[15] 145
He launched his vessel,--and in pride
Of spirit, from Loch-Leven's side,
Stepped into it--his thoughts all free
As the light breezes that with glee
Sang through the adventurer's hair.
He launched his vessel,--and in pride
Of spirit, from Loch-Leven's side,
Stepped into it--his thoughts all free
As the light breezes that with glee
Sang through the adventurer's hair.
William Wordsworth
The scene when I saw
it, with its still and dim lake, under the dusky hills, was one of
utter loneliness: there was _one_ swan, and one only, stemming the
water, and the pathetic loneliness of the region gave importance to
the one companion of that swan, its own white image in the water. It
was for that reason that I recorded the Swan and the Shadow. Had there
been many swans and many shadows, they would have implied nothing as
regards the character of the place; and I should have said nothing
about them. "
See his 'Essays, chiefly on Poetry', vol. ii. p. 277.
Wordsworth wrote to his friend, Walter Scott, to thank him for a copy of
'The Lay of the Last Minstrel', and in return sent a copy of these
stanzas, 'Yarrow Unvisited'. Scott replied gratefully on the 16th March
1805, and said,
". . . I by no means admit your apology, however ingeniously and
artfully stated, for not visiting the bonny holms of Yarrow, and
certainly will not rest till I have prevailed upon you to compare the
ideal with the real stream. "
Wordsworth had asked him if he could suggest any name more true to the
place than Burnmill, in the line, "The sweets of Burn-mill meadow. "
Scott replied:
"We have Broad-meadow upon Yarrow, which with the addition of green or
fair or any other epithet of one syllable, will give truth to the
locality, and supply the place of Burnmill meadow, which we have not.
. . . I like your swan upon St. Mary's Lake. How came you to know that
it is actually frequented by that superb bird? "
(See 'Familiar Letters of Sir Walter Scott', vol. i. pp. 28, 29. )--Ed. ]
"September 18, 1803. --We left the Tweed when we were within about a
mile and a half or two miles of Clovenford, where we were to lodge.
Turned up the side of a hill, and went along sheep-grounds till we
reached the spot--a single stone house, without a tree near it or to
be seen from it. On our mentioning Mr. Scott's name, the woman of the
house showed us all possible civility, but her slowness was really
amusing. I should suppose it a house little frequented, for there is
no appearance of an inn. Mr. Scott, who she told me was a very clever
gentleman, 'goes there in the fishing season;' but indeed Mr. Scott is
respected everywhere; I believe that by favour of his name one might
be hospitably entertained throughout all the borders of Scotland. We
dined and drank tea--did not walk out, for there was no temptation; a
confined barren prospect from the window.
"At Clovenford, being so near to the Yarrow, we could not but think of
the possibility of going thither, but came to the conclusion of
reserving the pleasure for some future time, in consequence of which,
after our return, William wrote the poem which I shall here
transcribe. "
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803. )--Ed.
* * * * *
THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH AND HER HUSBAND
Composed between 1803 and 1805. --Published 1807
At Jedborough we went into private Lodgings for a few days; and the
following Verses were called forth by the character, and domestic
situation, of our Hostess. --W. W. 1807.
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age" in 1815 and
1820. --Ed.
Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours;
And bid them dance, and bid them sing;
And thou, too, mingle in the ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight; 5
If not, make merry in despite
That [1] there is One who scorns thy power:--
But dance! for under Jedborough Tower,
A Matron dwells who, though she bears
The weight of more than seventy years, 10
Lives in the light of youthful glee, [2]
And she will dance and sing with thee.
Nay! start not at that Figure--there!
Him who is rooted to his chair!
Look at him--look again! for he 15
Hath long been of thy family.
With legs that move not, if they can,
And useless arms, a trunk of man,
He sits, and with a vacant eye;
A sight to make a stranger sigh! 20
Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom:
His world is in this single room:
Is this a place for mirthful cheer? [3]
Can merry-making enter here? [A]
The joyous Woman is the Mate 25
Of him in that forlorn estate!
He breathes a subterraneous damp;
But bright as Vesper shines her lamp:
He is as mute as Jedborough Tower:
She jocund as it was of yore, 30
With all its bravery on; in times
When all alive with merry chimes,
Upon a sun-bright morn of May,
It roused the Vale to holiday.
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due 35
Is praise, heroic praise, and true!
With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold:
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent: 40
This do I see; and something more;
A strength unthought of heretofore!
Delighted am I for thy sake;
And yet a higher joy partake:
Our Human-nature throws away 45
Its second twilight, and looks gay;
A land of promise and of pride
Unfolding, wide as life is wide.
Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed
Within himself as seems, composed; 50
To fear of loss, and hope of gain,
The strife of happiness and pain,
Utterly dead! yet in the guise
Of little infants, when their eyes
Begin to follow to and fro 55
The persons that before them go,
He tracks her motions, quick or slow.
Her buoyant spirit can prevail
Where common cheerfulness would fail;
She strikes upon him with the heat 60
Of July suns; he feels it sweet;
An animal delight though dim!
'Tis all that now remains for him!
The more I looked, I wondered more--
And, while I scanned them o'er and o'er, [4] 65
Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye--[5]
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright! [B]
Nor long this mystery did detain 70
My thoughts;--she told in pensive strain [6]
That she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a twofold stroke;
Ill health of body; and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind. 75
So be it! --but let praise ascend
To Him who is our lord and friend!
Who from disease and suffering
[7] Hath called for thee a second spring;
Repaid thee for that sore distress 80
By no untimely joyousness;
Which makes of thine a blissful state;
And cheers thy melancholy Mate!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
For . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1837.
. . . under Jedborough Tower
There liveth in the prime of glee,
A Woman, whose years are seventy-three,
And She . . . 1807.
There lives a woman of seventy-three,
And she will dance and sing with thee, MS.
A Matron dwells, who though she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee, 1827. ]
[Variant 3:
1827.
