'Tis not in battles that from youth we train 5
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
William Wordsworth
]
[Variant 24.
1836.
He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes. 1807.
And MS. 1802.
He answered, while a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. 1820. ]
[Variant 25.
1820.
Yet . . . 1807.
And MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 26.
1807.
. . . pompous . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 27.
1807.
. . . words . . . MS.
. . . beyond . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 28.
1827.
He told me that he to the pond had come . . . MS. 1802.
. . . . this pond . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 29.
1807.
This was his calling, better far than some,
Though he had . . . . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 30:
1807.
But soon . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 31:
1827.
. . . and strong admonishment. 1807.
. . . by strong admonishment. 1820. ]
[Variant 32:
1815.
The . . . 1807.
And MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 33:
1820.
And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said, 1807.
And MS. 1802.
But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said, 1815. ]
[Variant 34.
1807.
. . . live? what is it that you do? " MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 35:
1827.
And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied
He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet
The waters in the Ponds . . . MS. 1802.
And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 36:
1807.
Once he could meet with them on every side;
But fewer they became from day to day,
And so his means of life before him died away. MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 37:
1807.
And now . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 38:
1807.
Which he delivered with demeanour kind,
Yet stately . . . MS. 1802. ]
* * * * *
SUB-VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Variant i:
. . . hither side, MS. 1802. ]
[Sub-Variant ii:
He all the while before me being full in view. MS. 1802. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Some have thought that Wordsworth had S. T. C. in his mind,
in writing this stanza. I cannot agree with this. The value and interest
of the poem would be lessened by our imagining that Wordsworth's heart
never failed him; and that, when he appears to moralise at his own
expense, he was doing so at Coleridge's. Besides, the date of this poem,
taken in connection with entries in the Grasmere Journal of Dorothy
Wordsworth, makes it all but certain that Coleridge was not referred
to. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare in 'The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband', p.
417, ll. 66-69:
'Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye--
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright! '
Ed. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote i: Additional variants obtained from this source are
inserted as "MS. 1802. "--Ed. ]
The late Bishop of Lincoln, in the 'Memoirs' of his uncle (vol. i. pp.
172, 173), quotes from a letter, written by Wordsworth "to some friends,
which has much interest as bearing on this poem. [C] The following are
extracts from it:
"It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his
figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased
with _this Poem_; but it is of the utmost importance that you should
have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence,
persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's
character. " Again, "I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in
writing _that_ poem. . . . I describe myself as having been exalted to
the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of nature;
and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects,
to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the
happiness of nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the
miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz.
poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I
consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and
despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the
poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled,
expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought
forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man _was_, far from
all house or home:' not _stood_, nor _sat_, but _was_--the figure
presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of
spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong
in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can
he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to
judge with perfect confidence; but this I _can_ confidently affirm,
that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot
conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this,
the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the
mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude
and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon
him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Every thing is tedious when
one does not read with the feelings of the author. 'The Thorn' is
tedious to hundreds; and so is 'The Idiot Boy' to hundreds. It is in
the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient
reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a
place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man
telling such a tale! "
Ed.
[Footnote A: It is unfortunate that in this, as in many other similar
occasions in these delightful volumes by the poet's nephew, the
reticence as to names--warrantable perhaps in 1851, so soon after the
poet's death--has now deprived the world of every means of knowing to
whom many of Wordsworth's letters were addressed. Professor Dowden asks
about it--and very naturally:
"Was it the letter to Mary and Sara" (Hutchinson) "about 'The
Leech-Gatherer,' mentioned in Dorothy's Journal of 14th June
1802? "
Ed. ]
* * * * *
"I GRIEVED FOR BUONAPARTE"
Composed May 21, 1802. --Published 1807 [A]
[In the cottage of Town-end, one afternoon in 1801, my sister read to me
the sonnets of Milton. I had long been well acquainted with them, but I
was particularly struck on that occasion with the dignified simplicity
and majestic harmony that runs through most of them--in character so
totally different from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare's
fine sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced
three sonnets the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote, except an
irregular one at school. Of these three the only one I distinctly
remember is 'I grieved for Buonaparte, etc. '; one of the others was
never written down; the third, which was I believe preserved, I cannot
particularise. --I. F. ]
One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty," afterwards called "Poems
dedicated to National Independence and Liberty. " From the edition of
1815 onwards, it bore the title '1801'. --Ed.
