dismounts in most unhappy plight. 1015
As he beheld the Woman lie [112]
Breathless and motionless, the mind
Of Peter sadly was confused;
But, though to such demands unused,
And helpless almost as the blind, 1020
He raised her up; and, while he held
Her body propped against his knee,
The Woman waked--and when she spied
The poor Ass standing by her side,
She moaned most bitterly. 1025
"Oh! God be praised--my heart's at ease--
For he is dead--I know it well!"
--At this she wept a bitter flood;
And, in the best way that he could,
His tale did Peter tell. 1030
He trembles--he is pale as death;
His voice is weak with perturbation;
He turns aside his head, he pauses;
Poor Peter from a thousand causes,
Is crippled sore in his narration. 1035
At length she learned how he espied
The Ass in that small meadow-ground;
And that her Husband now lay dead,
Beside that luckless river's bed
In which he had been drowned. 1040
A piercing look the Widow [113] cast
Upon the Beast that near her stands;
She sees 'tis he, that 'tis the same;
She calls the poor Ass by his name,
And wrings, and wrings her hands. 1045
"O wretched loss--untimely stroke!
If he had died upon his bed!
He knew not one forewarning pain;
He never will come home again--
Is dead, for ever dead!" 1050
Beside the Woman Peter stands;
His heart is opening more and more;
A holy sense pervades his mind;
He feels what he for human-kind
Had never felt before. 1055
At length, by Peter's arm sustained,
The Woman rises from the ground--
"Oh, mercy! something must be done,
My little Rachel, you must run,--
Some willing neighbour must be found. 1060
"Make haste--my little Rachel--do,
The first you meet with--bid him come,
Ask him to lend his horse to-night,
And this good Man, whom Heaven requite,
Will help to bring the body home." 1065
Away goes Rachel weeping loud;--
An Infant, waked by her distress,
Makes in the house a piteous cry;
And Peter hears the Mother sigh,
"Seven are they, and all fatherless!" 1070
And now is Peter taught to feel
That man's heart is a holy thing;
And Nature, through a world of death,
Breathes into him a second breath,
More searching than the breath of spring. 1075
Upon a stone the Woman sits
In agony of silent grief--
From his own thoughts did Peter start;
He longs to press her to his heart,
From love that cannot find relief. 1080
But roused, as if through every limb
Had past a sudden shock of dread,
The Mother o'er the threshold flies,
And up the cottage stairs [114] she hies,
And on the pillow lays [115] her burning head. 1085
And Peter turns his steps aside
Into a shade of darksome trees,
Where he sits down, he knows not how,
With his hands pressed against his brow,
His elbows on [116] his tremulous knees. 1090
There, self-involved, does Peter sit
Until no sign of life he makes,
As if his mind were sinking deep
Through years that have been long asleep!
The trance is passed away--he wakes; 1095
He lifts [117] his head--and sees the Ass
Yet standing in the clear moonshine;
"When shall I be as good as thou?
Oh! would, poor beast, that I had now
A heart but half as good as thine!" 1100
But _He_--who deviously hath sought
His Father through the lonesome woods,
Hath sought, proclaiming to the ear
Of night his grief and sorrowful fear--[118]
He comes, escaped from fields and floods;--1105
With weary pace is drawing nigh;
He sees the Ass--and nothing living
Had ever such a fit of joy
As hath [119] this little orphan Boy,
For he has no misgiving! 1110
Forth to [120] the gentle Ass he springs,
And up about his neck he climbs;
In loving words he talks to him,
He kisses, kisses face and limb,--
He kisses him a thousand times! 1115
This Peter sees, while in the shade
He stood beside the cottage-door;
And Peter Bell, the ruffian wild,
Sobs loud, he sobs even like a child,
"Oh! God, I can endure no more!" 1120
--Here ends my Tale: for in a trice
Arrived a neighbour with his horse;
Peter went forth with him straightway;
And, with due care, ere break of day,
Together they brought back the Corse. 1125
And many years did this poor Ass,
Whom once it was my luck to see
Cropping the shrubs of Leming-Lane,
Help by his labour to maintain
The Widow and her family. 1130
And Peter Bell, who, till that night,
Had been the wildest of his clan,
Forsook his crimes, renounced [121] his folly,
And, after ten months' melancholy,
Became a good and honest man. [K] 1135
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1: 1827.
And something 1819.]
[Variant 2:
1849.
Whose shape is like 1819.
For shape just like 1845.]
[Variant 3:
1845.
The noise of danger fills 1819.]
[Variant 4:
1827.
Meanwhile I from the helm admire 1819.
... I soberly admire C.]
[Variant 5:
1827.
Or deep into the heavens 1819.
Or into massy clouds 1820.]
[Variant 6:
1820.
... between ... 1819.]
[Variant 7:
1827.
... are ill-built,
But proud let him be who has seen them; 1819.]
[Variant 8:
1827.
... between ... 1819.]
[Variant 9:
1827.
That darling speck ... 1819.]
[Variant 10:
1836.
And there it is, ... 1819.]
[Variant 11:
1827
... heartless ... 1819.]
[Variant 12:
In the editions of 1819 and 1820 only.
Out--out--and, like a brooding hen,
Beside your sooty hearth-stone cower;
Go, creep along the dirt, and pick
Your way with your good walking-stick,
Just three good miles an hour!]
[Variant 13:
1827.
... the land ... 1819.]
[Variant 14:
1845.
My radiant Pinnace, you forget 1819.]
[Variant 15:
1827.
For I myself, in very truth, 1819.]
[Variant 16:
1845.
Off flew my sparkling Boat in scorn,
Yea in a trance of indignation! 1819.
Spurning her freight with indignation! 1820.]
[Variant 17:
1845.
... to my stone-table
Limp'd on with some vexation. 1819.
... tow'rd my stone-table 1827.]
[Variant 18:
1827.
... promptly ... 1819.]
[Variant 19:
1827.
Breath fail'd me as I spake--but soon
With lips, no doubt, and visage pale,
And sore too from a slight contusion,
Did I, to cover my confusion,
Begin the _promised_ Tale. 1819.]
[Variant 20:
1820.
All by the moonlight river side
It gave three miserable groans;
"'Tis come then to a pretty pass,"
Said Peter to the groaning Ass,
"But I will _bang_ your bones!" 1819.]
[Variant 21:
In the two editions of 1819 only.
"Good Sir!"--the Vicar's voice exclaim'd,
"You rush at once into the middle;"
And little Bess, with accent sweeter,
Cried, "O dear Sir! but who is Peter?"
Said Stephen,--"'Tis a downright riddle!"]
[Variant 22:
1836.
The Squire said, "Sure as paradise
Was lost to man by Adam's sinning,
This leap is for us all too bold; 1819.
Like winds that lash the waves, or smite
The woods, the autumnal foliage thinning--
"Hold!" said the Squire, "I pray you, hold! 1820.
The woods, autumnal foliage thinning--1827.]
[Variant 23:
1845.
... its ponderous knell,
Its far-renowned alarum! 1819.
... his ponderous knell,
A far-renowned alarum! 1836.
... that ponderous knell--
His far-renowned alarum! 1840.]
[Variant 24:
1820.
With Peter Bell, I need not tell
That this had never been the case;--1819.]
[Variant 25:
1819.
... placid ... 1820.
The text of 1827 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 26:
1836.
... cheerfully ... 1819.]
[Variant 27:
1827.
Till he is brought to an old quarry, 1819.]
[Variant 28: In the two editions of 1819 only.
"What! would'st thou daunt me grisly den?
Back must I, having come so far?
Stretch as thou wilt thy gloomy jaws,
I'll on, nor would I give two straws
For lantern or for star!"]
[Variant 29:
1820.
And so, where on the huge rough stones
The black and massy shadows lay,
And through the dark, ... 1819.]
[Variant 30:
1827.
... made ... 1819.]
[Variant 31: In the two editions of 1819 only.
Now you'll suppose that Peter Bell
Felt small temptation here to tarry,
And so it was,--but I must add,
His heart was not a little glad
When he was out of the old quarry.]
[Variant 32:
1827.
Across that ... 1819.]
[Variant 33:
1836.
And now he is among the trees; 1819.]
[Variant 34:
"No doubt I'm founder'd in these woods--
For once," quoth he, "I will be wise,
With better speed I'll back again--
And, lest the journey should prove vain,
Will take yon Ass, my lawful prize!"
Off Peter hied,--"A comely beast!
Though not so plump as he might be;
My honest friend, with such a platter,
You should have been a little fatter,
But come, Sir, come with me!" 1819.
(The first of these stanzas was omitted in 1827 and afterwards;
the second was withdrawn in 1820.)]
[Variant 35:
1836.
But first doth Peter deem it fit
To spy about him far and near; 1819.
"A prize," cried Peter, stepping back
To spy ... 1827.]
[Variant 36:
1827.
... Ass's back, ... 1819.]
[Variant 37:
1836.
With ready heel the creature's side; 1819.
With ready heel his shaggy side; 1827.]
[Variant 38: In the editions of 1819 to 1832 only.
"What's this!" cried Peter, brandishing
A new-peel'd sapling white as cream;
The Ass knew well what Peter said,
But, as before, hung down his head
Over the silent stream. 1819.
A new-peeled sapling;--though, I deem,
The Ass knew well what Peter said,
He, as before, ... 1820.
...--though I deem,
This threat was understood full well,
Firm, as before, the Sentinel
Stood by the silent stream. 1827.]
[Variant 39:
1827.
"I'll cure you of these desperate tricks"--
And, with deliberate action slow,
His staff high-raising, in the pride
Of skill, upon the Ass's hide C. and 1819.]
[Variant 40:
1836.
What followed?--yielding to the shock
The Ass, as if ... 1819.]
[Variant 41:
1836.
And then upon ... 1819.]
[Variant 42:
1840.
... as ... 1819.]
[Variant 43:
1819.
The Beast on his tormentor turned
A shining hazel eye. 1827.
His shining ... 1832.
The edition of 1836 returns to the text of 1819.]
[Variant 44:
1836.
Towards the river ... 1819.]
[Variant 45:
1832.
Heav'd his lank sides, ... 1819.]
[Variant 46: 1836. In the two editions of 1819 this stanza formed two
stanzas, thus:
All by the moonlight river side
He gave three miserable groans,
"'Tis come then to a pretty pass,"
Said Peter to the groaning ass,
"But I will _bang_ your bones!"
And Peter halts to gather breath,
And now full clearly was it shown
(What he before in part had seen)
How gaunt was the poor Ass and lean,
Yea wasted to a skeleton! 1819.
In the editions of 1820-1832, only the second of these stanzas is
retained, with the following change of text in 1827:
And, while he halts, was clearly shown
(What he before in part had seen)
How gaunt the Creature was, and lean, 1827.
In the final text of 1836 the two stanzas of 1819 are compressed into
one (ll. 446-50).]
[Variant 47:
1836.
But, while upon the ground he lay, 1819.
That instant, while outstretched he lay, 1827.]
[Variant 48:
1836.
A loud and piteous bray! 1819.]
[Variant 49:
1820.
Joy on ... 1819.]
[Variant 50:
1836.
... an endless shout,
The long dry see-saw ... 1819.]
[Variant 51:
1836.
And Peter now uplifts his eyes;
Steady the moon doth look and clear,
And like themselves the rocks appear,
And tranquil are the skies, 1819.
And quiet are the skies. 1820.]
[Variant 52:
1836.
Whereat, in resolute mood, once more
He stoops the Ass's neck to seize--
Foul purpose, quickly put to flight!
For in the pool a startling sight
Meets him, beneath the shadowy trees. 1819.]
[Variant 53:
1819.
... the gallows ... 1832.
The text of 1836 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 54:
1836.
Or a gay ring of shining fairies,
Such as pursue their brisk vagaries 1819.]
[Variant 55: In the two editions of 1819 only.
Is it a party in a parlour?
Cramm'd just as they on earth were cramm'd--
Some sipping punch, some sipping tea,
But, as you by their faces see,
All silent and all damn'd! [a]]
[Variant 56:
1827.
A throbbing pulse the Gazer hath--
Puzzled he was, and now is daunted; 1819.]
[Variant 57:
1836.
Like one intent upon a book--1819.]
[Variant 58:
1836.
And drops, a senseless weight, ... 1819.]
[Variant 59:
1827.
A happy respite!--but he wakes;--
And feels the glimmering of the moon--
And to stretch forth his hands is trying;--
Sure, when he knows where he is lying,
He'll sink into a second swoon. 1819.]
[Variant 60:
1827.
... placid ... 1819.]
[Variant 61:
1827.
So, faltering not in _this_ intent,
He makes his staff an instrument
The river's depth to sound--1819.
So toward the stream his head he bent,
And downward thrust his staff, intent
To reach the Man who there lay drowned.--1820.]
[Variant 62:
1836.
The meagre Shadow all this while--
What aim is his? ... 1819.]
[Variant 63:
1836.
That Peter on his back should mount
He shows a wish, well as he can,
"I'll go, I'll go, whate'er betide--
He to his home my way will guide,
The cottage of the drowned man." 1819.]