. . . for mirth and cheer? 1807. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er;
The more I look'd I wonder'd more: 1807. ]
[Variant 5:
1837.
When suddenly I seem'd to espy
A trouble in her strong black eye; 1807.
A moment gave me to espy
A trouble . . . 1827. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
And soon she made this matter plain;
And told me, in a thoughtful strain, 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
As bad almost as Life can bring, Added in MS. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare Tennyson's 'Deserted House', stanza iv. :
'Come away: no more of mirth
Is here, or merry-making sound. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare stanza xiii. of 'Resolution and Independence', p.
318. --Ed. ]
Sept. 20, 1803.
"We were received with hearty welcome by a good woman, who, though
above seventy years old, moved about as briskly as if she was only
seventeen. Those parts of the house which we were to occupy were neat
and clean; she showed me every corner, and, before I had been ten
minutes in the house, opened her very drawers that I might see what a
stock of linen she had; then asked how long we should stay, and said
she wished we were come for three months. She was a most remarkable
person; the alacrity with which she ran up-stairs when we rung the
bell, and guessed at, and strove to prevent, our wants was surprising;
she had a quick eye, and keen strong features, and a joyousness in her
motions, like what used to be in old Molly when she was particularly
elated. I found afterwards that she had been subject to fits of
dejection and ill-health: we then conjectured that her overflowing
gaiety and strength might in part be attributed to the same cause as
her former dejection. Her husband was deaf and infirm, and sate in a
chair with scarcely the power to move a limb--an affecting contrast!
The old woman said they had been a very hard-working pair; they had
wrought like slaves at their trade--her husband had been a currier;
and she told me how they had portioned off their daughters with money,
and each a feather bed, and that in their old age they had laid out
the little they could spare in building and furnishing that house, and
she added with pride that she had lived in her youth in the family of
Lady Egerton, who was no high lady, and now was in the habit of coming
to her house whenever she was at Jedburgh, and a hundred other things;
for when she once began with Lady Egerton, she did not know how to
stop, nor did I wish it, for she was very entertaining. Mr. Scott sat
with us an hour or two, and repeated a part of the 'Lay of the Last
Minstrel'. When he was gone our hostess came to see if we wanted
anything, and to wish us good-night. On all occasions her manners were
governed by the same spirit: there was no withdrawing one's attention
from her. We were so much interested that William, long afterwards,
thought it worth while to express in verse the sensations which she
had excited, and which then remained as vividly in his mind as at the
moment when we lost sight of Jedburgh. "
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803. )--Ed.
* * * * *
"FLY, SOME KIND HARBINGER, TO GRASMERE-DALE" [A]
Composed September 25, 1803. --Published 1815
[This was actually composed the last day of our tour between Dalston and
Grasmere. --I. F. ]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets" in 1815 and 1820. --Ed.
Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale! [1]
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height, [2]
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;
There let a mystery of joy prevail, 5
The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite, [3]
And Rover whine, as at a second sight
Of near-approaching good that shall not fail:
And from that Infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one companion child--10
That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,
While we have wandered over wood and wild--
Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
Fly, some kind Spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale! 1815.
. . . dale, 1827. ]
[Variant 2:
1837.
Glad tidings! --spread them over field and height; 1815. ]
[Variant 3:
1837.
The Kitten frolic with unruly might, 1815.
The happy Kitten bound with frolic might, 1827. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In the editions of 1815 and 1820, this poem bore the title,
'On approaching Home, after a Tour in Scotland, 1803',--Ed. ]
"Sunday, September 25, 1803. --A beautiful autumnal day. Breakfasted at
a public-house by the road-side; dined at Threlkeld; arrived at home
between eight and nine o'clock, where we found Mary in perfect health,
Joanna Hutchinson with her, and little John asleep in the
clothes-basket by the fire. "
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803. )--Ed.
* * * * *
THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY
A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE, AFTER RETURNING TO THE VALE OF GRASMERE[A]
Date of composition uncertain. --Published 1807
[The story was told me by George Mackereth, for many years parish-clerk
of Grasmere. He had been an eye-witness of the occurrence. The vessel in
reality was a washing-tub, which the little fellow had met with on the
shores of the Loch. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood" in 1815 and
1820. --Ed.
Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
Have [1] romped enough, my little Boy!
Jane hangs her head upon my breast,
And you shall bring your stool and rest;
This corner is your own. 5
There! take your seat, and let me see
That [2] you can listen quietly:
And, as I promised, I will tell [3]
That strange adventure which befel
A poor blind Highland Boy. 10
A _Highland_ Boy! --why call him so?
Because, my Darlings, ye must know
That, under hills which rise like towers, [4]
Far higher hills than these of ours!
He from his birth had lived. 15
He ne'er had seen one earthly sight
The sun, the day; the stars, the night;
Or tree, or butterfly, or flower,
Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,
Or woman, man, or child. 20
And yet he neither drooped nor pined,
Nor had a melancholy mind;
For God took pity on the Boy,
And was his friend; and gave him joy
Of which we nothing know. 25
His Mother, too, no doubt, above
Her other children him did love:
For, was she here, or was she there,
She thought of him with constant care,
And more than mother's love. 30
And proud she was of heart, when clad
In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a feather gay,
To Kirk he on the sabbath day
Went hand in hand with her. 35
A dog too, had he; not for need,
But one to play with and to feed;
Which would [5] have led him, if bereft
Of company or friends, and left
Without a better guide. 40
And then the bagpipes he could blow--
And thus from house to house would go;
And all were pleased to hear and see,
For none made sweeter melody
Than did the poor blind Boy. 45
Yet he had many a restless dream;
Both when he heard the eagles scream,
And when he heard the torrents roar,
And heard the water beat the shore
Near which their cottage stood. 50
Beside a lake their cottage stood,
Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size, and strange;
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
And stirring in its bed. 55
For to this lake, by night and day,
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills
And drinks up all the pretty [B] rills
And rivers large and strong: [C] 60
Then hurries back the road it came--
Returns, on errand still the same;
This did it when the earth was new;
And this for evermore will do,
As long as earth shall last. 65
And, with the coming of the tide,
Come boats and ships that safely [6] ride
Between the woods and lofty rocks;
And to the shepherds with their flocks
Bring tales of distant lands. 70
And of those tales, whate'er they were,
The blind Boy always had his share;
Whether of mighty towns, or vales
With warmer suns and softer gales,
Or wonders of the Deep. 75
Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred,
When from the water-side he heard
The shouting, and the jolly cheers;
The bustle of the mariners
In stillness or in storm. 80
But what do his desires avail?