I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood [1]
Of that Man's mind--what can it be? what food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could _he_ gain?
'Tis not in battles that from youth we train 5
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
Wisdom doth live with children round her knees:
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk 10
Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk
Of the mind's business: these are the degrees
By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk
True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
. . . grief! the vital blood
Of that man's mind, what can it be? What food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain? 1802.
. . . grief! for, who aspires
To genuine greatness but from just desires,
And knowledge such as _He_ could never gain? 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: It had twice seen the light previously in 'The Morning
Post', first on September 16, 1802, unsigned, and again on January 29,
1803, when it was signed W. L. D. --Ed. ]
Wordsworth's date 1801, in the Fenwick note, should have been 1802. His
sister writes, in her Journal of 1802:
"May 21. --W. wrote two sonnets on Buonaparte, after I had read
Milton's sonnets to him. "
The "irregular" sonnet, written "at school," to which Wordsworth refers,
is probably the one published in the 'European Magazine' in 1787, vol.
xi. p. 202, and signed Axiologus. --Ed.
* * * * *
A FAREWELL
Composed May 29, 1802. --Published 1815
[Composed just before my Sister and I went to fetch Mrs. Wordsworth from
Gallow-hill, near Scarborough. --I. F. ]
This was one of the "Poems founded on the Affections. " It was published
in 1815 and in 1820 without a title, but with the sub-title 'Composed in
the Year 1802'. In 1827 and 1832 it was called 'A Farewell', to which
the sub-title was added. The sub-title was omitted in 1836, and
afterwards. --Ed.
Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair, 5
The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell! --we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.
Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And there will safely ride [1] when we are gone; 10
The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door [2]
Will prosper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none:
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon; 15
Here are they in our sight--we have no more.
Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
For two months now in vain we shall be sought;
We leave you here in solitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought; 20
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought,
And placed together near our rocky Well.
We go for One to whom ye will be dear; 25
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, Building without peer!
--A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, 30
Will come [3] to you; to you herself will wed;
And love the blessed life that [4] we lead here.
Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, 35
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own.
Making all kindness registered and known;
Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. 40
And O most constant, yet most fickle Place,
That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on [5] thy face;
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
And say'st, when we forsake thee, "Let them go! " 45
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,
And travel with the year at a soft pace.
Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by,
And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best; 50
Joy will be flown in its mortality;
Something must stay to tell us of the rest.
Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast
Glittered at evening like a starry sky;
And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, 55
Of which I sang [6] one song that will not die. [A]
O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers, 60
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
Two burning months let summer overleap,
And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
And safely she will ride . . . 1815.
. . . will she . . . 1832. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
. . . that decorate our door 1815. ]
[Variant 3:
1820.
She'll come . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
. . . which . . . 1815]
[Variant 5:
1827.
. . . in . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 6:
1832.
. . . sung . . . 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: See 'The Sparrow's Nest', p. 236. --Ed. ]
"May 29. --William finished his poem on going for Mary. I wrote it out.
A sweet day. We nailed up the honeysuckle and hoed the scarlet beans. "
She added on the 31st,
"I wrote out the poem on our departure, which he seemed to have
finished;"
and on June 13th,
"William has been altering the poem to Mary this morning. "
The "little Nook of mountain-ground" is in much the same condition now,
as it was in 1802. The "flowering shrubs" and the "rocky well" still
exist, and "the steep rock's breast" is "thronged with primroses" in
spring. The "bower" is gone; but, where it used to be, a seat is now
erected.
The Dove Cottage orchard is excellently characterised in Mr. Stopford
Brooke's pamphlet describing it (1890). See also 'The Green Linnet', p.
367, with the note appended to it, and Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere
Journal, _passim_. --Ed.
* * * * *
"THE SUN HAS LONG BEEN SET"
Composed June 8, 1802. --Published 1807
[This _Impromptu_ appeared, many years ago, among the Author's poems,
from which, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. [A] It is
reprinted, at the request of the Friend in whose presence the lines were
thrown off. --I. F. ]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries. "--Ed.
The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and trees; [1]
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, 5
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes, [2]
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky.
Who would go "parading" 10
In London, "and masquerading," [B]
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is! 15
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1807.