But no--his purpose and his wish
The Suppliant shews, well as he can;
Thought Peter whatsoe'er betide
I'll go, and he my way will guide
To the cottage of the drowned man. 1820.]
[Variant 64:
1836.
This utter'd, Peter mounts forthwith 1819.
This hoping, 1820.
Encouraged by this hope, he mounts 1827.
This hoping, Peter boldly mounts 1832.]
[Variant 65:
1827.
The 1819.]
[Variant 66:
1836.
And takes his way ... 1819.]
[Variant 67:
1840.
Holding ... 1819.]
[Variant 68:
1840 and c.
What seeks the boy?--the silent dead! 1819.
Seeking for whom?--... 1836.]
[Variant 69:
1836.
Whom he hath sought ... 1819.]
[Variant 70:
1820.
... doth rightly spell; 1819.]
[Variant 71:
1836.
... noise ... 1819.]
[Variant 72:
1820.
... to gain his end 1819.]
[Variant 73:
1845.
... footstep ... 1819.]
[Variant 74:
1836.
... along a ... 1819.]
[Variant 75: In the editions of 1819 and 1820 the following stanza
occurs:
The verdant pathway, in and out,
Winds upwards like a straggling chain;
And, when two toilsome miles are past,
Up through the rocks it leads at last
Into a high and open plain.]
[Variant 76:
1827.
The ... 1819.]
[Variant 77:
1836.
How blank!--but whence this rustling sound
Which, all too long, the pair hath chased!
--A dancing leaf is close behind, 1819.
But whence that faintly-rustling sound 1820.
But whence this faintly rustling sound
By which the pair have long been chased? c.]
[Variant 78:
1836.
When Peter spies the withered leaf,
It yields no cure to his distress--1819.]
[Variant 79:
1836.
Ha! why this comfortless despair? 1819.]
[Variant 80:
1819.
... the Creature's head; 1827.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1819.]
[Variant 81:
1836.
... those darting pains,
As meteors shoot through heaven's wide plains,
Pass through his bosom--and repass! 1819.]
[Variant 82:
1827.
Reading, as you or I might read
At night in any pious book, 1819.]
[Variant 83:
1836.
... the good man's taper, 1819.]
[Variant 84:
1836.
The ghostly word, which thus was fram'd, 1819.
... full plainly seen, 1827.]
[Variant 85:
1836.
... to torment the good 1819.]
[Variant 86:
1836.
I know you, potent Spirits! well,
How with the feeling and the sense
Playing, ye govern foes or friends.
Yok'd to your will, for fearful ends--1819.]
[Variant 87:
1836.
... I have often ... 1819.]
[Variant 88:
1836.
And well I know ... 1819.]
[Variant 89:
1836.
... and danc'd ... 1819.]
[Variant 90:
1836.
... clearly ... 1819.]
[Variant 91:
1836.
... hath ... 1819.]
[Variant 92:
1836.
... to confound ... 1819.]
[Variant 93:
1836.
But now the pair have reach'd a spot
Where, shelter'd by a rocky cove, 1819.
Meanwhile the pair 1820.]
[Variant 94:
1836.
The building seems, wall, roof, and tower, 1819.]
[Variant 95:
1836.
Deep sighing as he pass'd along,
Quoth Peter, "In the shire of Fife,
'Mid such a ruin, following still
From land to land a lawless will, 1819.]
[Variant 96:
1827.
Making, ... 1819.]
[Variant 97:
1836.
As if confusing darkness came 1819.
And a confusing 1832.
While clouds of swimming darkness came
Over his eyesight with the sound. C.]
[Variant 98: _Italics_ were first used in the edition of 1820.]
[Variant 99:
1836.
A lonely house her dwelling was, 1819.]
[Variant 100:
1819.
... her name ... 1820.
The edition of 1827 returns to the text of 1819.]
[Variant 101:
1820.
Distraction reigns in soul and sense,
And reason drops in impotence
From her deserted pinnacle! 1819.]
[Variant 102:
1820.
... ears ... 1819.]
[Variant 103:
1836.
Though clamorous as a hunter's horn
Re-echoed from a naked rock,
'Tis from that tabernacle--List! 1819.
The voice, though clamorous as a horn
Re-echoed by a naked rock,
Is from .... 1832.]
[Variant 104:
1819.
... pious ... c.]
[Variant 105:
1836.
'Tis said, that through prevailing grace 1819.]
[Variant 106:
1836.
... shoulders scored
Meek beast! in memory of the Lord 1819.
Faithful memorial of the Lord c.]
[Variant 107:
1836.
In memory of that solemn day 1819.]
[Variant 108:
1836.
Towards a gate in open view
Turns up a narrow lane; ... 1819.]
[Variant 109:
1836.
Had gone two hundred yards, not more;
When to a lonely house he came;
He turn'd aside towards the same
And stopp'd before the door. 1819.]
[Variant 110:
1836.
In hope ... 1819.]
[Variant 111:
1827.
Close at ... 1819.]
[Variant 112:
1832.
What could he do?--The Woman lay 1819.]
[Variant 113:
1836.
... the sufferer ... 1819.]
[Variant 114:
1819.
... stair ... 1820.
The edition of 1827 returns to the text of 1819.]
[Variant 115:
1836.
And to the pillow gives ... 1819.]
[Variant 116:
1827.
And resting on ... 1819.]
[Variant 117:
1827.
He turns ... 1819.]
[Variant 118:
1836.
... his inward grief and fear--1819.
... his sorrow and his fear--C.]
[Variant 119:
1827.
... had ... 1819.]
[Variant 120:
1836.
Towards ... 1819.]
[Variant 121:
1832.
... repressed ... 1819.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The title in the two editions of 1819 was 'Peter Bell: A
Tale in Verse.'--Ed.]
[Footnote B: In Dorothy Wordsworth's Alfoxden Journal the following
occurs, under date April 20, 1798: "The moon crescent. 'Peter Bell'
begun."--Ed.]
[Footnote C: 'Romeo and Juliet', act II. scene ii. l. 44. This motto
first appeared on the half-title of 'Peter Bell', second edition, 1819,
under the advertisement of 'Benjamin the Waggoner', its first line being
"What's a Name?" When 'The Waggoner' appeared, a few days afterwards,
the motto stood on its title-page. In the collective edition of the
Poems (1820), it disappeared; but reappeared, in its final position, in
the edition of 1827.--Ed.]
[Footnote D: 'Julius Cæsar', act I. scene ii. l. 147.--Ed.]
[Footnote E: Compare 'The Prelude', book iv. l. 47:
'the sunny seat
Round the stone table under the dark pine.'
Ed.]
[Footnote F: In the dialect of the North, a hawker of earthen-ware is
thus designated.--W. W. 1819 (second edition).]
[Footnote G: Compare 'The Prelude', book v. l. 448:
'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
Of terror.'
Ed.]
[Footnote H: This and the next stanza were omitted from the edition of
1827, but restored in 1832.--Ed.]
[Footnote I: The notion is very general, that the Cross on the back and
shoulders of this Animal has the origin here alluded to.--W. W. 1819.]
[Footnote J: I cannot suffer this line to pass, without noticing that it
was suggested by Mr. Haydon's noble Picture of Christ's Entry into
Jerusalem.--W. W. 1820. Into the same picture Haydon "introduced
Wordsworth bowing in reverence and awe." See the essay on "The Portraits
of Wordsworth" in a later volume, and the portrait itself, which will be
reproduced in the volume containing the 'Life' of the poet.--Ed.]
[Footnote K: The first and second editions of 'Peter Bell' (1819)
contained, as frontispiece, an engraving by J.C. Bromley, after a
picture by Sir George Beaumont. In 1807, Wordsworth wrote to Sir George:
"I am quite delighted to hear of your picture for 'Peter Bell' ....
But remember that no poem of mine will ever be popular, and I am
afraid that the sale of 'Peter' would not carry the expense of
engraving .... The people would love the poem of 'Peter Bell', but the
_public_ (a very different thing) will never love it."
Some days before Wordsworth's 'Peter Bell' was issued in 1819, another
'Peter Bell' was published by Messrs. Taylor and Hessey. It was a parody
written by J. Hamilton Reynolds, and issued as 'Peter Bell, a Lyrical
Ballad', with the sentence on its title page, "I do affirm that I am the
_real_ Simon Pure." The preface, which follows, is too paltry to quote;
and the stanzas which make up the poem contain allusions to the more
trivial of the early "Lyrical Ballads" (Betty Foy, Harry Gill, etc.).
Wordsworth's 'Peter Bell' was published about a week later; and Shelley
afterwards published his 'Peter Bell the Third'. Charles Lamb wrote to
Wordsworth, in May 1819:
"Dear Wordsworth--I received a copy of 'Peter Bell' a week ago, and I
hope the author will not be offended if I say I do not much relish it.
The humour, if it is meant for humour, is forced; and then the
price!--sixpence would have been dear for it. Mind, I do not mean
_your_ 'Peter Bell', but _a Peter Bell_, which preceded it about a
week, and is in every bookseller's shop window in London, the type and
paper nothing differing from the true one, the preface signed W. W.,
and the supplementary preface quoting, as the author's words, an
extract from the supplementary preface to the 'Lyrical Ballads.' Is
there no law against these rascals? I would have this Lambert Simnel
whipt at the cart's tail." ('The Letters of Charles Lamb', edited by
A. Ainger, vol. ii. p. 20.)
Barron Field wrote on the title-page of his copy of the edition of
'Peter Bell', 1819,
"And his carcase was cast in the way, and the ass stood by it."
1 Kings xiii. 24.--Ed.]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: This stanza, which was deleted from every edition of
'Peter Bell' after the two of 1819, was prefixed by Shelley to his poem
of 'Peter Bell the Third', and many of his contemporaries thought that
it was an invention of Shelley's. See the note which follows this poem,
p. 50. Crabb Robinson wrote in his 'Diary', June 6, 1812:
"Mrs. Basil Montagu told me she had no doubt she had suggested this
image to Wordsworth by relating to him an anecdote. A person, walking
in a friend's garden, looking in at a window, saw a company of ladies
at a table near the window, with countenances _fixed_. In an instant
he was aware of their condition, and broke the window. He saved them
from incipient suffocation."
Wordsworth subsequently said that he had omitted the stanza only in
deference to the "unco guid." Crabb Robinson remonstrated with him
against its exclusion.--Ed.]
* * * * *
LINES,[A] COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE
BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR, JULY 13, 1798 [B]
Composed July 1798.--Published 1798
[July 1798. No poem of mine was composed under circumstances more
pleasant for me to remember than this. I began it upon leaving Tintern,
after crossing the Wye, and concluded it just as I was entering Bristol
in the evening, after a ramble of four or five days, with my sister. Not
a line of it was altered, and not any part of it written down till I
reached Bristol. It was published almost immediately after in the little
volume of which so much has been said in these Notes, the "Lyrical
Ballads," as first published at Bristol by Cottle.--I.F.]
Included among the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters![C] and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft [1] inland murmur. [D]--Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 5
That [2] on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. [3] Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines 15
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! [E]
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 20
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me [4]
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: 25
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind, [5] 30
With tranquil restoration:--feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence [6]
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts 35
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight 40
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,--
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood 45
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things. 50
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft--
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 55
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart--
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, [7]
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 60
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 65
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 70
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 75
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.--I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 80
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor [8] any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past, 85
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. [F] Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned 90
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor [9] harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 95
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air, 100
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods, 105
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create, [G]
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense, 110
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more 115
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read 120
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes, [H] Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray 125
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 130
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 135
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years, 140
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, 145
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--
If I should be where I no more can hear 150
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence [B]--wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came 155
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, 160
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1845.
... sweet ... 1798.]
[Variant 2:
1827.
Which ... 1798.]
[Variant 3:
1845.
... with their unripe fruits,
Among the woods and copses lose themselves,
Nor, with their green and simple hue, disturb
The wild green landscape ... 1798.
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
Among the woods and copses, nor disturb 1802.]
[Variant 4:
1827.
... Though absent long,
These forms of beauty have not been to me, 1798.]
[Variant 5:
1798.
... inmost mind, MS.]
[Variant 6:
1820.
As may have had no trivial influence 1798.]
[Variant 7:
1798.
... wood, 1798 (some copies).]
[Variant 8:
1836.
... or ... 1798.]
[Variant 9:
1800.
Not ... 1798.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: I have not ventured to call this Poem an Ode; but it was
written with a hope that in the transitions, and the impassioned music
of the versification would be found the principal requisites of that
species of composition.--W. W. 1800.]
[Footnote B: The title in 1798 was 'Lines, written a few miles', etc. In
1815 it assumed its final form.--Ed.]
[Footnote C: Compare the Fenwick note to the poem 'Guilt and Sorrow'
(vol. i. p.78) This visit, five years before, was on his way from "Sarum
plain," on foot and alone--after parting with his friend William
Calvert--to visit another friend, Robert Jones, in Wales.--Ed.]
[Footnote D: The river is not affected by the tides a few miles above
Tintern.--W. W. 1798.]
[Footnote E: In the edition of 1798, an additional line is here
introduced, but it is deleted in the 'errata'. It is
'And the low copses--coming from the trees.'