For He must never handle sail;
Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float
In sailor's ship, or fisher's boat,
Upon the rocking waves. 85
His Mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her head
If she should suffer this: "My Son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone;
The danger is so great. " 90
Thus lived he by Loch-Leven's side
Still sounding with the sounding tide,
And heard the billows leap and dance,
Without a shadow of mischance,
Till he was ten years old. 95
When one day (and now mark me well,
Ye [7] soon shall know how this befell)
He in a vessel of his own,
On the swift flood is hurrying down,
Down to the mighty Sea. [8] 100
In such a vessel never more
May human creature leave the Shore! [9]
If this or that way he should stir,
Woe to the poor blind Mariner!
For death will be his doom. 105
[10]
But say what bears him? --Ye have seen
The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright;
Gifts which, for wonder or delight,
Are brought in ships from far. [11] 110
[D] Such gifts had those seafaring men
Spread round that haven in the glen;
Each hut, perchance, might have its own;
And to the Boy they all were known--
He knew and prized them all. 115
The rarest was a Turtle-shell
Which he, poor Child, had studied well;
A shell of ample size, and light
As the pearly car of Amphitrite,
That sportive dolphins drew. [12] 120
And, as a Coracle that braves
On Vaga's breast the fretful waves,
This shell upon the deep would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim
Above the tossing surge. [13] 125
And this the little blind Boy knew:
And he a story strange yet true
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English Boy, O thought of bliss!
Had stoutly launched from shore; 130
Launched from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sailed far--
To join that gallant ship of war,
In his delightful shell. 135
Our Highland Boy oft visited
'The house that [14] held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come
One day when no one was at home,
And found the door unbarred. 140
While there he sate, alone and blind,
That story flashed upon his mind;--
A bold thought roused him, and he took
The shell from out its secret nook,
And bore it on his head.
[15] 145
He launched his vessel,--and in pride
Of spirit, from Loch-Leven's side,
Stepped into it--his thoughts all free
As the light breezes that with glee
Sang through the adventurer's hair. [16] 150
A while he stood upon his feet;
He felt the motion--took his seat;
Still better pleased as more and more
The tide retreated from the shore,
And sucked, and sucked him in. [17] 155
And there he is in face of Heaven.
How rapidly the Child is driven!
The fourth part of a mile, I ween,
He thus had gone, ere he was seen
By any human eye. 160
But when he was first seen, oh me
What shrieking and what misery!
For many saw; among the rest
His Mother, she who loved him best,
She saw her poor blind Boy. 165
But for the child, the sightless Boy,
It is the triumph of his joy!
The bravest traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the moon,
Was never half so blessed. 170
And let him, let him go his way,
Alone, and innocent, and gay!
For, if good Angels love to wait
On the forlorn unfortunate,
This Child will take no harm. 175
But now the passionate lament,
Which from the crowd on shore was sent,
The cries which broke from old and young
In Gaelic, or the English tongue,
Are stifled--all is still. 180
And quickly with a silent crew
A boat is ready to pursue;
And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running lake
They follow the blind Boy. 185
But soon they move with softer pace;
So have ye seen the fowler chase
On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
With deftly-lifted oar; 190
Or as the wily sailors crept
To seize (while on the Deep it slept)
The hapless creature which did dwell
Erewhile within the dancing shell,
They steal upon their prey. [18] 195
With sound the least that can be made,
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,
And guesses their intent. 200
"_Lei-gha--Lei-gha_"--he then cried out,
"_Lei-gha--Lei-gha_"--with eager shout; [19]
Thus did he cry, and thus did pray,
And what he meant was, "Keep away,
And leave me to myself! " [E] 205
Alas! and when he felt their hands--
You've often heard [20] of magic wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,
Or melt it into air: 210
So all his dreams--that inward light
With which his soul had shone so bright--
All vanished;--'twas a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,
As he had ever known. 215
But hark! a gratulating voice,
With which the very hills rejoice:
'Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly
Have [21] watched the event, and now can see
That he is safe at last. 220
And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which, gathering round, did on the banks
Of that great Water give God thanks,
And welcomed the poor Child. 225
And in the general joy of heart
The blind Boy's little dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation. 230
But most of all, his Mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when waking she espies
The Child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the blind Boy. 235
She led him home, and wept amain,
When he was in the house again:
Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes;
She kissed him--how could she chastise? [22]
She was too happy far. 240
Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased and reconciled
To live in peace on shore. 245
And in the lonely Highland dell
Still do they keep the Turtle-shell;
And long the story will repeat
Of the blind Boy's adventurous feat,
And how he was preserved. [23] 250
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
We've . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1807.
How . . . MS. ]
[Variant 3:
1807.
Aye, willingly, and what is more
One which you never heard before,
True story this which I shall tell MS. ]
[Variant 4:
1837.
In land where many a mountain towers, 1807. ]
[Variant 5:
1807.
. . . could . . . MS. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
. . . sweetly . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
1815.
You . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1837.
He's in a vessel of his own,
On the swift water hurrying down
Towards the mighty Sea. 1807.
He in a vessel of his own,
On the swift flood is hurrying down 1827.