. . . and the trees; 1836.
The edition of 1837 returns to the text of 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1835.
And a noise of wind that rushes,
With a noise of water that gushes; 1807. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: It appeared in 1807 as No. II. of "Moods of my own Mind,"
and not again till the publication of "Yarrow Revisited" in 1835. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare:
'At operas and plays parading,
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading. '
Burns, 'The Two Dogs, a Tale', II. 124-5. --Ed. ]
"June 8th (1802). --After tea William came out and walked, and wrote
that poem, 'The sun has long been set,' etc. He walked on our own
path, and wrote the lines; he called me into the orchard and there
repeated them to me. "
(Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal. ) The "Friend in whose presence the lines
were thrown off," was his sister. --Ed.
* * * * *
COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802
Composed July 31, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written on the roof of a coach, on my way to France. --I. F. ]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets. "--Ed.
Earth has not any thing to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul [1] who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, 5
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; 10
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1807.
. . . heart . . . MS. ]
The date which Wordsworth gave to this sonnet on its first publication
in 1807, viz. September 3, 1803,--and which he retained in all
subsequent editions of his works till 1836,--is inaccurate. He left
London for Dover, on his way to Calais, on the 31st of July 1802. The
sonnet was written that morning as he travelled towards Dover. The
following record of the journey is preserved in his sister's Journal:
"July 30. [A]--Left London between five and six o'clock of the morning
outside the Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's,
with the river--a multitude of little boats, made a beautiful sight as
we crossed _Westminster Bridge_; the houses not overhung by their
clouds of smoke, and were hung out endlessly; yet the sun shone so
brightly, with such a pure light, that there was something like the
purity of one of Nature's own grand spectacles. "
This sonnet underwent no change in successive editions.
In illustration of it, an anecdote of the late Bishop of St. David's may
be given, as reported by Lord Coleridge.
"In the great debate on the abolition of the Irish Establishment in
1869, the Bishop of St. David's, Dr. Thirlwall, had made a very
remarkable speech, and had been kept till past daybreak in the House
of Lords, before the division was over, and he was able to walk home.
He was then an old man, and in failing health. Some time after, he was
asked whether he had not run some risk to his health, and whether he
did not feel much exhausted. 'Yes,' he said, 'perhaps so; but I was
more than repaid by walking out upon Westminster Bridge after the
division, seeing London in the morning light as Wordsworth saw it, and
repeating to myself his noble sonnet as I walked home. '"
This anecdote was told to the Wordsworth Society, at its meeting on the
3rd of May 1882, after a letter had been read by the Secretary, from Mr.
Robert Spence Watson, recording the following similar experience:
". . . As confirming the perfect truth of Wordsworth's description of
the external aspects of a scene, and the way in which he reached its
inmost soul, I may tell you what happened to me, and may have happened
to many others. Many years ago, I think it was in 1859, I chanced to
be passing (in a pained and depressed state of mind, occasioned by the
death of a friend) over Waterloo Bridge at half-past three on a lovely
June morning. It was broad daylight, and I was alone. Never when alone
in the remotest recesses of the Alps, with nothing around me but the
mountains, or upon the plains of Africa, alone with the wonderful
glory of the southern night, have I seen anything to approach the
solemnity--the soothing solemnity--of the city, sleeping under the
early sun:
'Earth has not any thing to show more fair. '
"How simply, yet how perfectly, Wordsworth has interpreted it! It was
a happy thing for us that the Dover coach left at so untimely an hour.
It was this sonnet, I think, that first opened my eyes to Wordsworth's
greatness as a poet. Perhaps nothing that he has written shows more
strikingly the vast sympathy which is his peculiar dower. "
Ed.
[Footnote A: This is an error of date.
[Variant 24.
1836.
He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes. 1807.
And MS. 1802.
He answered, while a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes. 1820. ]
[Variant 25.
1820.
Yet . . . 1807.
And MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 26.
1807.
. . . pompous . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 27.
1807.
. . . words . . . MS.
. . . beyond . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 28.
1827.
He told me that he to the pond had come . . . MS. 1802.
. . . . this pond . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 29.
1807.
This was his calling, better far than some,
Though he had . . . . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 30:
1807.
But soon . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 31:
1827.
. . . and strong admonishment. 1807.
