Grave Teacher, stern
Preceptress!
William Wordsworth
Tents and Booths
Meanwhile, as if the whole were one vast mill,
Are vomiting, receiving on all sides, 720
Men, Women, three-years' Children, Babes in arms.
Oh, blank confusion! true epitome
Of what the mighty City is herself,
To thousands upon thousands of her sons,
Living amid the same perpetual whirl 725
Of trivial objects, melted and reduced
To one identity, by differences
That have no law, no meaning, and no end--
Oppression, under which even highest minds
Must labour, whence the strongest are not free. [d] 730
But though the picture weary out the eye,
By nature an unmanageable sight,
It is not wholly so to him who looks
In steadiness, who hath among least things
An under-sense of greatest; sees the parts 735
As parts, but with a feeling of the whole.
This, of all acquisitions, first awaits
On sundry and most widely different modes
Of education, nor with least delight
On that through which I passed. Attention springs, 740
And comprehensiveness and memory flow,
From early converse with the works of God
Among all regions; chiefly where appear
Most obviously simplicity and power.
Think, how the everlasting streams and woods, 745
Stretched and still stretching far and wide, exalt
The roving Indian, on his desert sands:
What grandeur not unfelt, what pregnant show
Of beauty, meets the sun-burnt Arab's eye:
And, as the sea propels, from zone to zone, 750
Its currents; magnifies its shoals of life
Beyond all compass; spreads, and sends aloft
Armies of clouds,--even so, its powers and aspects
Shape for mankind, by principles as fixed,
The views and aspirations of the soul 755
To majesty. Like virtue have the forms
Perennial of the ancient hills; nor less
The changeful language of their countenances
Quickens the slumbering mind, and aids the thoughts,
However multitudinous, to move 760
With order and relation. This, if still,
As hitherto, in freedom I may speak,
Not violating any just restraint,
As may be hoped, of real modesty,--
This did I feel, in London's vast domain. 765
The Spirit of Nature was upon me there;
The soul of Beauty and enduring Life
Vouchsafed her inspiration, and diffused,
Through meagre lines and colours, and the press
Of self-destroying, transitory things, 770
Composure, and ennobling Harmony.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Goslar, February 10th, 1799. Compare Mr. Carter's note to
'The Prelude', book vii. l. 3. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: The first two paragraphs of book i. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C: April 1804: see the reference in book vi. l. 48. --Ed. ]
[Footnote D: Before he left for Malta, Coleridge had urged Wordsworth to
complete this work. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E: The summer of 1804. --Ed. ]
[Footnote F: Doubtless John's Grove, below White Moss Common. On
November 24, 1801, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote in her Journal,
"As we were going along, we were stopped at once, at the distance
perhaps of fifty yards from our favourite birch tree. It was yielding
to the gusty wind with all its tender twigs. The sun shone upon it,
and it glanced in the wind like a flying sunshiny shower. It was a
tree in shape, with stem and branches, but it was like a spirit of
water. The sun went in, and it resumed its purplish appearance, the
twigs still yielding to the wind, but not so visibly to us. The other
birch trees that were near it looked bright and cheerful, but it was a
Creation by itself amongst them. "
This does not refer to John's Grove, but it may be interesting to
compare the sister's description of a birch tree "tossing in sunshine,"
with the brother's account of a grove of fir trees similarly
moved. --Ed. ]
[Footnote G: The visit to Switzerland with Jones in 1790, described in
book vi. --Ed. ]
[Footnote H: He took his B. A. degree in January 1791, and immediately
afterwards left Cambridge. --Ed. ]
[Footnote I: Going to Forncett Rectory, near Norwich, he spent six weeks
with his sister, and then went to London, where he stayed four
months. --Ed. ]
[Footnote K: From the hint given in this passage, it would seem that he
had gone up to London for a few days in 1788. Compare book viii. l. 543,
and note [Footnote o]. --Ed. ]
[Footnote L: The story of Whittington, hearing the bells ring out the
prosperity in store for him,
'Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London,'
is well known. --Ed. ]
[Footnote M: Tea-gardens, till well on in this century; now built
over. --Ed. ]
[Footnote N: Bedlam, a popular corruption of Bethlehem, a lunatic