Towards the great, great Sea. MS. ]
[Variant 9:
1815.
. . . ne'er before
Did human Creature . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 10: The following stanza was only in the edition of 1807:
Strong is the current; but be mild,
Ye waves, and spare the helpless Child!
If ye in anger fret or chafe,
A Bee-hive would be ship as safe
As that in which he sails. ]
[Variant 11:
1815.
But say, what was it? Thought of fear!
Well may ye tremble when ye hear!
--A Household Tub, like one of those,
Which women use to wash their clothes,
This carried the blind Boy. 1807. ]
[Variant 12:
1820.
And one, the rarest, was a Shell
Which he, poor Child, had studied well;
The Shell of a green Turtle, thin
And hollow;--you might sit therein.
It was so wide and deep. 1815. ]
[Variant 13:
1820.
'Twas even the largest of its kind,
Large, thin, and light as birch-tree rind;
So light a Shell that it would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim
Above the tossing waves. 1815. ]
[Variant 14:
1837.
. . . which . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 15:
1827.
. . . in his arms. 1815. ]
[Variant 16:
1827.
Close to the water he had found
This Vessel, push'd it from dry ground,
Went into it; and, without dread,
Following the fancies in his head,
He paddled up and down. 1807.
And with the happy burthen hied,
And pushed it from Loch Levin's side,--
Stepped into it; and, without dread, 1815. ]
[Variant 17:
1827.
And dallied thus, till from the shore
The tide retreating more and more
Had suck'd, and suck'd him in. 1807. ]
[Variant 18: The two previous stanzas were added in the edition of 1815. ]
[Variant 19:
1837.
. . . then did he cry
. . . most eagerly; 1807. ]
[Variant 20:
1807.
. . . read . . . MS. ]
[Variant 21:
1837.
Had . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 22:
1832.
She could not blame him, or chastise; 1807. ]
[Variant 23: This stanza was added in the edition of 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The title in the editions of 1807 to 1820 was 'The Blind
Highland Boy. (A Tale told by the Fireside. )'
This poem gave its title to a separate division in the second volume of
the edition of 1807, viz. "The Blind Highland Boy; with other
Poems. "--Ed. ]
[Footnote B: This reading occurs in all the editions. But Wordsworth,
whose MS. was not specially clear, may have written, or meant to write
"petty," (a much better word), and not perceived the mistake when
revising the sheets. If he really wrote "petty," he may have meant
either small rills (rillets), or used the word as Shakespeare used it,
for "pelting" rills. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C: Compare Tennyson's 'In Memoriam', stanza xix. :
'There twice a day the Severn fills;
The salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,
And makes a silence in the hills, etc. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote D: This and the following six stanzas were added in 1815. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E: Writing to Walter Scott, from Coleorton, on Jan. 20, 1807,
Wordsworth sent him this stanza of the poem, and asked
"Could you furnish me, by application to any of your Gaelic friends, a
phrase in that language which could take its place in the following
verse of eight syllables, and have the following meaning. "
He adds,
"The above is part of a little poem which I have written on a Highland
story told me by an eye-witness . . . "
This is the nearest clue we have to the date of the composition of the
poem. --Ed. ]
It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages that a Boy, the Son of a Captain of
a Man of War, seated himself in a Turtle-shell and floated in it from
the shore to his Father's Ship, which lay at anchor at the distance of
half a mile. Upon the suggestion of a Friend, I have substituted such a
Shell for that less elegant vessel in which my blind voyager did
actually intrust himself to the dangerous current of Loch Levin, as was
related to me by an Eye-witness. --W. W. 1815.
This note varies slightly in later editions.
The Loch Leven referred to is a sea-loch in Argyllshire, into which the
tidal water flows with some force from Loch Linnhe at Ballachulish.
'By night and day
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills. '
The friend referred to in the note of 1815, who urged Wordsworth to give
his blind voyager a Shell, instead of a washing-tub to sail in, was
Coleridge. The original tale of the tub was not more unfortunate than
the lines in praise of Wilkinson's spade, and several of Wordsworth's
friends, notably Charles Lamb and Barren Field, objected to the change.
Lamb wrote to Wordsworth in 1815,
"I am afraid lest that substitution of a shell (a flat falsification
of the history) for the household implement, as it stood at first, was
a kind of tub thrown out to the beast" [_i. e. _ the reviewer! ] "or
rather thrown out for him. The tub was a good honest tub in its place,
and nothing could fairly be said against it. You say you made the
alteration for the 'friendly reader,' but the 'malicious' will take it
to himself. "
('The Letters of Charles Lamb', edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. p.
283. ) Wordsworth could not be induced to "undo his work," and go back to
his own original; although he evidently agreed with what Lamb had said
(as is seen in a letter to Barren Field, Oct. 24, 1828). --Ed.
* * * * *
OCTOBER, 1803
Composed October 1803. --Published 1807
Included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; renamed in 1845,
"Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty. "--Ed.
One might believe that natural miseries
Had blasted France, and made of it a land
Unfit for men; and that in one great band
Her sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.
But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze 5
Shed gentle favours: rural works are there,
And ordinary business without care;
Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!
How piteous then that there should be such dearth
Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite 10
To work against themselves such fell despite:
Should come in phrensy and in drunken mirth,
Impatient to put out the only light
Of Liberty that yet remains on earth!
* * * * *
"THERE IS A BONDAGE WORSE, FAR WORSE, TO BEAR"
Composed possibly in 1803. --Published 1807
Included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; renamed in 1845,
"Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty. "--Ed.
There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear [1]
Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall,
Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
'Tis his who walks about in the open air,
One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear 5
Their fetters in their souls. For who could be,
Who, even the best, in such condition, free
From self-reproach, reproach that [2] he must share
With Human-nature? Never be it ours
To see the sun how brightly it will shine, 10
And know that noble feelings, manly powers,
Instead of gathering strength, must droop and pine;
And earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers
Fade, and participate in man's decline.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
. . . which is worse to bear 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1837.