Ed.]
[Footnote F: Compare 'The Prelude', book xi. l. 108:
'Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very Heaven.'
Ed.]
[Footnote G: This line has a close resemblance to an admirable line of
Young, the exact expression of which I cannot recollect.--W. W. 1798.
It is the line:
'And half-create the wondrous world they see.'
'Night Thoughts', (Night vi. l. 427).--Ed.]
[Footnote H: Compare, in _The Recluse_, canto "Home at Grasmere," l. 91:
Her voice was like a hidden Bird that sang,
The thought of her was like a flash of light,
Or an _unseen_ companionship.
Ed.]
* * * * *
THERE WAS A BOY
Composed 1798.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799. This is an extract from the Poem on my own
poetical education. This practice of making an instrument of their own
fingers is known to most boys, though some are more skilful at it than
others. William Raincock of Rayrigg, a fine spirited lad, took the lead
of all my schoolfellows in this art.--I. F.]
This "extract" will be found in the fifth book of 'The Prelude', ll.
364-397. It was included among the "Poems of the Imagination." In the
editions of 1800 to 1832 it had no title, except in the table of
contents. In 1836, the finally adopted title of the poem was given in
the text, as well as in the table of contents.--Ed.
There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began [1]
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone, 5
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, 10
That they might answer him.--And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,--with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild 15
Of jocund din! [2] And, when there came a pause
Of silence such as baffled his best skill: [3]
Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice 20
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake. 25
This boy was taken from his mates, and died [4]
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. [5]
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs [6]
Upon a slope above the village-school; 30
And, through that church-yard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe, that there [7]
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute--looking at the grave in which he lies![A] [8]
Wordsworth sent this fragment in MS. to Coleridge, who was then living
at Ratzeburg, and Coleridge wrote in reply on the 10th Dec. 1798:
"The blank lines gave me as much direct pleasure as was possible in
the general bustle of pleasure with which I received and read your
letter. I observed, I remember, that the 'fingers woven,' etc., only
puzzled me; and though I liked the twelve or fourteen first lines very
well, yet I liked the remainder much better. Well, now I have read
them again, they are very beautiful, and leave an affecting
impression. That
'uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake,'
I should have recognised anywhere; and had I met these lines, running
wild in the deserts of Arabia, I should have instantly screamed out
'Wordsworth'!"
The MS. copy of this poem sent to Coleridge probably lacked
the explanatory line,
'Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth,'
as another MS., in the possession of the poet's grandson, lacks it; and
the line was possibly added--as the late Mr. Dykes Campbell
suggested--"in deference to S. T. C.'s expression of puzzlement."
Fletcher Raincock--an elder brother of the William Raincock referred to
in the Fenwick note to this poem, as Wordsworth's schoolfellow at
Hawkshead--was with him also at Cambridge. He attended Pembroke College,
and was second wrangler in 1790. [B] John Fleming of Rayrigg, his
half-brother--the boy with whom Wordsworth used to walk round the lake
of Esthwaite, in the morning before school-time, ("five miles of
pleasant wandering")--was also at St. John's College, Cambridge, at this
time, and had been fifth Wrangler in the preceding year, 1789. He is
referred to both in the second and the fifth books of 'The Prelude'
(see notes to that poem). It is perhaps not unworthy of note that
Wrangham, whose French stanzas on "The Birth of Love" Wordsworth
translated into English, was in the same year--1789--third Wrangler,
second Smith's prizeman, and first Chancellor's medallist; while Robert
Greenwood, "the Minstrel of the Troop," who "blew his flute, alone upon
the rock" in Windermere,--also one of the characters referred to in the
second book of 'The Prelude',--was sixteenth Wrangler in
Wordsworth's year, viz. 1791. William Raincock was at St. John's
College, Cambridge.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
... when the stars had just begun 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
... a wild scene
Of mirth and jocund din! ... 1800.
... concourse wild 1805.]
[Variant 3:
1836.
... And, when it chanced
That pauses of deep silence mock'd his skill, 1800.
... and, when a lengthened pause
Of silence came and baffled his best skill,
'The Prelude', 1850.]
[Variant 4: This and the following line were added in 1805.]
[Variant 5:
1815.
... ere he was ten years old. 1805.]
[Variant 6:
1845.
Fair are the woods, and beauteous is the spot,
The vale where he was born: the Church-yard hangs 1800.
Fair is the spot, most beautiful the Vale
Where he was born: the grassy Church-yard hangs 1827.
The text of 1840 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1836.
And there along that bank when I have pass'd
At evening, I believe, that near his grave 1800.
... I believe, that oftentimes 1805.
And through that Church-yard when my way has led 1827.]
[Variant 8:
1815.
A full half-hour together I have stood,
Mute--for he died when he was ten years old. 1800.
Mute--looking at the grave in which he lies. 1805.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In 'The Prelude' the version of 1827 is adopted for the
most part.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: See 'Graduati Cantabrigienses' (1850), by Joseph Romily,
the Registrar to the University 1832-1862.--Ed.]
* * * * *
THE TWO THIEVES; OR, THE LAST STAGE OF AVARICE
Composed 1798.--Published 1800
[This is described from the life, as I was in the habit of observing
when a boy at Hawkshead School. Daniel was more than eighty years older
than myself when he was daily, thus occupied, under my notice. No books
have so early taught me to think of the changes to which human life is
subject, and while looking at him I could not but say to myself--we may,
one of us, I or the happiest of my playmates, live to become still more
the object of pity, than this old man, this half-doating
pilferer.--I.F.]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age."--Ed.
O now that the genius of Bewick [A] were mine,
And the skill which he learned on the banks of the Tyne,
Then the Muses might deal with me just as they chose,
For I'd take my last leave both of verse and of prose. [1]
What feats would I work with my magical hand! 5
Book-learning and books should be banished the land: [2]
And, for hunger and thirst and such troublesome calls,
Every ale-house should then have a feast on its walls.
The traveller would hang his wet clothes on a chair;
Let them smoke, let them burn, not a straw. Would he care! 10
For the Prodigal Son, Joseph's Dream and his sheaves,
Oh, what would they be to my tale of two Thieves?
The One, yet unbreeched, is not three birthdays old,[3]
His Grandsire that age more than thirty times told;
There are ninety good seasons of fair and foul weather 15
Between them, and both go a-pilfering [4] together.
With chips is the carpenter strewing his floor?
Is a cart-load of turf [5] at an old woman's door?
Old Daniel his hand to the treasure will slide!
And his Grandson's as busy at work by his side. 20
Old Daniel begins; he stops short--and his eye,
Through the lost look of dotage, is cunning and sly:
'Tis a look which at this time is hardly his own,
But tells a plain tale of the days that are flown.
He once [6] had a heart which was moved by the wires 25
Of manifold pleasures and many desires:
And what if he cherished his purse? 'Twas no more
Than treading a path trod by thousands before.
'Twas a path trod by thousands; but Daniel is one
Who went something farther than others have gone, [7] 30
And now with old Daniel you see how it fares;
You see to what end he has brought his grey hairs.
The pair sally forth hand in hand: ere the sun
Has peered o'er the beeches, their work is begun:
And yet, into whatever sin they may fall, 35
This child but half knows it, and that not at all.
They hunt through the streets [8] with deliberate tread,
And each, in his turn, becomes leader or led; [9]
And, wherever they carry their plots and their wiles,
Every face in the village is dimpled with smiles. 40
Neither checked by the rich nor the needy they roam;
For the grey-headed Sire [10] has a daughter at home,
Who will gladly repair all the damage that's done;
And three, were it asked, would be rendered for one.
Old Man! whom so oft I with pity have eyed, 45
I love thee, and love the sweet Boy at thy side:
Long yet may'st thou live! for a teacher we see
That lifts up the veil of our nature in thee. [B]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
Oh! now that the boxwood and graver were mine,
Of the Poet who lives on the banks of the Tyne,
Who has plied his rude tools with more fortunate toil
Than Reynolds e'er brought to his canvas and oil.
MS. 1798.]
[Variant 2:
1800.
Then Books, and Book-learning, I'd ring out your knell,
The Vicar should scarce know an A from an L. MS. 1798.]
[Variant 3:
1820.
Little Dan is unbreech'd, he is three birth-days old, 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1837.
... a-stealing ... 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1827.
... of peats ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1820.
Dan once ... 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1800.
'Twas a smooth pleasant pathway, a gentle descent,
And leisurely down it, and down it, he went. MS. 1798.]
[Variant 8:
1802.
... street ... 1800.]
[Variant 9:
1837.
... is both leader and led; 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1837.
For grey-headed Dan ... 1800.
The grey-headed Sire ... 1820.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Thomas Bewick, the wood engraver, born at Cherryburn, near
Newcastle-on-Tyne, in 1753, died 1828. He revived the art of wood
engraving in England. His illustrations--drawn for the 'General History
of British Quadrupeds' (1790), and for his own 'History of British
Birds' (1797 and 1804)--were unrivalled in their way.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: Charles Lamb, writing to Wordsworth in 1815, spoke of
"that delicacy towards aberrations from the strict path, which is so
fine in the 'Old Thief and the Boy by his side,' which always brings
water into my eyes."
(See 'Letters of Charles Lamb', edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. p.
287.)--Ed.]
* * * * *
WRITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL UPON A STONE, THE LARGEST OF A HEAP LYING
NEAR A DESERTED QUARRY, UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS [A] AT RYDAL
Composed 1798.--Published 1800
Included among the "Inscriptions."--Ed.
Stranger! this hillock of mis-shapen stones
Is not a Ruin spared or made by time, [1]
Nor, as perchance thou rashly deem'st, the Cairn
Of some old British Chief: 'tis nothing more
Than the rude embryo of a little Dome 5
Or Pleasure-house, once destined to be built [2]
Among the birch-trees of this rocky isle. [3]
But, as it chanced, Sir William having learned
That from the shore a full-grown man might wade,
And make himself a freeman of this spot 10
At any hour he chose, the prudent Knight [4]
Desisted, and the quarry and the mound
Are monuments of his unfinished task.
The block on which these lines are traced, perhaps,
Was once selected as the corner-stone 15
Of that [5] intended Pile, which would have been
Some quaint odd plaything of elaborate skill,
So that, I guess, the linnet and the thrush,
And other little builders who dwell here,
Had wondered at the work. But blame him not, 20
For old Sir William was a gentle Knight,
Bred in this vale, to which he appertained [6]
With all his ancestry. Then peace to him,
And for the outrage which he had devised
Entire forgiveness!--But if thou art one 25
On fire with thy impatience to become
An inmate of these mountains,--if, disturbed
By beautiful conceptions, thou hast hewn
Out of the quiet rock the elements
Of thy trim Mansion destined soon to blaze 30
In snow white splendour, [B] [7]--think again; and, taught
By old Sir William and his quarry, leave
Thy fragments to the bramble and the rose;
There let the vernal slow warm sun himself,
And let the redbreast hop from stone to stone. 35
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
Is not a ruin of the ancient time, 1800.
... antique ... MS.]
[Variant 2:
1802.
... which was to have been built 1800.]
[Variant 3:
1800.
Of some old British warrior: so, to speak
The honest truth, 'tis neither more nor less
Than the rude germ of what was to have been
A pleasure-house, and built upon this isle. MS.]
[Variant 4:
1837.
... the Knight forthwith 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1837.
Of the ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1800.
Bred here, and to this valley appertained MS. 1798.]
[Variant 7:
1800.
... glory, ... 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In a MS. copy this is given as "the lesser Island."--Ed.]
[Footnote B: Compare Wordsworth's
"objections to white, as a colour, in large spots or masses in
landscape,"
in his 'Guide through the district of the Lakes' (section third).--Ed.]
* * * * *
1799
The poems belonging to the year 1799 were chiefly, if not wholly,
composed at Goslar, in Germany; and all, with three exceptions, appeared
in the second edition of "Lyrical Ballads" (1800). The exceptions were
the following: The lyric beginning, "I travelled among unknown men,"
which was first published in the "Poems" of 1807; and two fragments from
'The Prelude', viz. 'The Influence of Natural Objects' (which appeared
in 'The Friend' in 1809), and 'The Simplon Pass' (first published in the
8vo edition of the Poems in 1845).
Wordsworth reached Goslar on the 6th of October 1798, and left it on the
10th of February 1799. It is impossible to determine the precise order
in which the nineteen or twenty poems associated with that city were
composed. But it is certain that the fragment on the immortal boy of
Windermere--whom its cliffs and islands knew so well--was written in
1798, and not in 1799 (as Wordsworth himself states); because Coleridge
sent a letter to his friend, thanking him for a MS. copy of these lines,
and commenting on them, of which the date is "Ratzeburg, Dec. 10, 1798."