. . . by strong admonishment. 1820. ]
[Variant 32:
1815.
The . . . 1807.
And MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 33:
1820.
And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said, 1807.
And MS. 1802.
But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said, 1815. ]
[Variant 34.
1807.
. . . live? what is it that you do? " MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 35:
1827.
And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied
He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet
The waters in the Ponds . . . MS. 1802.
And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 36:
1807.
Once he could meet with them on every side;
But fewer they became from day to day,
And so his means of life before him died away. MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 37:
1807.
And now . . . MS. 1802. ]
[Variant 38:
1807.
Which he delivered with demeanour kind,
Yet stately . . . MS. 1802. ]
* * * * *
SUB-VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Variant i:
. . . hither side, MS. 1802. ]
[Sub-Variant ii:
He all the while before me being full in view. MS. 1802. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Some have thought that Wordsworth had S. T. C. in his mind,
in writing this stanza. I cannot agree with this. The value and interest
of the poem would be lessened by our imagining that Wordsworth's heart
never failed him; and that, when he appears to moralise at his own
expense, he was doing so at Coleridge's. Besides, the date of this poem,
taken in connection with entries in the Grasmere Journal of Dorothy
Wordsworth, makes it all but certain that Coleridge was not referred
to. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare in 'The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband', p.
417, ll. 66-69:
'Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye--
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright! '
Ed. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote i: Additional variants obtained from this source are
inserted as "MS. 1802. "--Ed. ]
The late Bishop of Lincoln, in the 'Memoirs' of his uncle (vol. i. pp.
172, 173), quotes from a letter, written by Wordsworth "to some friends,
which has much interest as bearing on this poem. [C] The following are
extracts from it:
"It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his
figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased
with _this Poem_; but it is of the utmost importance that you should
have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence,
persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's
character. " Again, "I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in
writing _that_ poem. . . . I describe myself as having been exalted to
the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of nature;
and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects,
to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the
happiness of nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the
miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz.
poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I
consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and
despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the
poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled,
expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought
forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man _was_, far from
all house or home:' not _stood_, nor _sat_, but _was_--the figure
presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of
spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong
in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can
he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to
judge with perfect confidence; but this I _can_ confidently affirm,
that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot
conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this,
the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the
mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude
and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon
him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Every thing is tedious when
one does not read with the feelings of the author. 'The Thorn' is
tedious to hundreds; and so is 'The Idiot Boy' to hundreds. It is in
the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient
reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a
place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man
telling such a tale! "
Ed.
[Footnote A: It is unfortunate that in this, as in many other similar
occasions in these delightful volumes by the poet's nephew, the
reticence as to names--warrantable perhaps in 1851, so soon after the
poet's death--has now deprived the world of every means of knowing to
whom many of Wordsworth's letters were addressed. Professor Dowden asks
about it--and very naturally:
"Was it the letter to Mary and Sara" (Hutchinson) "about 'The
Leech-Gatherer,' mentioned in Dorothy's Journal of 14th June
1802? "
Ed. ]
* * * * *
"I GRIEVED FOR BUONAPARTE"
Composed May 21, 1802. --Published 1807 [A]
[In the cottage of Town-end, one afternoon in 1801, my sister read to me
the sonnets of Milton. I had long been well acquainted with them, but I
was particularly struck on that occasion with the dignified simplicity
and majestic harmony that runs through most of them--in character so
totally different from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare's
fine sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced
three sonnets the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote, except an
irregular one at school. Of these three the only one I distinctly
remember is 'I grieved for Buonaparte, etc. '; one of the others was
never written down; the third, which was I believe preserved, I cannot
particularise. --I. F. ]
One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty," afterwards called "Poems
dedicated to National Independence and Liberty. " From the edition of
1815 onwards, it bore the title '1801'. --Ed.
I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood [1]
Of that Man's mind--what can it be? what food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could _he_ gain?
'Tis not in battles that from youth we train 5
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
Wisdom doth live with children round her knees:
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk 10
Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk
Of the mind's business: these are the degrees
By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk
True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
. . . grief! the vital blood
Of that man's mind, what can it be? What food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain? 1802.