.
it, with its still and dim lake, under the dusky hills, was one of
utter loneliness: there was _one_ swan, and one only, stemming the
water, and the pathetic loneliness of the region gave importance to
the one companion of that swan, its own white image in the water. It
was for that reason that I recorded the Swan and the Shadow. Had there
been many swans and many shadows, they would have implied nothing as
regards the character of the place; and I should have said nothing
about them. "
See his 'Essays, chiefly on Poetry', vol. ii. p. 277.
Wordsworth wrote to his friend, Walter Scott, to thank him for a copy of
'The Lay of the Last Minstrel', and in return sent a copy of these
stanzas, 'Yarrow Unvisited'. Scott replied gratefully on the 16th March
1805, and said,
". . . I by no means admit your apology, however ingeniously and
artfully stated, for not visiting the bonny holms of Yarrow, and
certainly will not rest till I have prevailed upon you to compare the
ideal with the real stream. "
Wordsworth had asked him if he could suggest any name more true to the
place than Burnmill, in the line, "The sweets of Burn-mill meadow. "
Scott replied:
"We have Broad-meadow upon Yarrow, which with the addition of green or
fair or any other epithet of one syllable, will give truth to the
locality, and supply the place of Burnmill meadow, which we have not.
. . . I like your swan upon St. Mary's Lake. How came you to know that
it is actually frequented by that superb bird? "
(See 'Familiar Letters of Sir Walter Scott', vol. i. pp. 28, 29. )--Ed. ]
"September 18, 1803. --We left the Tweed when we were within about a
mile and a half or two miles of Clovenford, where we were to lodge.
Turned up the side of a hill, and went along sheep-grounds till we
reached the spot--a single stone house, without a tree near it or to
be seen from it. On our mentioning Mr. Scott's name, the woman of the
house showed us all possible civility, but her slowness was really
amusing. I should suppose it a house little frequented, for there is
no appearance of an inn. Mr. Scott, who she told me was a very clever
gentleman, 'goes there in the fishing season;' but indeed Mr. Scott is
respected everywhere; I believe that by favour of his name one might
be hospitably entertained throughout all the borders of Scotland. We
dined and drank tea--did not walk out, for there was no temptation; a
confined barren prospect from the window.
"At Clovenford, being so near to the Yarrow, we could not but think of
the possibility of going thither, but came to the conclusion of
reserving the pleasure for some future time, in consequence of which,
after our return, William wrote the poem which I shall here
transcribe. "
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803. )--Ed.
* * * * *
THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH AND HER HUSBAND
Composed between 1803 and 1805. --Published 1807
At Jedborough we went into private Lodgings for a few days; and the
following Verses were called forth by the character, and domestic
situation, of our Hostess. --W. W. 1807.
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age" in 1815 and
1820. --Ed.
Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours;
And bid them dance, and bid them sing;
And thou, too, mingle in the ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight; 5
If not, make merry in despite
That [1] there is One who scorns thy power:--
But dance! for under Jedborough Tower,
A Matron dwells who, though she bears
The weight of more than seventy years, 10
Lives in the light of youthful glee, [2]
And she will dance and sing with thee.
Nay! start not at that Figure--there!
Him who is rooted to his chair!
Look at him--look again! for he 15
Hath long been of thy family.
With legs that move not, if they can,
And useless arms, a trunk of man,
He sits, and with a vacant eye;
A sight to make a stranger sigh! 20
Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom:
His world is in this single room:
Is this a place for mirthful cheer? [3]
Can merry-making enter here? [A]
The joyous Woman is the Mate 25
Of him in that forlorn estate!
He breathes a subterraneous damp;
But bright as Vesper shines her lamp:
He is as mute as Jedborough Tower:
She jocund as it was of yore, 30
With all its bravery on; in times
When all alive with merry chimes,
Upon a sun-bright morn of May,
It roused the Vale to holiday.
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due 35
Is praise, heroic praise, and true!
With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold:
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent: 40
This do I see; and something more;
A strength unthought of heretofore!
Delighted am I for thy sake;
And yet a higher joy partake:
Our Human-nature throws away 45
Its second twilight, and looks gay;
A land of promise and of pride
Unfolding, wide as life is wide.
Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed
Within himself as seems, composed; 50
To fear of loss, and hope of gain,
The strife of happiness and pain,
Utterly dead! yet in the guise
Of little infants, when their eyes
Begin to follow to and fro 55
The persons that before them go,
He tracks her motions, quick or slow.
Her buoyant spirit can prevail
Where common cheerfulness would fail;
She strikes upon him with the heat 60
Of July suns; he feels it sweet;
An animal delight though dim!
'Tis all that now remains for him!
The more I looked, I wondered more--
And, while I scanned them o'er and o'er, [4] 65
Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye--[5]
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright! [B]
Nor long this mystery did detain 70
My thoughts;--she told in pensive strain [6]
That she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a twofold stroke;
Ill health of body; and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind. 75
So be it! --but let praise ascend
To Him who is our lord and friend!
Who from disease and suffering
[7] Hath called for thee a second spring;
Repaid thee for that sore distress 80
By no untimely joyousness;
Which makes of thine a blissful state;
And cheers thy melancholy Mate!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
For . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1837.
. . . under Jedborough Tower
There liveth in the prime of glee,
A Woman, whose years are seventy-three,
And She . . . 1807.
There lives a woman of seventy-three,
And she will dance and sing with thee, MS.
A Matron dwells, who though she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee, 1827. ]
[Variant 3:
1827.
. . . for mirth and cheer? 1807. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
I look'd, I scann'd her o'er and o'er;
The more I look'd I wonder'd more: 1807. ]
[Variant 5:
1837.
When suddenly I seem'd to espy
A trouble in her strong black eye; 1807.