hospital, founded in 1246. The old building, with its "carved maniacs at
the gates," was taken down in 1675, and the hospital removed to
Moorfields. The second building--the one to which Wordsworth
refers--was demolished in 1814. --Ed. ]
[Footnote O: The London "Monument," erected from a design by Sir
Christopher Wren, on the spot where the great London Fire of 1666
began. --Ed. ]
[Footnote P: The historic Tower of London. --Ed. ]
[Footnote Q: A theatre in St. John's Street Road, Clerkenwell, erected
in 1765. --Ed. ]
[Footnote R: See 'Samson Agonistes', l. 88. --Ed. ]
[Footnote S: See 'Hamlet', act I. sc. v. l. 100. --Ed. ]
[Footnote T: The story of Mary, "The Maid of Buttermere," as told in the
guidebooks, is as follows:
'She was the daughter of the inn-keeper at the Fish Inn. She was much
admired, and many suitors sought her hand in vain. At last a stranger,
named Hatfield, who called himself the Hon. Colonel Hope, brother of
Lord Hopetoun, won her heart, and married her. Soon after the
marriage, he was apprehended on a charge of forgery, surreptitiously
franking a letter in the name of a Member of Parliament, tried at
Carlisle, convicted, and hanged. It was discovered during the trial,
that he had a wife and family, and had fled to these sequestered parts
to escape the arm of the law. '
See 'Essays on his own Times', by S. T. Coleridge, edited by his
daughter Sara. A melodrama on the story of the Maid of Buttermere was
produced in all the suburban London theatres; and in 1843 a novel was
published in London by Henry Colburn, entitled 'James Hatfield and the
Beauty of Buttermere, a Story of Modern Times', with illustrations by
Robert Cruikshank. --Ed. ]
[Footnote U: Compare S. T. C. 's 'Essays on his own Times', p. 585. --Ed. ]
[Footnote V: He first went south to Cambridge, in October 1787; and he
left London, at the close of his second visit to Town, in the end of May
1791. --Ed. ]
[Footnote W: Compare 'Macbeth', act II. sc. i. l. 58:
'Thy very stones prate of my whereabout. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote X: The Houses of Parliament. --Ed. ]
[Footnote Y: See Shakespeare's 'King Henry the Fifth', act IV. sc. iii.
l. 53. --Ed. ]
[Footnote Z: Solomon Gesner (or Gessner), a landscape artist, etcher,
and poet, born at Zurich in 1730, died in 1787. His 'Tod Abels' (the
death of Abel), though the poorest of all his works, became a favourite
in Germany, France, and England. It was translated into English by Mary
Collyer, a 12th edition of her version appearing in 1780. As 'The Death
of Abel' was written before 1760, in the line "he who penned, the other
day," Wordsworth probably refers to some new edition of the
translation. --Ed. ]
[Footnote a: Edward Young, author of 'Night Thoughts, on Life, Death,
and Immortality'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote b: In Argyleshire. --Ed. ]
[Footnote c: Permission was given by Henry I. to hold a "Fair" on St.
Bartholomew's day. --Ed. ]
[Footnote d: In one of the MS. books in Dorothy Wordsworth's
handwriting, on the outside leather cover of which is written, "May to
December 1802," there are some lines which were evidently dictated to
her, or copied by her, from the numerous experimental efforts of her
brother in connection with this autobiographical poem. They are as
follows:
'Shall he who gives his days to low pursuits
Amid the undistinguishable crowd
Of cities, 'mid the same eternal flow
Of the same objects, melted and reduced
To one identity, by differences
That have no law, no meaning, and no end,
Shall he feel yearning to those lifeless forms,
And shall we think that Nature is less kind
To those, who all day long, through a busy life,
Have walked within her sight? It cannot be. '
Ed. ]
* * * * *
BOOK EIGHT
RETROSPECT--LOVE OF NATURE LEADING TO LOVE OF MAN
What sounds are those, Helvellyn, that [1] are heard
Up to thy summit, through the depth of air
Ascending, as if distance had the power
To make the sounds more audible? What crowd
Covers, or sprinkles o'er, yon village green? [2] 5
Crowd seems it, solitary hill! to thee,
Though but a little family of men,
Shepherds and tillers of the ground--betimes
Assembled with their children and their wives,
And here and there a stranger interspersed. 10
They hold a rustic fair--a festival,
Such as, on this side now, and now on that, [3]
Repeated through his tributary vales,
Helvellyn, in the silence of his rest,
Sees annually, [A] if clouds towards either ocean 15
Blown from their favourite resting-place, or mists
Dissolved, have left him [4] an unshrouded head.