For obvious reasons, however, I place the fragments originally meant to
be parts of 'The Recluse' together; and, since Wordsworth gave the date
1799 to the others, it would be gratuitous to suppose that he erred in
reference to them all, because we know that his memory failed him in
reference to one of the series. Therefore, although he spent more than
twice as many days in 1798 as in 1799 at Goslar, I set down this group
of poems as belonging to 1799, rather than to the previous year. It will
be seen that, after placing all the poems of this Goslar period in the
year to which they belong, it is possible also to group them according
to their subject matter, without violating chronological order. I
therefore put the fragments, afterwards incorporated in 'The Prelude',
together. These are naturally followed by 'Nutting'--a poem intended for
'The Prelude', but afterwards excluded, as inappropriate. The five poems
referring to "Lucy" are placed in sequence, and the same is done with
the four "Matthew" poems. A small group of four poems follows
appropriately, viz. 'To a Sexton', 'The Danish Boy', 'Lucy Gray', and
'Ruth'; while the Fenwick note almost necessitates our placing the
'Poet's Epitaph' immediately after the Lines 'Written in Germany'; and,
with Wordsworth's life at Goslar, we naturally associate five
things--the cold winter, 'The Prelude', the "Lucy" and the "Matthew"
poems, and the 'Poet's Epitaph'.--Ed.
* * * * *
INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS IN CALLING FORTH AND STRENGTHENING THE
IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH
FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM
[This extract is reprinted from "THE FRIEND."[A]]
Composed 1799.--Published 1809
It was included by Wordsworth among the "Poems referring to the Period
of Childhood."--Ed.
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!
Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of thought!
And giv'st [1] to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion! not in vain,
By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn 5
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
The passions that build up our human soul;
Not [2] with the mean and vulgar works of Man:
But with high objects, with enduring things,
With life and nature: purifying thus 10
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 15
With stinted kindness. In November days,
When vapours rolling down the valleys [3] 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, 20
Beneath the gloomy hills, homeward I went [4]
In solitude, such intercourse was mine:
Mine was it in the fields [5] both day and night,
And by the waters, all the summer long.
And in the frosty season, when the sun 25
Was set, and, visible for many a mile,
The cottage-windows through the twilight blazed, [6]
I heeded not the summons: happy time
It was indeed for all of us; for me [7]
It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud 30
The village-clock tolled six--I wheeled about,
Proud and exulting like an untired horse
That cares not for his home. [8]--All shod with steel
We hissed along the polished ice, in games
Confederate, imitative of the chase 35
And woodland pleasures,--the resounding horn,
The pack loud-chiming, [9] and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle: with the din
Smitten, [10] the precipices rang aloud; 40
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron; while far-distant hills [11]
Into the tumult sent an alien sound
Of melancholy, not unnoticed while the stars,
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the west 45
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 [12] of a star; 50
Image, that, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain: and oftentimes, [13]
When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side
Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still 55
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! 60
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched
Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. [14]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1809.
That givest ... 'The Prelude', 1850.]
[Variant 2:
1815.
Nor ... 1809.]
[Variant 3:
1809.
... valley ... The Prelude', 1850.]
[Variant 4:
1836.
... I homeward went 1809.]
[Variant 5:
1845.
'Twas mine among the fields ... 1809.]
[Variant 6:
1809.
... blazed through twilight gloom, 'The Prelude', 1850.]
[Variant 7:
1815.
... to me 1809.]
[Variant 8:
1827.
... car'd not for its home--... 1809.
... cares not ... 1815.]
[Variant 9:
1840.
... loud bellowing ... 1809.]
[Variant 10:
1836.
Meanwhile ... 1809.]
[Variant 11:
1845.
... while the distant hills 1809.]
[Variant 12:
1827.
To cut across the image ... 1809.
To cross the bright reflection ... 1820.]
[Variant 13:
1820.
That gleam'd upon the ice; and oftentimes 1809.
(This line occupied the place of lines 51-52 of the final text.)
That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes, 'The Prelude', 1850.]
[Variant 14:
1809.
... as a dreamless sleep. 'The Prelude', 1850.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The title of the fragment, as it appeared in 'The Friend',
No. 19, (Dec. 28, 1809,) was 'Growth of Genius from the Influences of
Natural Objects on the Imagination, in Boyhood and Early Youth'. It
first appeared in Wordsworth's Poems in the edition of 1815. It was
afterwards included in the first book of 'The Prelude', l. 401.
The lake referred to with its "silent bays" and "shadowy banks" is that
of Esthwaite; the village clock is that of Hawkshead (see the footnotes
to 'The Prelude'). The only physical accomplishment in which Wordsworth
thought he excelled was skating, an accomplishment in which his brother
poet and acquaintance, Klopstock, also excelled.--Ed.]
* * * * *
THE SIMPLON PASS [A]
Composed 1799.--Published 1845
Included among the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.
--Brook and road
Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, [1]
And with them did we journey several hours
At a slow step. [2] The immeasurable height
Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, 5
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, 10
Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside
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--15
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. 20
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1845.
... gloomy strait, 'The Prelude', 1850.]
[Variant 2:
1845.
... pace ... 'The Prelude', 1850.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: This is an extract from the sixth book of 'The Prelude', l.
621. It refers to Wordsworth's first experience of Switzerland, when he
crossed the Alps by the Simplon route, in 1790, in company with his
friend Robert Jones.--Ed.]
* * * * *
NUTTING
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany; intended as part of a poem on my own life, but
struck out as not being wanted there. Like most of my schoolfellows I
was an impassioned Nutter. For this pleasure, the Vale of Esthwaite,
abounding in coppice wood, furnished a very wide range. These verses
arose out of the remembrance of feelings I had often had when a boy, and
particularly in the extensive woods that still stretch from the side of
Esthwaite Lake towards Graythwaite, the seat of the ancient family of
Sandys.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."--Ed.
--It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that [1] cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, [2]
I left our cottage-threshold, [A] sallying forth [3] 5
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, [4]
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned [5] my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, [6] a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded, 10
By exhortation of my frugal Dame--[7]
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,--and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets, 15
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook [8]
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters [9] hung, 20
A virgin scene!--A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;--or beneath the trees I sate 25
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves 30
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And--with my cheek on one of those green stones 35
That, fleeced with moss, under [10] the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep--
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure, 40
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook 45
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned [11] 50
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.--[12]
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand 55
Touch--for there is a spirit in the woods.
The woods round Esthwaite Lake have undergone considerable change since
Wordsworth's school-days at Hawkshead; but hazel coppice is still
abundant to the south and west of the Lake.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
... which ... 1800.]
[Variant 2: This line was added in the edition of 1827.]
[Variant 3:
1827.
When forth I sallied from our cottage-door, 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1832.
And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung, 1800.
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung, 1815.]
[Variant 5:
1815.
... I turn'd ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1836.
Towards the distant woods, ... 1800.
Toward ... 1832.]
[Variant 7:
1815.
... of Beggar's weeds
Put on for the occasion, by advice
And exhortation ... 1800.]
[Variant 8:
1836.
... Among the woods,
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forc'd my way
Until, at length, I came ... 1800.]
[Variant 9:
1845.
... milk-white clusters ... 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1845.
... beneath ... 1800.]
[Variant 11:
1836.
Even then, when from the bower I turn'd away, 1800.]
[Variant 12:
1836.
... and the intruding sky.--1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The house at which I was boarded during the time I was at
School.--W. W. 1800.]
* * * * *
WRITTEN IN GERMANY, ON ONE OF THE COLDEST DAYS OF THE CENTURY
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
I must apprize the Reader that the stoves in North Germany generally
have the impression of a galloping Horse upon them, this being part of
the Brunswick Arms.--W. W. 1800.
[A bitter winter it was when these verses were composed by the side of
my sister, in our lodgings at a draper's house, in the romantic imperial
town of Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. In this town the German
emperors of the Franconian Line were accustomed to keep their court, and
it retains vestiges of ancient splendour. So severe was the cold of this
winter, that when we passed out of the parlour warmed by the stove, our
cheeks were struck by the air as by cold iron. I slept in a room over a
passage that was not ceiled. The people of the house used to say rather
unfeelingly, that they expected I should be frozen to death some night;
but with the protection of a pelisse lined with fur, and a dog's skin
bonnet, such as was worn by the peasants, I walked daily on the
ramparts, or on a sort of public ground or garden, in which was a pond.
Here I had no companion but a kingfisher, a beautiful creature that used
to glance by me. I consequently became much attached to it. During these
walks I composed the poem that follows, _A Poet's Epitaph_.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." Wordsworth originally
gave to this poem the title "The Fly," but erased it before
publication.--Ed.
A plague on [1] your languages, German and Norse!
Let me have the song of the kettle;
And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse
That gallops away with such fury and force
On this [2] dreary dull plate of black metal. 5
[3]
See that Fly, [4]--a disconsolate creature! perhaps
A child of the field or the grove;
And, sorrow for him! the [5] dull treacherous heat
Has seduced the poor fool from his winter retreat,
And he creeps to the edge of my stove. 10
Alas! how he fumbles about the domains
Which this comfortless oven environ!
He cannot find out in what track he must crawl,
Now back to the tiles, then in search of the wall, [6]
And now on the brink of the iron. 15
Stock-still there he stands like a traveller bemazed:
The best of his skill he has tried;
His feelers, methinks, I can see him put forth
To the east and the west, to [7] the south and the north
But he finds neither guide-post nor guide. 20
His spindles [8] sink under him, foot, leg, and thigh!
His eyesight and hearing are lost;
Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws;
And his two pretty pinions of blue dusky gauze
Are glued to his sides by the frost. 25
No brother, no mate [9] has he near him--while I
Can draw warmth from the cheek of my Love;
As blest and as glad, in this desolate gloom,
As if green summer grass were the floor of my room,
And woodbines were hanging above. 30
Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing!
Thy life I would gladly sustain
Till summer come [10] up from the south, and with crowds
Of thy brethren a march thou should'st sound through the clouds.
And back to the forests again! 35
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1820.
A fig for ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1800.
On his ... 1827.
The text of 1837 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 3:
Our earth is no doubt made of excellent stuff,
But her pulses beat slower and slower,
The weather in Forty was cutting and rough,
And then, as Heaven knows, the glass stood low enough,
And _now_ it is four degrees lower.
This stanza occurs only in the editions of 1800 to 1815.]
[Variant 4:
1820.
Here's a Fly, ... 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1827.
... this ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1837.
... and not back to the wall, 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1827.
... and the South ... 1800.]
[Variant 8:
1845.
See! his spindles ... 1800.
How his spindles ... 1827.]
[Variant 9:
1827.
... no Friend ... 1800.
No brother has he, no companion, while I MS.]
[Variant 10:
1837.
... comes ... 1800.]
* * * * *
A POET'S EPITAPH
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed.
Art thou a Statist [1] in the van
Of public conflicts [2] trained and bred?
--First learn to love one living man;
_Then_ may'st thou think upon the dead.
A Lawyer art thou?--draw not nigh! 5
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face. [3]
Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
A rosy Man, right plump to see? 10
Approach; yet, Doctor, [A] not too near,
This grave no cushion is for thee.
Or art thou one of gallant pride, [4]
A Soldier and no man of chaff?
Welcome!--but lay thy sword aside, 15
And lean upon a peasant's staff.
Physician art thou?--one, all eyes,
Philosopher!--a fingering slave,
One that would peep and botanize
Upon his mother's grave? 20
Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece,
O turn aside,--and take, I pray,
That he below may rest in peace,
Thy ever-dwindling soul, away! [5]
A Moralist perchance appears; 25
Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod:
And he has neither eyes nor ears;
Himself his world, and his own God;
One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling
Nor form, nor feeling, great or [6] small; 30
A reasoning, self-sufficing [7] thing,
An intellectual All-in-all!
Shut close the door; press down the latch;
Sleep in thy intellectual crust;
Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch 35
Near this unprofitable dust.
But who is He, with modest looks,
And clad in homely russet brown? [B]
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own. 40
He is retired as noontide dew,
Or fountain in a noon-day grove;
And you must love him, ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love.
The outward shows of sky and earth, 45
Of hill and valley, he has viewed;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him in solitude.
In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,--50
The harvest of a quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Hath been an idler in the land;
Contented if he might enjoy 55
The things which others understand.
--Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length;
Or build thy house upon this grave. 60
See the Fenwick note to the poem, 'Written in Germany, on one of the
coldest Days of the Century' (p. 73).
"The 'Poet's Epitaph' is disfigured to my taste by the common satire
upon parsons and lawyers in the beginning, and the coarse epithet of
'pin-point', in the sixth stanza. All the rest is eminently good, and
your own."
(Charles Lamb to William Wordsworth, January 1801.)--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
... Statesman, ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1837.
Of public business ... 1800.]
[Variant 3:
1820.
... to some other place
The hardness of thy coward eye,
The falsehood of thy sallow face. 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1820.
Art thou a man of gallant pride, 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1837.
Thy pin-point of a soul away! 1800.
That abject thing, thy soul, away! 1815.]
[Variant 6:
1837.
... nor ... 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1800.
... self-sufficient ... 1802.
The edition of 1815 returns to the text of 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: D. D., not M. D. The physician is referred to in the fifth
stanza.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: Compare Thomson's description of the Bard, in his 'Castle
of Indolence' (canto ii., stanza xxxiii.):
He came, the bard, a little Druid wight,
Of withered aspect; but his eye was keen,
With sweetness mixed. In russet brown bedight,
He crept along, etc.
Ed.]