A moment gave me to espy
A trouble . . . 1827. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
And soon she made this matter plain;
And told me, in a thoughtful strain, 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
As bad almost as Life can bring, Added in MS. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare Tennyson's 'Deserted House', stanza iv. :
'Come away: no more of mirth
Is here, or merry-making sound. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare stanza xiii. of 'Resolution and Independence', p.
318. --Ed. ]
Sept. 20, 1803.
"We were received with hearty welcome by a good woman, who, though
above seventy years old, moved about as briskly as if she was only
seventeen. Those parts of the house which we were to occupy were neat
and clean; she showed me every corner, and, before I had been ten
minutes in the house, opened her very drawers that I might see what a
stock of linen she had; then asked how long we should stay, and said
she wished we were come for three months. She was a most remarkable
person; the alacrity with which she ran up-stairs when we rung the
bell, and guessed at, and strove to prevent, our wants was surprising;
she had a quick eye, and keen strong features, and a joyousness in her
motions, like what used to be in old Molly when she was particularly
elated. I found afterwards that she had been subject to fits of
dejection and ill-health: we then conjectured that her overflowing
gaiety and strength might in part be attributed to the same cause as
her former dejection. Her husband was deaf and infirm, and sate in a
chair with scarcely the power to move a limb--an affecting contrast!
The old woman said they had been a very hard-working pair; they had
wrought like slaves at their trade--her husband had been a currier;
and she told me how they had portioned off their daughters with money,
and each a feather bed, and that in their old age they had laid out
the little they could spare in building and furnishing that house, and
she added with pride that she had lived in her youth in the family of
Lady Egerton, who was no high lady, and now was in the habit of coming
to her house whenever she was at Jedburgh, and a hundred other things;
for when she once began with Lady Egerton, she did not know how to
stop, nor did I wish it, for she was very entertaining. Mr. Scott sat
with us an hour or two, and repeated a part of the 'Lay of the Last
Minstrel'. When he was gone our hostess came to see if we wanted
anything, and to wish us good-night. On all occasions her manners were
governed by the same spirit: there was no withdrawing one's attention
from her. We were so much interested that William, long afterwards,
thought it worth while to express in verse the sensations which she
had excited, and which then remained as vividly in his mind as at the
moment when we lost sight of Jedburgh. "
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803. )--Ed.
* * * * *
"FLY, SOME KIND HARBINGER, TO GRASMERE-DALE" [A]
Composed September 25, 1803. --Published 1815
[This was actually composed the last day of our tour between Dalston and
Grasmere. --I. F. ]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets" in 1815 and 1820. --Ed.
Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere-dale! [1]
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height, [2]
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;
There let a mystery of joy prevail, 5
The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite, [3]
And Rover whine, as at a second sight
Of near-approaching good that shall not fail:
And from that Infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one companion child--10
That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,
While we have wandered over wood and wild--
Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
Fly, some kind Spirit, fly to Grasmere Vale! 1815.
. . . dale, 1827. ]
[Variant 2:
1837.
Glad tidings! --spread them over field and height; 1815. ]
[Variant 3:
1837.
The Kitten frolic with unruly might, 1815.
The happy Kitten bound with frolic might, 1827. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In the editions of 1815 and 1820, this poem bore the title,
'On approaching Home, after a Tour in Scotland, 1803',--Ed. ]
"Sunday, September 25, 1803. --A beautiful autumnal day. Breakfasted at
a public-house by the road-side; dined at Threlkeld; arrived at home
between eight and nine o'clock, where we found Mary in perfect health,
Joanna Hutchinson with her, and little John asleep in the
clothes-basket by the fire. "
(From Dorothy Wordsworth's 'Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland',
1803. )--Ed.
* * * * *
THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY
A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE, AFTER RETURNING TO THE VALE OF GRASMERE[A]
Date of composition uncertain. --Published 1807
[The story was told me by George Mackereth, for many years parish-clerk
of Grasmere. He had been an eye-witness of the occurrence. The vessel in
reality was a washing-tub, which the little fellow had met with on the
shores of the Loch. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood" in 1815 and
1820. --Ed.
Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
Have [1] romped enough, my little Boy!
Jane hangs her head upon my breast,
And you shall bring your stool and rest;
This corner is your own. 5
There! take your seat, and let me see
That [2] you can listen quietly:
And, as I promised, I will tell [3]
That strange adventure which befel
A poor blind Highland Boy. 10
A _Highland_ Boy! --why call him so?
Because, my Darlings, ye must know
That, under hills which rise like towers, [4]
Far higher hills than these of ours!
He from his birth had lived. 15
He ne'er had seen one earthly sight
The sun, the day; the stars, the night;
Or tree, or butterfly, or flower,
Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,
Or woman, man, or child. 20
And yet he neither drooped nor pined,
Nor had a melancholy mind;
For God took pity on the Boy,
And was his friend; and gave him joy
Of which we nothing know. 25
His Mother, too, no doubt, above
Her other children him did love:
For, was she here, or was she there,
She thought of him with constant care,
And more than mother's love. 30
And proud she was of heart, when clad
In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a feather gay,
To Kirk he on the sabbath day
Went hand in hand with her. 35
A dog too, had he; not for need,
But one to play with and to feed;
Which would [5] have led him, if bereft
Of company or friends, and left
Without a better guide. 40
And then the bagpipes he could blow--
And thus from house to house would go;
And all were pleased to hear and see,
For none made sweeter melody
Than did the poor blind Boy. 45
Yet he had many a restless dream;
Both when he heard the eagles scream,
And when he heard the torrents roar,
And heard the water beat the shore
Near which their cottage stood. 50
Beside a lake their cottage stood,
Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size, and strange;
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
And stirring in its bed. 55
For to this lake, by night and day,
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills
And drinks up all the pretty [B] rills
And rivers large and strong: [C] 60
Then hurries back the road it came--
Returns, on errand still the same;
This did it when the earth was new;
And this for evermore will do,
As long as earth shall last. 65
And, with the coming of the tide,
Come boats and ships that safely [6] ride
Between the woods and lofty rocks;
And to the shepherds with their flocks
Bring tales of distant lands. 70
And of those tales, whate'er they were,
The blind Boy always had his share;
Whether of mighty towns, or vales
With warmer suns and softer gales,
Or wonders of the Deep. 75
Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred,
When from the water-side he heard
The shouting, and the jolly cheers;
The bustle of the mariners
In stillness or in storm. 80
But what do his desires avail?