. . . grief! for, who aspires
To genuine greatness but from just desires,
And knowledge such as _He_ could never gain? 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: It had twice seen the light previously in 'The Morning
Post', first on September 16, 1802, unsigned, and again on January 29,
1803, when it was signed W. L. D. --Ed. ]
Wordsworth's date 1801, in the Fenwick note, should have been 1802. His
sister writes, in her Journal of 1802:
"May 21. --W. wrote two sonnets on Buonaparte, after I had read
Milton's sonnets to him. "
The "irregular" sonnet, written "at school," to which Wordsworth refers,
is probably the one published in the 'European Magazine' in 1787, vol.
xi. p. 202, and signed Axiologus. --Ed.
* * * * *
A FAREWELL
Composed May 29, 1802. --Published 1815
[Composed just before my Sister and I went to fetch Mrs. Wordsworth from
Gallow-hill, near Scarborough. --I. F. ]
This was one of the "Poems founded on the Affections. " It was published
in 1815 and in 1820 without a title, but with the sub-title 'Composed in
the Year 1802'. In 1827 and 1832 it was called 'A Farewell', to which
the sub-title was added. The sub-title was omitted in 1836, and
afterwards. --Ed.
Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground,
Thou rocky corner in the lowest stair
Of that magnificent temple which doth bound
One side of our whole vale with grandeur rare;
Sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair, 5
The loveliest spot that man hath ever found,
Farewell! --we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care,
Thee, and the Cottage which thou dost surround.
Our boat is safely anchored by the shore,
And there will safely ride [1] when we are gone; 10
The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door [2]
Will prosper, though untended and alone:
Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none:
These narrow bounds contain our private store
Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon; 15
Here are they in our sight--we have no more.
Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell!
For two months now in vain we shall be sought;
We leave you here in solitude to dwell
With these our latest gifts of tender thought; 20
Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat,
Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell!
Whom from the borders of the Lake we brought,
And placed together near our rocky Well.
We go for One to whom ye will be dear; 25
And she will prize this Bower, this Indian shed,
Our own contrivance, Building without peer!
--A gentle Maid, whose heart is lowly bred,
Whose pleasures are in wild fields gathered,
With joyousness, and with a thoughtful cheer, 30
Will come [3] to you; to you herself will wed;
And love the blessed life that [4] we lead here.
Dear Spot! which we have watched with tender heed,
Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown
Among the distant mountains, flower and weed, 35
Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own.
Making all kindness registered and known;
Thou for our sakes, though Nature's child indeed,
Fair in thyself and beautiful alone,
Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. 40
And O most constant, yet most fickle Place,
That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show
To them who look not daily on [5] thy face;
Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know,
And say'st, when we forsake thee, "Let them go! " 45
Thou easy-hearted Thing, with thy wild race
Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow,
And travel with the year at a soft pace.
Help us to tell Her tales of years gone by,
And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best; 50
Joy will be flown in its mortality;
Something must stay to tell us of the rest.
Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast
Glittered at evening like a starry sky;
And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, 55
Of which I sang [6] one song that will not die. [A]
O happy Garden! whose seclusion deep
Hath been so friendly to industrious hours;
And to soft slumbers, that did gently steep
Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers, 60
And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers;
Two burning months let summer overleap,
And, coming back with Her who will be ours,
Into thy bosom we again shall creep.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
And safely she will ride . . . 1815.
. . . will she . . . 1832. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
. . . that decorate our door 1815. ]
[Variant 3:
1820.
She'll come . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
. . . which . . . 1815]
[Variant 5:
1827.
. . . in . . . 1815. ]
[Variant 6:
1832.
. . . sung . . . 1815. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: See 'The Sparrow's Nest', p. 236. --Ed. ]
"May 29. --William finished his poem on going for Mary. I wrote it out.
A sweet day. We nailed up the honeysuckle and hoed the scarlet beans. "
She added on the 31st,
"I wrote out the poem on our departure, which he seemed to have
finished;"
and on June 13th,
"William has been altering the poem to Mary this morning. "
The "little Nook of mountain-ground" is in much the same condition now,
as it was in 1802. The "flowering shrubs" and the "rocky well" still
exist, and "the steep rock's breast" is "thronged with primroses" in
spring. The "bower" is gone; but, where it used to be, a seat is now
erected.
The Dove Cottage orchard is excellently characterised in Mr. Stopford
Brooke's pamphlet describing it (1890). See also 'The Green Linnet', p.