* * * * *
"STRANGE FITS OF PASSION HAVE I KNOWN"
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections." In MS. Wordsworth gave, as
the title, "A Reverie," but erased it.--Ed.
Strange fits of passion have I known: [1]
And I will dare to tell,
But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befel.
When she I loved looked every day 5
Fresh as a rose in June, [2]
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an [3] evening moon.
Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea; 10
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh [4]
Those paths so dear to me.
And now we reached the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot 15
Came near, and nearer still. [5]
In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon. 20
My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped. [6]
What fond and wayward thoughts will slide 25
Into a Lover's head!
"O mercy!" to myself I cried,
"If Lucy should be dead!"
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1832.
... I have known, 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
When she I lov'd, was strong and gay
And like a rose in June, 1800.]
[Variant 3:
1836.
... the ... 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1836.
My horse trudg'd on, and we drew nigh 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Towards the roof of Lucy's cot
The moon descended still. [a] 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1815.
... the planet dropp'd. 1800.]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: Compare the lines in Arthur Hugh Clough's poem, 'The
Stream of Life':
And houses stand on either hand
And thou descendest still.
Ed.]
* * * * *
"SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS"
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections." In the edition of 1800 it
is entitled 'Song'.--Ed.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love: [1]
A violet by a mossy stone 5
Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived [2] unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be; 10
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
A very few ... 1802.
The text of the edition of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 2: The word "lived" was italicised in the edition of 1800
only.]
* * * * *
"I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN"
Composed 1799.-Published 1807
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections."--Ed.
I travelled among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.
'Tis past, that melancholy dream! 5
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.
Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire; [1] 10
And she I cherished turned her wheel
Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field 15
That Lucy's eyes surveyed. [2] [A]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
The gladness of desire; MS.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
And thine is, too, the last green field
Which ... 1807.
That ... 1815.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare Sara Coleridge's comment on this poem in the
'Biographia Literaria' (1847), vol. ii. chap. ix. p. 173. Also Mrs.
Oliphant's remarks in her 'Literary History of the Nineteenth Century',
vol. i. pp. 306-9.--Ed.]
* * * * *
"THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN AND SHOWER"
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[1799. Composed in the Hartz Forest.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination." It has no title in any edition,
but from 1820 to 1836 the second page occupied by the poem is headed
"Lucy." In the editions of 1836 to 1843 it is called "Lucy" in the list
of contents.--Ed.
Three years she grew in sun and shower,
Then Nature said, "A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This Child I to myself will take;
She shall be mine, and I will make 5
A Lady of my own.
"Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: [1] and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 10
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
"She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs; 15
And her's shall be the breathing balm,
And her's the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.
"The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend; 20
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the Storm
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form [2]
By silent sympathy.
"The stars of midnight shall be dear 25
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound [A]
Shall pass into her face. 30
"And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live 35
Here in this happy dell."
Thus Nature spake--The work was done--
How soon my Lucy's race was run!
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; 40
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be. [B]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
Her Teacher I myself will be,
She is my darling;--...
MS. 1801, and the edition of 1802.
The edition of 1805 returns to the text of 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1800.
A reading--printed in the edition of 1800, but replaced in its list of
'errata' by that given in the text--may be quoted here,
A beauty that shall mould her form ... 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare Dryden's 'Indian Emperor', iv. 3.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: On Oct 9, 1800, S. T. Coleridge, in writing to Sir Humphry
Davy of his own 'Christabel', said,
"I would rather have written 'Ruth', and 'Nature's Lady,' than a
million such poems."
This poem was printed in 'The Morning Post', March 2nd, 1801.--Ed.]
* * * * *
"A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL"
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany.--I.F.]
Included among the "Poems of the Imagination." [A]--Ed.
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force; 5
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees. [B]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: It was one of the "Lucy" Poems. In his instructions to the
printer in 1807, Wordsworth told him to insert "I travelled among
unknown men" after "A slumber did my spirit seal."--Ed.]
[Footnote B: Compare Suckling's 'Fragmenta Aurea' (The Tragedy of
Brennoralt), p. 170, edition 1658.
Heavens! shall this fresh ornament of the world,
These precious love-lines, pass with other common things,
Amongst the wastes of time? What pity 'twere.
Ed.]
* * * * *
ADDRESS TO THE SCHOLARS OF THE VILLAGE SCHOOL OF--
Composed 1798 or 1799.--Published 1842
[Composed at Goslar, in Germany.--I.F.]
First published in "Poems, chiefly of Early and Late Years," and
included, in 1845, among the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."--Ed.
I come, ye little noisy Crew,
Not long your pastime to prevent;
I heard the blessing which to you
Our common Friend and Father sent.
I kissed his cheek before he died; 5
And when his breath was fled,
I raised, while kneeling by his side,
His hand:--it dropped like lead.
Your hands, dear Little-ones, do all
That can be done, will never fall 10
Like his till they are dead.
By night or day blow foul or fair,
Ne'er will the best of all your train
Play with the locks of his white hair,
Or stand between his knees again. 15
Here did he sit confined for hours;
But he could see the woods and plains,
Could hear the wind and mark the showers
Come streaming down the streaming panes.
Now stretched beneath his grass-green mound 20
He rests a prisoner of the ground.
He loved the breathing air,
He loved the sun, but if it rise
Or set, to him where now he lies,
Brings not a moment's care. 25
Alas! what idle words; but take
The Dirge which for our Master's sake
And yours, love prompted me to make.
The rhymes so homely in attire
With learned ears may ill agree, 30
But chanted by your Orphan Quire
Will make a touching melody.
DIRGE
Mourn, Shepherd, near thy old grey stone;
Thou Angler, by the silent flood;
And mourn when thou art all alone, 35
Thou Woodman, in the distant wood!
Thou one blind Sailor, rich in joy
Though blind, thy tunes in sadness hum;
And mourn, thou poor half-witted Boy!
Born deaf, and living deaf and dumb. 40
Thou drooping sick Man, bless the Guide
Who checked or turned thy headstrong youth,
As he before had sanctified
Thy infancy with heavenly truth.
Ye Striplings, light of heart and gay, 45
Bold settlers on some foreign shore,
Give, when your thoughts are turned this way,
A sigh to him whom we deplore.
For us who here in funeral strain
With one accord our voices raise, 50
Let sorrow overcharged with pain
Be lost in thankfulness and praise.
And when our hearts shall feel a sting
From ill we meet or good we miss,
May touches of his memory bring 55
Fond healing, like a mother's kiss.
BY THE SIDE OF THE GRAVE SOME YEARS AFTER
Long time his pulse hath ceased to beat;
But benefits, his gift, we trace--
Expressed in every eye we meet
Round this dear Vale, his native place. 60
To stately Hall and Cottage rude
Flowed from his life what still they hold,
Light pleasures, every day, renewed;
And blessings half a century old.
Oh true of heart, of spirit gay, 65
Thy faults, where not already gone
From memory, prolong their stay
For charity's sweet sake alone.
Such solace find we for our loss;
And what beyond this thought we crave 70
Comes in the promise from the Cross,
Shining upon thy happy grave.
To this poem, when first published in the "Poems of Early and Late
Years" (1842), Wordsworth appended the note, "See, upon the subject of
the three foregoing pieces, 'The Fountain' [p. 91], etc. etc. in the
fifth volume of the Author's Poems." He thus connects it with the poems
referring to Matthew in such a way that it may be said to belong to that
series; and, while he assigned it to the year 1798, both in the edition
of 1845, and in that of 1849-50, it is quite possible that it was
written in 1799. "The village school" was the Grammar School of
Hawkshead, where Wordsworth spent his boyhood; and the schoolmaster was
the Rev. William Taylor, M. A., Emmanuel College, Cambridge, who was the
third of the four masters who taught in it during Wordsworth's residence
there. He was master from 1782 to 1786. Just before his death he sent
for the upper boys of the school (amongst whom was Wordsworth), and
calling them into his room, took leave of them with a solemn blessing.
This farewell doubtless suggested the lines:
'the blessing which to you
Our common Friend and Father sent.'
Mr. Taylor was buried in Cartmell Churchyard. In 'The Prelude',
Wordsworth writes of him as "an honoured teacher of my youth;" and there
describes, with some minuteness, a visit to his grave. (See book x. l.
532.) It will be seen, however, from the Fenwick note to 'Matthew', that
the Hawkshead Schoolmaster, like the Wanderer in 'The Excursion', was
"made up of several both of his class and men of other occupations;" but
of the four masters who taught Wordsworth at Hawkshead--Peake,
Christian, Taylor, and Bowman--Taylor was far the ablest, the most
interesting, and the most beloved by the boys, and it was doubtless the
memory of this man that gave rise to the above poem, and the four which
follow it. He was but thirty-two years old when he died, 12th June,
1786. This fact, taken in connection with line 14 of the 'Address', may
illustrate the composite character of 'Matthew'.--Ed.
* * * * *
MATTHEW
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
In the School of--is a tablet on which are inscribed, in gilt letters,
the names of the several persons who have been Schoolmasters there since
the foundation of the School, with the time at which they entered upon
and quitted their office. Opposite one of those names the Author wrote
the following lines.--W. W. 1800.
[Such a tablet as is here spoken of continued to be preserved in
Hawkshead School, though the inscriptions were not brought down to our
time. This, and other poems connected with Matthew, would not gain by a
literal detail of facts. Like the Wanderer in 'The Excursion' this
Schoolmaster was made up of several, both of his class and men of other
occupations. I do not ask pardon for what there is of untruth in such
verses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough, if, being
true and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a manner not
unworthy of a Poet's calling.--I.F.] [A]
In the editions of 1800 to 1820 this poem had no title except the note
prefixed to it above, although in the Table of Contents it was called
'Lines written on a Tablet in a School'. From 1820-32 "Matthew" is the
page heading, though there is no title. In the editions of 1827 and 1832
it was named, in the Table of Contents, by its first line, "If Nature,
for a favourite child." In 1837 it was entitled 'Matthew'. It was
included among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." The Tablet, with
the names of the Masters inscribed on it, still exists in Hawkshead
School.--Ed.
If Nature, for a favourite child,
In thee hath tempered so her clay,
That every hour thy heart runs wild,
Yet never once doth go astray,
Read o'er these lines; and then review 5
This tablet, that thus humbly rears
In such diversity of hue
Its history of two hundred years.
--When through this little wreck of fame,
Cipher and syllable! thine eye 10
Has travelled down to Matthew's name,
Pause with no common sympathy.
And; if a sleeping tear should wake,
Then be it neither checked nor stayed:
For Matthew a request I make 15
Which for himself he had not made.
Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er,
Is silent as a standing pool;
Far from the chimney's merry roar,
And murmur of the village school. 20
The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs
Of one tired out with fun and madness;
The tears which came to Matthew's eyes
Were tears of light, the dew [1] of gladness.
Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup 25
Of still and serious thought went round,
It seemed as if he drank it up--
He felt with spirit so profound.
--Thou soul of God's best earthly mould!
Thou happy Soul! and can it be 30
That these two words of glittering gold
Are all that must remain of thee? [2]
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
... the oil ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1800.
... to thee? 1805, and MS.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: On the 27th March 1843, Wordsworth wrote to Professor Henry
Reed of Philadelphia:
"The character of the schoolmaster, had like the Wanderer in 'The
Excursion' a solid foundation in fact and reality, but like him it was
also in some degree a composition: I will not, and need not, call it
an invention--it was no such thing."
Ed.]
* * * * *
THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed.
We walked along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;
And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said,
"The will of God be done!"
A village schoolmaster was he, 5
With hair of glittering grey;
As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills, 10
We travelled merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.
"Our work," said I, "was well begun,
Then, from thy breast what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a sun, 15
So sad a sigh has brought?"
A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye
Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply: 20
"Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind
A day like this which I have left
Full thirty years behind.
"And just above yon slope of corn 25
Such colours, and no other,
Were in the sky, that April morn,
Of this the very brother. [1]
"With rod and line I sued the sport
Which that sweet season gave, [2] 30
And, to the church-yard come, [3] stopped short
Beside my daughter's grave.
"Nine summers had she scarcely seen,
The pride of all the vale;
And then she sang [4];--she would have been 35
A very nightingale.
"Six feet in earth my Emma lay;
And yet I loved her more,
For so it seemed, than till that day
I e'er had loved before. 40
"And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the church-yard yew,
A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning dew.
"A basket on her head she bare; 45
Her brow was smooth and white:
To see a child so very fair,
It was a pure delight!
"No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free; 50
She seemed as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea. [A]
"There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;
I looked at her, and looked again: 55
And did not wish her mine!"
Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
Methinks, I see him stand,
As at that moment, with a bough [5]
Of wilding in his hand. 60
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1802.
And on that slope of springing corn
The self-same crimson hue
Fell from the sky that April morn,
The same which now I view! 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1815.
With rod and line my silent sport
I plied by Derwent's wave, 1800.]
[Variant 3:
1837.
And, coming to the church, ... 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1800.
... sung;--... 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1820.
... his bough 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare the 'Winters Tale', act IV. scene iii. ll. 140-2:
'when you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that, etc.'
Ed.]
* * * * *
THE FOUNTAIN
A CONVERSATION
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--Ed.