Delightful day it is for all who dwell
In this secluded glen, and eagerly
They give it welcome. [5] Long ere heat of noon, 20
From byre or field the kine were brought; the sheep [6]
Are penned in cotes; the chaffering is begun.
The heifer lows, uneasy at the voice
Of a new master; bleat the flocks aloud.
Booths are there none; a stall or two is here; 25
A lame man or a blind, the one to beg,
The other to make music; hither, too,
From far, with basket, slung upon her arm,
Of hawker's wares--books, pictures, combs, and pins--
Some aged woman finds her way again, 30
Year after year, a punctual visitant!
There also stands a speech-maker by rote,
Pulling the strings of his boxed raree-show;
And in the lapse of many years may come [7]
Prouder itinerant, mountebank, or he 35
Whose wonders in a covered wain lie hid.
But one there is, [8] the loveliest of them all,
Some sweet lass of the valley, looking out
For gains, and who that sees her would not buy?
Fruits of her father's orchard, are her wares, 40
And with the ruddy produce, she walks round [9]
Among the crowd, half pleased with, half ashamed
Of her new office, [10] blushing restlessly.
The children now are rich, for the old to-day
Are generous as the young; and, if content 45
With looking on, some ancient wedded pair
Sit in the shade together, while they gaze,
"A cheerful smile unbends the wrinkled brow,
The days departed start again to life,
And all the scenes of childhood reappear, 50
Faint, but more tranquil, like the changing sun
To him who slept at noon and wakes at eve. " [B]
Thus gaiety and cheerfulness prevail,
Spreading from young to old, from old to young,
And no one seems to want his share. --Immense [11] 55
Is the recess, the circumambient world
Magnificent, by which they are embraced:
They move about upon the soft green turf: [12]
How little they, they and their doings, seem,
And all that they can further or obstruct! [13] 60
Through utter weakness pitiably dear,
As tender infants are: and yet how great!
For all things serve them: them the morning light
Loves, as it glistens on the silent rocks;
And them the silent rocks, which now from high 65
Look down upon them; the reposing clouds;
The wild brooks prattling from [14] invisible haunts;
And old Helvellyn, conscious of the stir
Which animates this day [15] their calm abode.
With deep devotion, Nature, did I feel, 70
In that enormous City's turbulent world
Of men and things, what benefit I owed
To thee, and those domains of rural peace,
Where to the sense of beauty first my heart
Was opened; [C] tract more exquisitely fair 75
Than that famed paradise often thousand trees, [D]
Or Gehol's matchless gardens, [E] for delight
Of the Tartarian dynasty composed
(Beyond that mighty wall, not fabulous,
China's stupendous mound) by patient toil 80
Of myriads and boon nature's lavish help; [F]
There, in a clime from widest empire chosen,
Fulfilling (could enchantment have done more? )
A sumptuous dream of flowery lawns, with domes
Of pleasure [G] sprinkled over, shady dells 85
For eastern monasteries, sunny mounts
With temples crested, bridges, gondolas,
Rocks, dens, and groves of foliage taught to melt
Into each other their obsequious hues,
Vanished and vanishing in subtle chase, 90
Too fine to be pursued; or standing forth
In no discordant opposition, strong
And gorgeous as the colours side by side
Bedded among rich plumes of tropic birds;
And mountains over all, embracing all; 95
And all the landscape, endlessly enriched
With waters running, falling, or asleep.