367, with the note appended to it, and Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere
Journal, _passim_. --Ed.
* * * * *
"THE SUN HAS LONG BEEN SET"
Composed June 8, 1802. --Published 1807
[This _Impromptu_ appeared, many years ago, among the Author's poems,
from which, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. [A] It is
reprinted, at the request of the Friend in whose presence the lines were
thrown off. --I. F. ]
One of the "Evening Voluntaries. "--Ed.
The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and trees; [1]
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, 5
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes, [2]
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky.
Who would go "parading" 10
In London, "and masquerading," [B]
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is! 15
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1807.
. . . and the trees; 1836.
The edition of 1837 returns to the text of 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1835.
And a noise of wind that rushes,
With a noise of water that gushes; 1807. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: It appeared in 1807 as No. II. of "Moods of my own Mind,"
and not again till the publication of "Yarrow Revisited" in 1835. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare:
'At operas and plays parading,
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading. '
Burns, 'The Two Dogs, a Tale', II. 124-5. --Ed. ]
"June 8th (1802). --After tea William came out and walked, and wrote
that poem, 'The sun has long been set,' etc. He walked on our own
path, and wrote the lines; he called me into the orchard and there
repeated them to me. "
(Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal. ) The "Friend in whose presence the lines
were thrown off," was his sister. --Ed.
* * * * *
COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802
Composed July 31, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written on the roof of a coach, on my way to France. --I. F. ]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets. "--Ed.
Earth has not any thing to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul [1] who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, 5
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; 10
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1807.
. . . heart . . . MS. ]
The date which Wordsworth gave to this sonnet on its first publication
in 1807, viz. September 3, 1803,--and which he retained in all
subsequent editions of his works till 1836,--is inaccurate. He left
London for Dover, on his way to Calais, on the 31st of July 1802. The
sonnet was written that morning as he travelled towards Dover. The
following record of the journey is preserved in his sister's Journal:
"July 30. [A]--Left London between five and six o'clock of the morning
outside the Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's,
with the river--a multitude of little boats, made a beautiful sight as
we crossed _Westminster Bridge_; the houses not overhung by their
clouds of smoke, and were hung out endlessly; yet the sun shone so
brightly, with such a pure light, that there was something like the
purity of one of Nature's own grand spectacles. "
This sonnet underwent no change in successive editions.
In illustration of it, an anecdote of the late Bishop of St. David's may
be given, as reported by Lord Coleridge.
"In the great debate on the abolition of the Irish Establishment in
1869, the Bishop of St. David's, Dr. Thirlwall, had made a very
remarkable speech, and had been kept till past daybreak in the House
of Lords, before the division was over, and he was able to walk home.
He was then an old man, and in failing health. Some time after, he was
asked whether he had not run some risk to his health, and whether he
did not feel much exhausted. 'Yes,' he said, 'perhaps so; but I was
more than repaid by walking out upon Westminster Bridge after the
division, seeing London in the morning light as Wordsworth saw it, and
repeating to myself his noble sonnet as I walked home. '"
This anecdote was told to the Wordsworth Society, at its meeting on the
3rd of May 1882, after a letter had been read by the Secretary, from Mr.
Robert Spence Watson, recording the following similar experience:
". . . As confirming the perfect truth of Wordsworth's description of
the external aspects of a scene, and the way in which he reached its
inmost soul, I may tell you what happened to me, and may have happened
to many others. Many years ago, I think it was in 1859, I chanced to
be passing (in a pained and depressed state of mind, occasioned by the
death of a friend) over Waterloo Bridge at half-past three on a lovely
June morning. It was broad daylight, and I was alone. Never when alone
in the remotest recesses of the Alps, with nothing around me but the
mountains, or upon the plains of Africa, alone with the wonderful
glory of the southern night, have I seen anything to approach the
solemnity--the soothing solemnity--of the city, sleeping under the
early sun:
'Earth has not any thing to show more fair. '
"How simply, yet how perfectly, Wordsworth has interpreted it! It was
a happy thing for us that the Dover coach left at so untimely an hour.
It was this sonnet, I think, that first opened my eyes to Wordsworth's
greatness as a poet. Perhaps nothing that he has written shows more
strikingly the vast sympathy which is his peculiar dower. "
Ed.
[Footnote A: This is an error of date.