We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,
A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.
We lay beneath a spreading oak, 5
Beside a mossy seat;
And from the turf a fountain broke,
And gurgled at our feet.
"Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match [1]
This water's pleasant tune 10
With some old border-song, or catch
That suits a summer's noon;
"Or of the church-clock and the chimes
Sing here beneath the shade,
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 15
Which you last April made!"
In silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;
And thus the dear old Man replied,
The grey-haired man of glee: 20
"No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears; [2]
How merrily it goes!
'Twill murmur on a thousand years,
And flow as now it flows.
"And here, on this delightful day, 25
I cannot choose but think
How oft, a vigorous man, I lay
Beside this fountain's brink.
"My eyes are dim with childish tears,
My heart is idly stirred, 30
For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.
"Thus fares it still in our decay:
And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away 35
Than what it leaves behind. [A]
"The blackbird amid leafy trees,
The lark above the hill, [3]
Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will. 40
"With Nature never do _they_ wage
A foolish strife; they see
A happy youth, and their old age
Is beautiful and free:
"But we are pressed by heavy laws; 45
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of joy, because
We have been glad of yore.
"If there be [4] one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth, 50
The household hearts that were his own;
It is the man of mirth.
"My days, my Friend, are almost gone,
My life has been approved,
And many love me; but by none 55
Am I enough beloved."
"Now both himself and me he wrongs,
The man who thus complains!
I live and sing my idle songs
Upon these happy plains; 60
"And, Matthew, for thy children dead
I'll be a son to thee!"
At this he grasped my hand, [5] and said,
"Alas! that cannot be."
We rose up from the fountain-side; 65
And down the smooth descent
Of the green sheep-track did we glide;
And through the wood we went;
And, ere we came to Leonard's rock,
He sang those witty rhymes 70
About the crazy old church-clock,
And the bewildered chimes.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1820.
Now, Matthew, let us try to match 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1837.
Down to the vale this water steers, 1800.
Down to the vale with eager speed
Behold this streamlet run,
From subterranean bondage freed,
And glittering in the sun. C.
From subterranean darkness freed,
A pleasant course to run. C.
Down to the vale this streamlet hies,
Look, how it seems to run,
As if 't were pleased with summer skies,
And glad to meet the sun. C.
And glad to greet the sun. MS.
No guide it needs, no check it fears,
How merrily it goes!
'Twill murmur on a thousand years,
And flow as now it flows. C.
Down towards the vale with eager speed,
Behold this streamlet run
As if 'twere pleased with summer skies
And glad to meet the sun. C.]
[Variant 3:
1837.
The blackbird in the summer trees,
The lark upon the hill, 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1832.
... is .... 1800 and MS.]
[Variant 5:
1815.
... his hands, ... 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A:
"Pour me plaindre a moy, regarde noti tant ce qu'on moste, que ce qui
me reste de sauvre, et dedans et dehors."
Montaigne, 'Essais', iii. 12.
Compare also:
"Themistocles quidem, cum ei Simonides, an quis alius artem memoriæ
polliceretur, _Oblivionis_, inquit, _mallem_; _nam memini etiam quæ
nolo, oblivisci non possum quæ volo_."
Cicero, 'De Finibus', II. 32.--Ed.]
* * * * *
TO A SEXTON
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--Ed.
Let thy wheel-barrow alone--
Wherefore, Sexton, piling still
In thy bone-house bone on bone?
'Tis already like a hill
In a field of battle made, 5
Where three thousand skulls are laid;
These died in peace each with the other,--
Father, sister, friend, and brother.
Mark the spot to which I point!
From this platform, eight feet square, 10
Take not even a finger-joint:
Andrew's whole fire-side is there.
Here, alone, before thine eyes,
Simon's sickly daughter lies,
From weakness now, and pain defended, 15
Whom he twenty winters tended.
Look but at the gardener's pride--
How he glories, when he sees
Roses, lilies, side by side,
Violets in families! 20
By the heart of Man, his tears,
By his hopes and by his fears,
Thou, too heedless, [1] art the Warden
Of a far superior garden.
Thus then, each to other dear, 25
Let them all in quiet lie,
Andrew there, and Susan here,
Neighbours in mortality.
And, should I live through sun and rain
Seven widowed years without my Jane, 30
O Sexton, do not then remove her,
Let one grave hold the Loved and Lover!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1845.
Thou, old Grey-beard! ... 1800.]
* * * * *
THE DANISH BOY
A FRAGMENT
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799. It was entirely a fancy; but intended as a
prelude to a ballad-poem never written.--I.F.]
In the editions of 1800-1832 this poem was called 'A Fragment'. From
1836 onwards it was named 'The Danish Boy. A Fragment'. It was one of
the "Poems of the Fancy."--Ed.
I Between two sister moorland rills
There is a spot that seems to lie
Sacred to flowerets of the hills,
And sacred to the sky.
And in this smooth and open dell 5
There is a tempest-stricken tree;
A corner-stone by lightning cut,
The last stone of a lonely hut; [1]
And in this dell you see
A thing no storm can e'er destroy, 10
The shadow of a Danish Boy. [A]
II In clouds above, the lark is heard,
But drops not here to earth for rest; [2]
Within [3] this lonesome nook the bird
Did never build her [4] nest. 15
No beast, no bird hath here his home;
Bees, wafted on [5] the breezy air,
Pass high above those fragrant bells
To other flowers:--to other dells
Their burthens do they bear; [6] 20
The Danish Boy walks here alone:
The lovely dell is all his own.
III A Spirit of noon-day is he;
Yet seems [7] a form of flesh and blood;
Nor piping shepherd shall he be, 25
Nor herd-boy of the wood. [8]
A regal vest of fur he wears,
In colour like a raven's wing;
It fears not [9] rain, nor wind, nor dew;
But in the storm 'tis fresh and blue 30
As budding pines in spring;
His helmet has a vernal grace,
Fresh as the bloom upon his face.
IV A harp is from his shoulder slung;
Resting the harp upon his knee; 35
To words of a forgotten tongue,
He suits its melody. [10]
Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill [11]
He is the darling and the joy;
And often, when no cause appears, 40
The mountain-ponies prick their ears,
--They hear the Danish Boy,
While in the dell he sings [12] alone
Beside the tree and corner-stone.
[13]
V There sits he; in his face you spy 45
No trace of a ferocious air,
Nor ever was a cloudless sky
So steady or so fair.
The lovely Danish Boy is blest
And happy in his flowery cove: 50
From bloody deeds his thoughts are far;
And yet he warbles songs of war,
That seem [14] like songs of love,
For calm and gentle is his mien;
Like a dead Boy he is serene. 55
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
... a cottage hut; 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1827.
He sings his blithest and his best; 1800.
She sings, regardless of her rest, 1820.]
[Variant 3:
1827.
But in ... 1800.]
[Variant 4:
1820.
... his ... 1800.]
[Variant 5:
1827.
The bees borne on ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1827.
Nor ever linger there. 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1836.
He seems ... 1800.]
[Variant 8:
1802.
A piping Shepherd he might be,
A Herd-boy of the wood. 1800.]
[Variant 9:
1802.
... nor ... 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1836.
He rests the harp upon his knee,
And there in a forgotten tongue
He warbles melody. 1800.]
[Variant 11:
1827.
Of flocks and herds both far and near 1800.
Of flocks upon the neighbouring hills 1802.]
[Variant 12:
1845.
... sits ... 1800.]
[Variant 13:
When near this blasted tree you pass,
Two sods are plainly to be seen
Close at its root, and each with grass
Is cover'd fresh and green.
Like turf upon a new-made grave
These two green sods together lie,
Nor heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor wind
Can these two sods together bind,
Nor sun, nor earth, nor sky,
But side by side the two are laid,
As if just sever'd by the spade.
This stanza occurs only in the edition of 1800.]
[Variant 14:
1815.
They seem ... 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: These Stanzas were designed to introduce a Ballad upon the
Story of a Danish Prince who had fled from Battle, and, for the sake of
the valuables about him, was murdered by the Inhabitant of a Cottage in
which he had taken refuge. The House fell under a curse, and the Spirit
of the Youth, it was believed, haunted the Valley where the crime had
been committed.--W. W. 1827.]
* * * * *
LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written at Goslar, in Germany, in 1799. It was founded on a
circumstance told me by my sister, of a little girl, who, not far from
Halifax in Yorkshire, was bewildered in a snow storm. Her footsteps were
tracked by her parents to the middle of a lock of a canal, and no other
vestige of her, backward or forward, could be traced. The body, however,
was found in the canal. The way in which the incident was treated, and
the spiritualizing of the character, might furnish hints for contrasting
the imaginative influences, which I have endeavoured to throw over
common life, with Crabbe's matter-of-fact style of handling subjects of
the same kind. This is not spoken to his disparagement, far from it; but
to direct the attention of thoughtful readers into whose hands these
notes may fall, to a comparison that may enlarge the circle of their
sensibilities, and tend to produce in them a catholic judgment.--I.F.]
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--Ed.
Oft I had heard [1] of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 5
She dwelt on a wide moor, [2]
--The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green; 10
But the sweet [3] face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night--
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light 15
Your mother through the snow."
"That, Father! will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon--
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!" 20
At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapped [4] a faggot-band;
He plied his work;--and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe: 25
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down; 30
And many a hill did Lucy climb
But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight 35
To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door. 40
They wept--and, turning homeward, cried, [5]
"In heaven we all shall meet;"
--When in the snow the mother spied [6]
The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards [7] from the steep hill's edge 45
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same; 50
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And [8] to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those [9] footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank; 55
And further there were [10] none!
--Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild. 60
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind. [A]
This poem was illustrated by Sir George Beaumont, in a picture of some
merit, which was engraved by J. C. Bromley, and published in the
collected editions of 1815 and 1820. Henry Crabb Robinson wrote in his
'Diary', September 11, 1816 (referring to Wordsworth):
"He mentioned the origin of some poems. 'Lucy Gray', that tender and
pathetic narrative of a child lost on a common, was occasioned by the
death of a child who fell into the lock of a canal. His object was to
exhibit poetically entire 'solitude', and he represents the child as
observing the day-moon, which no town or village girl would ever
notice."
A contributor to 'Notes and Queries', May 12, 1883, whose signature is
F., writes:
"THE SCENE OF 'LUCY GRAY'.--In one of the editions of Wordsworth's
works the scene of this ballad is said to have been near Halifax, in
Yorkshire. I do not think the poet was acquainted with the locality
beyond a sight of the country in travelling through on some journey. I
know of no spot where all the little incidents mentioned in the poem
would exactly fit in, and a few of the local allusions are evidently
by a stranger. There is no 'minster'; the church at Halifax from time
immemorial has always been known as the 'parish church,' and sometimes
as the 'old church,' but has never been styled 'the minster.' The
'mountain roe,' which of course may be brought in as poetically
illustrative, has not been seen on these hills for generations, and I
scarcely think even the 'fawn at play' for more than a hundred years.
These misapplications, it is almost unnecessary to say, do not detract
from the beauty of the poetry. Some of the touches are graphically
true to the neighbourhood, as, for instance, 'the wide moor,' the
'many a hill,' the 'steep hill's edge,' the 'long stone wall,' and the
hint of the general loneliness of the region where Lucy 'no mate, no
comrade, knew.' I think I can point out the exact spot--no longer a
'plank,' but a broad, safe bridge--where Lucy fell into the water.
Taking a common-sense view, that she would not be sent many miles at
two o'clock on a winter afternoon to the town (Halifax, of course),
over so lonely a mountain moor--bearing in mind also that this moor
overlooked the river, and that the river was deep and strong enough to
carry the child down the current--I know only one place where such an
accident could have occurred. The clue is in this verse:
'At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.'
The hill I take to be the high ridge of Greetland and Norland Moor,
and the plank she had to cross Sterne Mill Bridge, which there spans
the Calder, broad and rapid enough at any season to drown either a
young girl or a grown-up person. The mountain burns, romantic and wild
though they be, are not dangerous to cross, especially for a child old
enough to go and seek her mother. To sum up the matter, the hill
overlooking the moor, the path to and distance from the town, the
bridge, the current, all indicate one point, and one point only, where
this accident could have happened, and that is the bridge near Sterne
Mill. This bridge is so designated from the Sterne family, a branch of
whom in the last century resided close by. The author of 'Tristram
Shandy' spent his boyhood here; and Lucy Gray, had she safely crossed
the plank, would immediately have passed Wood Hall, where the boy
Laurence had lived, and, pursuing her way to Halifax, would have gone
through the meadows in which stood Heath School, where young Sterne
had been educated. The mill-weir at Sterne Mill Bridge was, I believe,
the scene of Lucy Gray's death."
Sterne Mill Bridge, however, crosses the river Calder, while Wordsworth
tells us that the girl lost her life by falling "into the lock of a
canal." The Calder runs parallel with the canal near Sterne Mill Bridge.
See J.R. Tutin's 'Wordsworth in Yorkshire'.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
Oft had I heard ...
Only in the second issue of 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1800 (2nd issue).
She dwelt on a wild Moor 1800.
She lived on a wide Moor MS.]