For He must never handle sail;
Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float
In sailor's ship, or fisher's boat,
Upon the rocking waves. 85
His Mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her head
If she should suffer this: "My Son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone;
The danger is so great. " 90
Thus lived he by Loch-Leven's side
Still sounding with the sounding tide,
And heard the billows leap and dance,
Without a shadow of mischance,
Till he was ten years old. 95
When one day (and now mark me well,
Ye [7] soon shall know how this befell)
He in a vessel of his own,
On the swift flood is hurrying down,
Down to the mighty Sea. [8] 100
In such a vessel never more
May human creature leave the Shore! [9]
If this or that way he should stir,
Woe to the poor blind Mariner!
For death will be his doom. 105
[10]
But say what bears him? --Ye have seen
The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright;
Gifts which, for wonder or delight,
Are brought in ships from far. [11] 110
[D] Such gifts had those seafaring men
Spread round that haven in the glen;
Each hut, perchance, might have its own;
And to the Boy they all were known--
He knew and prized them all. 115
The rarest was a Turtle-shell
Which he, poor Child, had studied well;
A shell of ample size, and light
As the pearly car of Amphitrite,
That sportive dolphins drew. [12] 120
And, as a Coracle that braves
On Vaga's breast the fretful waves,
This shell upon the deep would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim
Above the tossing surge. [13] 125
And this the little blind Boy knew:
And he a story strange yet true
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English Boy, O thought of bliss!
Had stoutly launched from shore; 130
Launched from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sailed far--
To join that gallant ship of war,
In his delightful shell. 135
Our Highland Boy oft visited
'The house that [14] held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come
One day when no one was at home,
And found the door unbarred. 140
While there he sate, alone and blind,
That story flashed upon his mind;--
A bold thought roused him, and he took
The shell from out its secret nook,
And bore it on his head.
[15] 145
He launched his vessel,--and in pride
Of spirit, from Loch-Leven's side,
Stepped into it--his thoughts all free
As the light breezes that with glee
Sang through the adventurer's hair. [16] 150
A while he stood upon his feet;
He felt the motion--took his seat;
Still better pleased as more and more
The tide retreated from the shore,
And sucked, and sucked him in. [17] 155
And there he is in face of Heaven.
How rapidly the Child is driven!
The fourth part of a mile, I ween,
He thus had gone, ere he was seen
By any human eye. 160
But when he was first seen, oh me
What shrieking and what misery!
For many saw; among the rest
His Mother, she who loved him best,
She saw her poor blind Boy. 165
But for the child, the sightless Boy,
It is the triumph of his joy!
The bravest traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the moon,
Was never half so blessed. 170
And let him, let him go his way,
Alone, and innocent, and gay!
For, if good Angels love to wait
On the forlorn unfortunate,
This Child will take no harm. 175
But now the passionate lament,
Which from the crowd on shore was sent,
The cries which broke from old and young
In Gaelic, or the English tongue,
Are stifled--all is still. 180
And quickly with a silent crew
A boat is ready to pursue;
And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running lake
They follow the blind Boy. 185
But soon they move with softer pace;
So have ye seen the fowler chase
On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
With deftly-lifted oar; 190
Or as the wily sailors crept
To seize (while on the Deep it slept)
The hapless creature which did dwell
Erewhile within the dancing shell,
They steal upon their prey. [18] 195
With sound the least that can be made,
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,
And guesses their intent. 200
"_Lei-gha--Lei-gha_"--he then cried out,
"_Lei-gha--Lei-gha_"--with eager shout; [19]
Thus did he cry, and thus did pray,
And what he meant was, "Keep away,
And leave me to myself! " [E] 205
Alas! and when he felt their hands--
You've often heard [20] of magic wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,
Or melt it into air: 210
So all his dreams--that inward light
With which his soul had shone so bright--
All vanished;--'twas a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,
As he had ever known. 215
But hark! a gratulating voice,
With which the very hills rejoice:
'Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly
Have [21] watched the event, and now can see
That he is safe at last. 220
And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which, gathering round, did on the banks
Of that great Water give God thanks,
And welcomed the poor Child. 225
And in the general joy of heart
The blind Boy's little dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation. 230
But most of all, his Mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when waking she espies
The Child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the blind Boy. 235
She led him home, and wept amain,
When he was in the house again:
Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes;
She kissed him--how could she chastise? [22]
She was too happy far. 240
Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased and reconciled
To live in peace on shore. 245
And in the lonely Highland dell
Still do they keep the Turtle-shell;
And long the story will repeat
Of the blind Boy's adventurous feat,
And how he was preserved. [23] 250
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
We've . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1807.
How . . . MS. ]
[Variant 3:
1807.
Aye, willingly, and what is more
One which you never heard before,
True story this which I shall tell MS. ]
[Variant 4:
1837.
In land where many a mountain towers, 1807. ]
[Variant 5:
1807.
. . . could . . . MS. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
. . . sweetly . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
1815.
You . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1837.
He's in a vessel of his own,
On the swift water hurrying down
Towards the mighty Sea. 1807.
He in a vessel of his own,
On the swift flood is hurrying down 1827.
Towards the great, great Sea. MS. ]
[Variant 9:
1815.