But lovelier far than this, the paradise
Where I was reared; [H] in Nature's primitive gifts
Favoured no less, and more to every sense 100
Delicious, seeing that the sun and sky,
The elements, and seasons as they change,
Do find a worthy fellow-labourer there--
Man free, man working for himself, with choice
Of time, and place, and object; by his wants, 105
His comforts, native occupations, cares,
Cheerfully led to individual ends
Or social, and still followed by a train
Unwooed, unthought-of even--simplicity,
And beauty, and inevitable grace. 110
Yea, when a glimpse of those imperial bowers
Would to a child be transport over-great,
When but a half-hour's roam through such a place
Would leave behind a dance of images,
That shall break in upon his sleep for weeks; 115
Even then the common haunts of the green earth,
And ordinary interests of man,
Which they embosom, all without regard
As both may seem, are fastening on the heart
Insensibly, each with the other's help. 120
For me, when my affections first were led
From kindred, friends, and playmates, to partake
Love for the human creature's absolute self,
That noticeable kindliness of heart
Sprang out of fountains, there abounding most 125
Where sovereign Nature dictated the tasks
And occupations which her beauty adorned,
And Shepherds were the men that pleased me first; [I]
Not such as Saturn ruled 'mid Latian wilds,
With arts and laws so tempered, that their lives 130
Left, even to us toiling in this late day,
A bright tradition of the golden age; [K]
Not such as, 'mid Arcadian fastnesses
Sequestered, handed down among themselves
Felicity, in Grecian song renowned; [L] 135
Nor such as--when an adverse fate had driven,
From house and home, the courtly band whose fortunes
Entered, with Shakespeare's genius, the wild woods
Of Arden--amid sunshine or in shade,
Culled the best fruits of Time's uncounted hours, 140
Ere Phoebe sighed for the false Ganymede; [M]
Or there where Perdita and Florizel
Together danced, Queen of the feast, and King; [N]
Nor such as Spenser fabled. True it is,
That I had heard (what he perhaps had seen) 145
Of maids at sunrise bringing in from far
Their May-bush [O], and along the streets in flocks
Parading with a song of taunting rhymes,
Aimed at the laggards slumbering within doors;
Had also heard, from those who yet remembered, 150
Tales of the May-pole dance, and wreaths that decked
Porch, door-way, or kirk-pillar; [O] and of youths,
Each with his maid, before the sun was up,
By annual custom, issuing forth in troops,
To drink the waters of some sainted well, 155
And hang it round with garlands. Love survives;
But, for such purpose, flowers no longer grow:
The times, too sage, perhaps too proud, have dropped
These lighter graces; and the rural ways
And manners which my childhood looked upon 160
Were the unluxuriant produce of a life
Intent on little but substantial needs,
Yet rich in beauty, beauty that was felt.
But images of danger and distress,
Man suffering among awful Powers and Forms; 165
Of this I heard, and saw enough to make
Imagination restless; nor was free
Myself from frequent perils; nor were tales
Wanting,--the tragedies of former times,
Hazards and strange escapes, of which the rocks 170
Immutable and overflowing streams,
Where'er I roamed, were speaking monuments.
Smooth life had flock and shepherd in old time,
Long springs and tepid winters, on the banks
Of delicate Galesus [P]; and no less 175
Those scattered along Adria's myrtle shores: [Q]
Smooth life had herdsman, and his snow-white herd
To triumphs and to sacrificial rites
Devoted, on the inviolable stream
Of rich Clitumnus [R]; and the goat-herd lived 180
As calmly, underneath the pleasant brows
Of cool Lucretilis [S], where the pipe was heard
Of Pan, Invisible God, thrilling the rocks
With tutelary music, from all harm
The fold protecting. I myself, mature 185
In manhood then, have seen a pastoral tract
Like one of these, where Fancy might run wild,
Though under skies less generous, less serene:
There, for her own delight had Nature framed
A pleasure-ground, diffused a fair expanse 190
Of level pasture, islanded with groves
And banked with woody risings; but the Plain [T]
Endless, here opening widely out, and there
Shut up in lesser lakes or beds of lawn
And intricate recesses, creek or bay 195
Sheltered within a shelter, where at large
The shepherd strays, a rolling hut his home.