[Variant 3:
1800.
... bright ... C.]
[Variant 4:
1800.
He snapped ... MS.]
[Variant 5:
1827.
And now they homeward turn'd, and cry'd 1800.
And, turning homeward, now they cried 1815.]
[Variant 6:
1800.
The Mother turning homeward cried,
"We never more shall meet,"
When in the driven snow she spied MS.]
[Variant 7:
1840.
Then downward ... 1800.
Half breathless ... 1827.]
[Variant 8:
1800.
... and never lost
Till ... MS.]
[Variant 9:
1827.
The ... 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1800.
... was ... 1802.
The text of 1815 returns to that of 1800.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare Gray's ode, 'On a Distant Prospect of Eton
College', II. 38-9:
'Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind.'
Ed.]
* * * * *
RUTH
Composed 1799.--Published 1800
[Written in Germany, 1799. Suggested by an account I had of a wanderer
in Somersetshire.--I.F.]
Classed among the "Poems founded on the Affections" in the editions of
1815 and 1820. In 1827 it was transferred to the "Poems of the
Imagination."--Ed.
When Ruth was left half desolate,
Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will [1]
Went wandering over dale and hill, 5
In thoughtless freedom, bold.
And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods; [2]
Had built a bower upon the green, 10
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.
Beneath her father's roof, alone [3]
She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;
Herself her own delight; 15
Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;
And, passing thus the live-long day,
She grew to woman's height. [4]
There came a Youth from Georgia's shore--
A military casque he wore, 20
With splendid feathers drest; [A]
He brought them from the Cherokees;
The feathers nodded in the breeze,
And made a gallant crest.
From Indian blood you deem him sprung: 25
But no! [5] he spake the English tongue,
And bore [6] a soldier's name;
And, when America was free
From battle and from jeopardy,
He 'cross the ocean came. 30
With hues of genius on his cheek
In finest tones the Youth could speak:
--While he was yet a boy,
The moon, the glory of the sun,
And streams that murmur as they run, 35
Had been his dearest joy.
He was a lovely Youth! I guess
The panther in the wilderness
Was not so fair as he;
And, when he chose to sport and play, 40
No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.
Among the Indians he had fought,
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear; 45
Such tales as told to any maid
By such a Youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.
He told of girls--a happy rout!
Who quit their fold with dance and shout, 50
Their pleasant Indian town,
To gather strawberries all day long;
Returning with a choral song
When daylight is gone down.
He spake of plants that hourly change 55
Their blossoms, through a boundless range
Of intermingling hues; [7] [B]
With budding, fading, faded flowers
They stand the wonder of the bowers
From morn to evening dews, [C] 60
[8]
He told of the magnolia, [D] spread
High as a cloud, high over head!
The cypress and her spire; [E]
--Of flowers [F] that with one scarlet gleam
Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 65
To set the hills on fire. [G]
The Youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake,
With all its fairy crowds
Of islands, that together lie 70
As quietly as spots of sky
Among the evening clouds. [H]
"How pleasant," then he said, "it were [9]
A fisher or a hunter there,
In sunshine or in shade 75
To wander with an easy mind;
And build a household fire, and find [10]
A home in every glade!
"What days and what bright [11] years! Ah me!
Our life were life indeed, with thee 80
So passed in quiet bliss,
And all the while," said he, "to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this!"
And then he sometimes interwove 85
Fond [12] thoughts about a father's love:
"For there," said he, "are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,
That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun. 90
"Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me
My helpmate in the woods to be,
Our shed at night to rear;
Or run, my own adopted bride,
A sylvan huntress at my side, 95
And drive the flying deer!
"Belovèd Ruth!"--No more he said.
The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed [13]
A solitary tear:
She thought again--and did agree 100
With him to sail across the sea,
And drive the flying deer.
"And now, as fitting is and right,
We in the church our faith will plight,
A husband and a wife." 105
Even so they did; and I may say
That to sweet Ruth that happy day
Was more than human life.
Through dream and vision did she sink,
Delighted all the while to think 110
That on those lonesome floods,
And green savannahs, she should share
His board with lawful joy, and bear
His name in the wild woods.
But, as you have before been told, 115
This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold,
And, with his dancing crest,
So beautiful, through savage lands
Had roamed about, with vagrant bands
Of Indians in the West. 120
The wind, the tempest roaring high,
The tumult of a tropic sky,
Might well be dangerous food
For him, a Youth to whom was given
So much of earth--so much of heaven, 125
And such impetuous blood.
Whatever in those climes he found
Irregular in sight or sound
Did to his mind impart
A kindred impulse, seemed allied 130
To his own powers, and justified
The workings of his heart.
Nor less, to feed voluptuous [14] thought,
The beauteous forms of nature wrought,
Fair trees and gorgeous [15] flowers; 135
The breezes their own languor lent;
The stars had feelings, which they sent
Into those favored [16] bowers.
Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween
That sometimes [17] there did intervene 140
Pure hopes of high intent:
For passions linked to forms so fair
And stately, needs must have their share [18]
Of noble sentiment.
But ill he lived, [19] much evil saw, 145
With men to whom no better law
Nor better life was known;
Deliberately, and undeceived,
Those wild men's vices he received,
And gave them back his own. 150
His genius and his moral frame
Were thus impaired, and he became
The slave of low desires:
A Man who without self-control
Would seek what the degraded soul 155
Unworthily admires.
And yet he with no feigned delight
Had wooed the Maiden, day and night
Had loved her, night and morn:
What could he less than love a Maid 160
Whose heart with so much nature played
So kind and so forlorn!
Sometimes, most earnestly, he said,
"O Ruth! I have been worse than dead;
False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain, 165
Encompassed me on every side
When I, in confidence and pride,
Had crossed the Atlantic main. [20]
"Before me shone a glorious world--
Fresh as a banner bright, unfurled 170
To music suddenly: [21]
I looked upon those hills and plains,
And seemed as if let loose from chains,
To live at liberty.
[22]
"No more of this; for now, by thee, 175
Dear Ruth! more happily set free
With nobler zeal I burn; [23]
My soul from darkness is released,
Like the whole sky when to the east [24]
The morning doth return." 180
[25]
Full soon that better mind was gone; [26]
No hope, no wish remained, not one,--
They stirred him now no more;
New objects did new pleasure give,
And once again he wished to live 185
As lawless as before.
Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared,
They for the voyage were prepared,
And went to the sea-shore,
But, when they thither came, the Youth 190
Deserted his poor Bride, and Ruth
Could never find him more.
God help thee, Ruth!-Such pains she had,
That she in half a year was mad,
And in a prison housed; 195
And there, with many a doleful song
Made of wild words, her cup of wrong
She fearfully caroused. [27]
Yet sometimes milder hours she knew,
Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 200
Nor pastimes of the May;
--They all were with her in her cell;
And a clear brook [28] with cheerful knell
Did o'er the pebbles play.
When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 205
There came a respite to her pain;
She from her prison fled;
But of the Vagrant none took thought;
And where it liked her best she sought
Her shelter and her bread. 210
Among the fields she breathed again:
The master-current of her brain
Ran permanent and free;
And, coming to the Banks of Tone, [I]
There did she rest; and dwell alone [29] 215
Under the greenwood tree.
The engines of her pain, [30] the tools
That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools,
And airs that gently stir
The vernal leaves--she loved them still; 220
Nor ever taxed them with the ill
Which had been done to her.
A Barn her _winter_ bed supplies;
But, till the warmth of summer skies
And summer days is gone, 225
(And all do in this tale agree) [31]
She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree,
And other home hath none.
An innocent life, yet far astray!
And Ruth will, long before her day, [32] 230
Be broken down and old:
Sore aches she needs must have! but less
Of mind, than body's wretchedness,
From damp, and rain, and cold. [33]
If she is prest by want of food, 235
She from her dwelling in the wood
Repairs to a road-side;
And there she begs at one steep place
Where up and down with easy pace
The horsemen-travellers ride. 240
That oaten pipe of hers is mute,
Or thrown away; but with a flute
Her loneliness she cheers:
This flute, made of a hemlock stalk,
At evening in his homeward walk 245
The Quantock woodman hears.
I, too, have passed her on the hills
Setting her little water-mills
By spouts and fountains wild--
Such small machinery as she turned 250
Ere she had wept, ere she had mourned,
A young and happy Child!
Farewell! and when thy days are told,
Ill-fated Ruth, in hallowed mould
Thy corpse shall buried be, 255
For thee a funeral bell shall ring,
And all the congregation sing
A Christian psalm for thee.
The following extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal gives the date
of the stanzas added to 'Ruth' in subsequent editions:
"Sunday, March 8th, 1802.--I stitched up 'The Pedlar,' wrote out
'Ruth', read it with the alterations.... William brought two new
stanzas of 'Ruth'."
The transpositions of stanzas, and their omission from certain editions
and their subsequent re-introduction, in altered form, in later ones,
make it extremely difficult to give the textual history of 'Ruth' in
footnotes. They are even more bewildering than the changes introduced
into 'Simon Lee'.--Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1802.
And so, not seven years old,
The slighted Child ... 1800.]
[Variant 2:
1836.
And from that oaten pipe could draw
All sounds ... 1800.]
[Variant 3: This stanza was added in the edition of 1802.]
[Variant 4:
1827.
She pass'd her time; and in this way
Grew up to Woman's height. 1802.]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Ah no! ... 1800.]
[Variant 6:
1805.
... bare ... 1800.]
[Variant 7:
1836.
He spake of plants divine and strange
That ev'ry day their blossoms change,
Ten thousand lovely hues! 1800.
... every hour ... 1802.]
[Variant 8:
Of march and ambush, siege and fight,
Then did he tell; and with delight
The heart of Ruth would ache;
Wild histories they were, and dear:
But 'twas a thing of heaven to hear
When of himself he spake!
Only in the editions of 1802 and 1805.
The following is the order of the stanzas in the edition of 1802.
The first, fifth, and last had not appeared before.
Sometimes most earnestly he said;
"O Ruth! I have been worse than dead:
False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain
Encompass'd me on every side
When I, in thoughtlessness and pride,
Had cross'd the Atlantic Main.
Whatever in those Climes I found
Irregular in sight or sound
Did to my mind impart
A kindred impulse, seem'd allied
To my own powers, and justified
The workings of my heart.
Nor less to feed unhallow'd thought
The beauteous forms of nature wrought,
Fair trees and lovely flowers;
The breezes their own languor lent;
The stars had feelings which they sent
Into those magic bowers.
Yet, in my worst pursuits, I ween,
That often there did intervene
Pure hopes of high intent;
My passions, amid forms so fair
And stately, wanted not their share
Of noble sentiment.
So was it then, and so is now:
For, Ruth! with thee I know not how
I feel my spirit burn
Even as the east when day comes forth;
And to the west, and south, and north,
The morning doth return.
It is a purer better mind:
O Maiden innocent and kind
What sights I might have seen!
Even now upon my eyes they break!"
--And he again began to speak
Of Lands where he had been.
The last stanza is only in the editions of 1802-1805. [a]]
[Variant 9:
1836.
And then he said "How sweet it were 1800.]
[Variant 10:
1845.
A gardener in the shade,
Still wandering with an easy mind
To build ... 1800.
In sunshine or through shade
To wander with an easy mind;
And build ... 1836.]
[Variant 11:
1836.
... sweet ... 1800.]
[Variant 12:
1832.
Dear ... 1800.]
[Variant 13:
1820.
Sweet Ruth alone at midnight shed 1800.]
[Variant 14:
1800.
... unhallow'd ... 1802 and MS.
The edition of 1805 returns to the reading of 1800.]
[Variant 15:
1845.
... lovely ... 1800.]
[Variant 16:
1845.
... magic ... 1800.
... gorgeous ... 1815.]
[Variant 17:
1800.
That often ... 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 18:
1800.
For passions, amid forms so fair
And stately, wanted not their share 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 19:
1800.
Ill did he live ... 1802.
The text of 1805 returns to that of 1800.]
[Variant 20:
1805.
When I, in thoughtlessness and pride,
Had crossed ... 1802.
When first, in confidence and pride,
I crossed ... 1820.
C., and the edition of 1840, revert to the reading of 1805.]
[Variant 21:
1840 and C.
"It was a fresh and glorious world,
A banner bright that was unfurled
Before me suddenly: 1805.
A banner bright that shone unfurled 1836.]
[Variant 22: Lines 163-168, and 175-180, were added in 1802. Lines
169-174 were added in 1805. All these were omitted in 1815, but were
restored in 1820.]
[Variant 23:
1845
So was it then, and so is now:
For, Ruth! with thee I know not how
I feel my spirit burn 1802.
"But wherefore speak of this? for now,
Sweet Ruth! with thee, ... 1805.
Dear Ruth! with thee ... 1836.]
[Variant 24:
1836.
Even as the east when day comes forth;
And to the west, and south, and north, 1802.]
[Variant 25:
It is my purer better mind
O maiden innocently kind
What sights I might have seen!
Even now upon my eyes they break!
And then the youth began to speak
Of lands where he had been. MS.]
[Variant 26:
1845.
But now the pleasant dream was gone, 1800.