. . . ne'er before
Did human Creature . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 10: The following stanza was only in the edition of 1807:
Strong is the current; but be mild,
Ye waves, and spare the helpless Child!
If ye in anger fret or chafe,
A Bee-hive would be ship as safe
As that in which he sails. ]
[Variant 11:
1815.
But say, what was it? Thought of fear!
Well may ye tremble when ye hear!
--A Household Tub, like one of those,
Which women use to wash their clothes,
This carried the blind Boy. 1807. ]
[Variant 12:
1820.
And one, the rarest, was a Shell
Which he, poor Child, had studied well;
The Shell of a green Turtle, thin
And hollow;--you might sit therein.
It was so wide and deep. 1815. ]
[Variant 13:
1820.
'Twas even the largest of its kind,
Large, thin, and light as birch-tree rind;
So light a Shell that it would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim
Above the tossing waves. 1815. ]
[Variant 14:
1837.
. . . which . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 15:
1827.
. . . in his arms. 1815. ]
[Variant 16:
1827.
Close to the water he had found
This Vessel, push'd it from dry ground,
Went into it; and, without dread,
Following the fancies in his head,
He paddled up and down. 1807.
And with the happy burthen hied,
And pushed it from Loch Levin's side,--
Stepped into it; and, without dread, 1815. ]
[Variant 17:
1827.
And dallied thus, till from the shore
The tide retreating more and more
Had suck'd, and suck'd him in. 1807. ]
[Variant 18: The two previous stanzas were added in the edition of 1815. ]
[Variant 19:
1837.
. . . then did he cry
. . . most eagerly; 1807. ]
[Variant 20:
1807.
. . . read . . . MS. ]
[Variant 21:
1837.
Had . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 22:
1832.
She could not blame him, or chastise; 1807. ]
[Variant 23: This stanza was added in the edition of 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The title in the editions of 1807 to 1820 was 'The Blind
Highland Boy. (A Tale told by the Fireside. )'
This poem gave its title to a separate division in the second volume of
the edition of 1807, viz. "The Blind Highland Boy; with other
Poems. "--Ed. ]
[Footnote B: This reading occurs in all the editions. But Wordsworth,
whose MS. was not specially clear, may have written, or meant to write
"petty," (a much better word), and not perceived the mistake when
revising the sheets. If he really wrote "petty," he may have meant
either small rills (rillets), or used the word as Shakespeare used it,
for "pelting" rills. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C: Compare Tennyson's 'In Memoriam', stanza xix. :
'There twice a day the Severn fills;
The salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,
And makes a silence in the hills, etc. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote D: This and the following six stanzas were added in 1815. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E: Writing to Walter Scott, from Coleorton, on Jan. 20, 1807,
Wordsworth sent him this stanza of the poem, and asked
"Could you furnish me, by application to any of your Gaelic friends, a
phrase in that language which could take its place in the following
verse of eight syllables, and have the following meaning. "
He adds,
"The above is part of a little poem which I have written on a Highland
story told me by an eye-witness . . . "
This is the nearest clue we have to the date of the composition of the
poem. --Ed. ]
It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages that a Boy, the Son of a Captain of
a Man of War, seated himself in a Turtle-shell and floated in it from
the shore to his Father's Ship, which lay at anchor at the distance of
half a mile. Upon the suggestion of a Friend, I have substituted such a
Shell for that less elegant vessel in which my blind voyager did
actually intrust himself to the dangerous current of Loch Levin, as was
related to me by an Eye-witness. --W. W. 1815.
This note varies slightly in later editions.
The Loch Leven referred to is a sea-loch in Argyllshire, into which the
tidal water flows with some force from Loch Linnhe at Ballachulish.
'By night and day
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills. '
The friend referred to in the note of 1815, who urged Wordsworth to give
his blind voyager a Shell, instead of a washing-tub to sail in, was
Coleridge. The original tale of the tub was not more unfortunate than
the lines in praise of Wilkinson's spade, and several of Wordsworth's
friends, notably Charles Lamb and Barren Field, objected to the change.
Lamb wrote to Wordsworth in 1815,
"I am afraid lest that substitution of a shell (a flat falsification
of the history) for the household implement, as it stood at first, was
a kind of tub thrown out to the beast" [_i. e. _ the reviewer! ] "or
rather thrown out for him. The tub was a good honest tub in its place,
and nothing could fairly be said against it. You say you made the
alteration for the 'friendly reader,' but the 'malicious' will take it
to himself. "
('The Letters of Charles Lamb', edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. p.
283. ) Wordsworth could not be induced to "undo his work," and go back to
his own original; although he evidently agreed with what Lamb had said
(as is seen in a letter to Barren Field, Oct. 24, 1828). --Ed.
* * * * *
OCTOBER, 1803
Composed October 1803. --Published 1807
Included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; renamed in 1845,
"Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty. "--Ed.
One might believe that natural miseries
Had blasted France, and made of it a land
Unfit for men; and that in one great band
Her sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.
But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze 5
Shed gentle favours: rural works are there,
And ordinary business without care;
Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!
How piteous then that there should be such dearth
Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite 10
To work against themselves such fell despite:
Should come in phrensy and in drunken mirth,
Impatient to put out the only light
Of Liberty that yet remains on earth!
* * * * *
"THERE IS A BONDAGE WORSE, FAR WORSE, TO BEAR"
Composed possibly in 1803. --Published 1807
Included among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty"; renamed in 1845,
"Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty. "--Ed.
There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear [1]
Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall,
Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
'Tis his who walks about in the open air,
One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear 5
Their fetters in their souls. For who could be,
Who, even the best, in such condition, free
From self-reproach, reproach that [2] he must share
With Human-nature? Never be it ours
To see the sun how brightly it will shine, 10
And know that noble feelings, manly powers,
Instead of gathering strength, must droop and pine;
And earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers
Fade, and participate in man's decline.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1827.
. . . which is worse to bear 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1837.
.