Full soon that purer mind ... 1820.]
[Variant 27:
1836.
And there, exulting in her wrongs,
Among the music of her songs
She fearfully carouz'd. [b] 1800.
And there she sang tumultuous songs,
By recollection of her wrongs,
To fearful passion rouzed. 1820.]
[Variant 28:
1836.
wild brook ... 1800.]
[Variant 29:
1802.
And to the pleasant Banks of Tone
She took her way, to dwell alone 1800.]
[Variant 30:
1802.
... grief, ... 1800.]
[Variant 31:
1805.
(And in this tale we all agree) 1800.]
[Variant 32:
1805.
The neighbours grieve for her, and say
That she will ... 1802.]
[Variant 33: This stanza first appeared in the edition of 1802.]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Taken from the portrait of the chief in Bartram's
frontispiece.--Ed.]
[Footnote B:
"The tall aspiring Gordonia lacianthus ... gradually changing colour,
from green to golden yellow, from that to a scarlet, from scarlet to
crimson, and lastly to a brownish purple, ... so that it may be said
to change and renew its garments every morning throughout the year."
See 'Travels through North and South Carolina, Georgia, East Florida,
the Cherokee Country', etc., by William Bartram (1791), pp. 159,
160.--Ed.]
[Footnote C:
"Its thick foliage of a dark green colour is flowered over with large
milk-white, fragrant blossoms, ... renewed every morning, and that in
such incredible profusion that the tree appears silvered over with
them, and the ground beneath covered with the fallen flowers. It, at
the same time, continually pushes forth new twigs, with young buds on
them."
(Bartram's 'Travels', etc., p. 159.)--Ed.]
[Footnote D: Magnolia grandiflora.--W. W. 1800; and Bartram's 'Travels',
p. 8.--Ed.]
[Footnote E:
"The Cypressus distichia stands in the first order of North American
trees. Its majestic stature, lifting its cumbrous top towards the
skies, and casting a wide shade upon the ground, as a dark intervening
cloud," etc.
(Bartram's 'Travels', p. 88).--Ed.]
[Footnote F: The splendid appearance of these scarlet flowers, which are
scattered with such profusion over the Hills in the Southern parts of
North America is frequently mentioned by Bartram in his 'Travels'.--W.
W. 1800.]
[Footnote G: Mr. Ernest Coleridge tells me he
"has traced, to a note-book of Coleridge's in the British Museum, the
source from which Wordsworth derived his description of Georgian
scenery in 'Ruth'. He does, I know, refer to Bartram, but the whole
passage is a poetical rendering, and a pretty close one, of Bartram's
poetical narrative. I have a portrait--the frontispiece of Bartram's
'Travels'--of Mico Chlucco, king of the Seminoles, whose feathers nod
in the breeze just as did the military casque of the 'youth from
Georgia's shore.'"
Ed.]
[Footnote H:
"North and south almost endless green plains and meadows, embellished
with islets and projecting promontories of high dark forests, where
the pyramidal Magnolia grandiflora ... conspicuously towers."
(Bartram's 'Travels', p. 145).--Ed.]
[Footnote I: The Tone is a River of Somersetshire, at no great distance
from the Quantock Hills. These Hills, which are alluded to a few stanzas
below, are extremely beautiful, and in most places richly covered with
Coppice woods. W. W. 1800.]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: The edition of 1805 substitutes the stanzas beginning,
'It was a fresh and glorious world'
for stanzas 2, 3, and 4 of the above six in this note, but it inserts
these omitted stanzas later on as Nos. 27, 28, 29.--Ed.]
[Sub-Footnote b: Wordsworth wrote to Barren Field in 1828 that this stanza
"was altered, Lamb having observed that it was not English. I like it
better myself;'
(i.e. the version of 1800)
"but certainly to carouse cups--that is to empty them--is the genuine
English."
Ed.]
* * * * *
1800
Towards the close of December 1799, Wordsworth came to live at Dove
Cottage, Town-end, Grasmere. The poems written during the following year
(1800), are more particularly associated with that district of the
Lakes. Two of them were fragments of a canto of 'The Recluse', entitled
"Home at Grasmere," referring to his settlement at Dove Cottage. Others,
such as 'Michael', and 'The Brothers'--classed by him afterwards among
the "Poems founded on the Affections,"--deal with incidents in the rural
life of the dalesmen of Westmoreland and Cumberland. Most of the "Poems
on the Naming of Places" were written during this year; and the "Places"
are all in the neighbourhood of Grasmere. To these were added several
"Pastoral Poems"--such as 'The Idle Shepherd Boys; or, Dungeon-Ghyll
Force'--sundry "Poems of the Fancy," and one or two "Inscriptions." In
all, twenty-five poems were written in the year 1800; and, with the
exception of the two fragments of 'The Recluse', they were published
during the same year in the second volume of the second edition of
"Lyrical Ballads." It is impossible to fix the precise date of the
composition of the fragments of 'The Recluse'; but, as they refer to the
settlement at Dove Cottage--where Wordsworth went to reside with his
sister, on the 21st of December 1799--they may fitly introduce the poems
belonging to the year 1800. They were first published in 1851 in the
'Memoirs of Wordsworth' (vol. i. pp. 157 and 155 respectively), by the
poet's nephew, the late Bishop of Lincoln. The entire canto of 'The
Recluse', entitled "Home at Grasmere," will be included in this edition.
The first two poems which follow, as belonging to the year 1800, are
parts of 'The Recluse', viz. "On Nature's invitation do I come," (which
is ll. 71-97, and 110-125), and "Bleak season was it, turbulent and
bleak," (which is ll. 152-167). They are not reprinted from the
'Memoirs' of 1851, because the text there given was, in several
instances, inaccurately reproduced from the original MS., which has been
re-examined. They were printed here, in 'The Recluse '(1888), and in my
'Life of Wordsworth' (vol. i. 1889).--Ed.
* * * * *
"ON NATURE'S INVITATION DO I COME"
Composed (probably) in 1800.--Published 1851
On Nature's invitation do I come,
By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead,
That made the calmest, fairest spot of earth,
With all its unappropriated good,
My own, and not mine only, for with me 5
Entrenched--say rather peacefully embowered--
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,
A younger orphan of a home extinct,
The only daughter of my parents dwells:
Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir; 10
Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied.
Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God
For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then
Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er 15
Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind
Take pleasure in the midst of happy thoughts,
But either she, whom now I have, who now
Divides with me this loved abode, was there,
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned, 20
Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang;
The thought of her was like a flash of light
Or an unseen companionship, a breath
Or fragrance independent of the wind.
In all my goings, in the new and old 25
Of all my meditations, and in this
Favourite of all, in this the most of all....
Embrace me then, ye hills, and close me in.
Now in the clear and open day I feel
Your guardianship: I take it to my heart; 30
'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night.
But I would call thee beautiful; for mild,
And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art,
Dear valley, having in thy face a smile,
Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased, 35
Pleased with thy crags, and woody steeps, thy lake,
Its one green island, and its winding shores,
The multitude of little rocky hills,
Thy church, and cottages of mountain-stone
Clustered like stars some few, but single most, 40
And lurking dimly in their shy retreats,
Or glancing at each other cheerful looks,
Like separated stars with clouds between.
This Grasmere cottage is identified, much more than Rydal Mount, with
Wordsworth's "poetic prime." It had once been a public-house, bearing
the sign of the Dove and Olive Bough--and as such is referred to in 'The
Waggoner'--from which circumstance it was for a long time, and is now
usually, called "Dove Cottage." A small two storied house, it is
described somewhat minutely--as it was in Wordsworth's time--by De
Quincey, in his 'Recollections of the Lakes', and by the late Bishop of
Lincoln, in the 'Memoirs' of his uncle.
"The front of it faces the lake; behind is a small plot of orchard and
garden ground, in which there is a spring and rocks; the enclosure
shelves upwards towards the woody sides of the mountains above it."
[A]
The following is De Quincey's description of it, as he saw it in the
summer of 1807.
"A white cottage, with two yew trees breaking the glare of its white
walls" (these yews still stand on the eastern side of the cottage). "A
little semi-vestibule between two doors prefaced the entrance into
what might be considered the principal room of the cottage. It was an
oblong square, not above eight and a half feet high, sixteen feet
long, and twelve broad; wainscoted from floor to ceiling with dark
polished oak, slightly embellished with carving. One window there
was--a perfect and unpretending cottage window, with little diamond
panes, embowered at almost every season of the year with roses; and,
in the summer and autumn, with a profusion of jasmine, and other
fragrant shrubs.... I was ushered up a little flight of stairs,
fourteen in all, to a little drawing-room, or whatever the reader
chooses to call it. Wordsworth himself has described the fireplace of
this room as his
'Half-kitchen and half-parlour fire.'
It was not fully seven feet six inches high, and in other respects
pretty nearly of the same dimensions as the rustic hall below. There
was, however, in a small recess, a library of perhaps three hundred
volumes, which seemed to consecrate the room as the poet's study and
composing room, and such occasionally it was. But far oftener he both
studied, as I found, and composed on the high road." [B]
Other poems of later years refer, much more fully than the above, to
this cottage, and its orchard ground, where so many of Wordsworth's
lyrics were composed.
The "orchard ground," which was for the most part in grass, sloped
upwards; but a considerable portion of the natural rock was exposed; and
on its face, some rough stone steps were cut by Wordsworth, helped by a
near neighbour of his--John Fisher--so as more conveniently to reach the
upper terrace, where the poet built for himself a small arbour. All this
garden and orchard ground is not much altered since 1800. The short
terrace walk is curved, with a sloping bank of grass above, shaded by
apple trees, hazel, holly, laburnum, laurel, and mountain ash. Below the
terrace is the well, which supplied the cottage in Wordsworth's time;
and there large leaved primroses still grow, doubtless the successors of
those planted by his own and his sister's hands. Above, and amongst the
rocks, are the daffodils, which they also brought to their
"garden-ground;" the Christmas roses, which they planted near the well,
were removed to the eastern side of the garden, where they flourished
luxuriantly in 1882; but have now, alas! disappeared. The box-wood
planted by the poet grows close to the cottage. The arbour is now gone;
but, in the place where it stood, a seat is erected. The hidden brook
still sings its under-song, as it used to do, "its quiet soul on all
bestowing," and the green linnet may doubtless be seen now, as it used
to be in 1803. The allusions to the garden ground at Dove Cottage, in
the poems which follow, will be noted as they occur.--Ed.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: See the 'Memoirs of Wordsworth', vol. i. p. 156.--Ed.]
[Footnote B: See 'Recollections of the Lakes', etc., pp. 130-137, Works,
vol. ii., edition of 1862.--Ed.]
* * * * *
"BLEAK SEASON WAS IT, TURBULENT AND BLEAK" [A]
Composed (probably) in 1800.--Published 1851
Bleak season was it, turbulent and bleak,
When hitherward we journeyed, side by side,
Through burst of sunshine and through flying showers,
Paced the long vales, how long they were, and yet
How fast that length of way was left behind, 5
Wensley's rich vale and Sedbergh's naked heights.
The frosty wind, as if to make amends
For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps,
And drove us onward like two ships at sea;
Or, like two birds, companions in mid-air, 10
Parted and reunited by the blast.
Stern was the face of nature; we rejoiced
In that stern countenance; for our souls thence drew
A feeling of their strength. The naked trees,
The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared 15
To question us, "Whence come ye? To what end?"
This poem refers to a winter journey on foot, which Wordsworth and his
sister took from Sockburn to Grasmere, by Wensleydale and Askrigg; and,
since he has left us an account of this journey, in a letter to
Coleridge, written a few days after their arrival at Grasmere--a letter
in which his characterisation of Nature is almost as happy as it is in
his best poems--some extracts from it may here be appended.
"We left Sockburn last Tuesday morning. We crossed the Tees by
moonlight in the Sockburn fields, and after ten good miles riding came
in sight of the Swale. It is there a beautiful river, with its green
banks and flat holms scattered over with trees. Four miles further
brought us to Richmond, with its huge ivied castle, its friarage
steeple, its castle tower resembling a huge steeple.... We were now in
Wensleydale, and D. and I set off side by side to foot it as far as
Kendal.... We reached Askrigg, twelve miles, before six in the
evening, having been obliged to walk the last two miles over hard
frozen roads.... Next morning the earth was thinly covered with snow,
enough to make the road soft and prevent its being slippery. On
leaving Askrigg we turned aside to see another waterfall. It was a
beautiful morning, with driving snow showers, which disappeared by
fits, and unveiled the east, which was all one delicious pale orange
colour. After walking through two small fields we came to a mill,
which we passed, and in a moment a sweet little valley opened before
us, with an area of grassy ground, and a stream dashing over various
laminæ of black rocks close under a bank covered with firs; the bank
and stream on our left, another woody bank on our right, and the flat
meadow in front, from which, as at Buttermere, the stream had retired,
as it were, to hide itself under the shade. As we walked up this
delightful valley we were tempted to look back perpetually on the
stream, which reflected the orange lights of the morning among the
gloomy rocks, with a brightness varying with the agitation of the
current. The steeple of Askrigg was between us and the east, at the
bottom of the valley; it was not a quart
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