Thither he comes with spring-time, there abides
All summer, and at sunrise ye may hear
His flageolet to liquid notes of love 200
Attuned, or sprightly fife resounding far.
Nook is there none, nor tract of that vast space
Where passage opens, but the same shall have
In turn its visitant, telling there his hours
In unlaborious pleasure, with no task 205
More toilsome than to carve a beechen bowl
For spring or fountain, which the traveller finds,
When through the region he pursues at will
His devious course. A glimpse of such sweet life
I saw when, from the melancholy walls 210
Of Goslar, once imperial, I renewed
My daily walk along that wide champaign, [U]
That, reaching to her gates, spreads east and west,
And northwards, from beneath the mountainous verge
Of the Hercynian forest, [V] Yet, hail to you 215
Moors, mountains, headlands, and ye hollow vales,
Ye long deep channels for the Atlantic's voice, [W]
Powers of my native region! Ye that seize
The heart with firmer grasp! Your snows and streams
Ungovernable, and your terrifying winds, 220
That howl so dismally for him who treads
Companionless your awful solitudes!
There, 'tis the shepherd's task the winter long
To wait upon the storms: of their approach
Sagacious, into sheltering coves he drives 225
His flock, and thither from the homestead bears
A toilsome burden up the craggy ways,
And deals it out, their regular nourishment
Strewn on the frozen snow. And when the spring
Looks out, and all the pastures dance with lambs, 230
And when the flock, with warmer weather, climbs
Higher and higher, him his office leads
To watch their goings, whatsoever track
The wanderers choose. For this he quits his home
At day-spring, and no sooner doth the sun 235
Begin to strike him with a fire-like heat,
Than he lies down upon some shining rock,
And breakfasts with his dog. When they have stolen,
As is their wont, a pittance from strict time,
For rest not needed or exchange of love, 240
Then from his couch he starts; and now his feet
Crush out a livelier fragrance from the flowers
Of lowly thyme, by Nature's skill enwrought
In the wild turf: the lingering dews of morn
Smoke round him, as from hill to hill he hies, 245
His staff protending like a hunter's spear,
Or by its aid leaping from crag to crag,
And o'er the brawling beds of unbridged streams.
Philosophy, methinks, at Fancy's call,
Might deign to follow him through what he does 250
Or sees in his day's march; himself he feels,
In those vast regions where his service lies,
A freeman, wedded to his life of hope
And hazard, and hard labour interchanged
With that majestic indolence so dear 255
To native man. A rambling school-boy, thus
I felt his presence in his own domain,
As of a lord and master, or a power,
Or genius, under Nature, under God,
Presiding; and severest solitude 260
Had more commanding looks when he was there.
When up the lonely brooks on rainy days
Angling I went, or trod the trackless hills
By mists bewildered, [X] suddenly mine eyes
Have glanced upon him distant a few steps, 265
In size a giant, stalking through thick fog,
His sheep like Greenland bears; or, as he stepped
Beyond the boundary line of some hill-shadow,
His form hath flashed upon me, glorified
By the deep radiance of the setting sun: 270
Or him have I descried in distant sky,
A solitary object and sublime,
Above all height! like an aerial cross
Stationed alone upon a spiry rock
Of the Chartreuse, for worship. [Y] Thus was man 275
Ennobled outwardly before my sight,
And thus my heart was early introduced
To an unconscious love and reverence
Of human nature; hence the human form
To me became an index of delight, 280
Of grace and honour, power and worthiness.
Meanwhile this creature--spiritual almost
As those of books, but more exalted far;
Far more of an imaginative form
Than the gay Corin of the groves, [Z] who lives 285
For his own fancies, or to dance by the hour,
In coronal, with Phyllis in the midst--[Z]
Was, for the purposes of kind, a man
With the most common; husband, father; learned,
Could teach, admonish; suffered with the rest 290
From vice and folly, wretchedness and fear;
Of this I little saw, cared less for it,
But something must have felt.
Call ye these appearances
Which I beheld of shepherds in my youth,
This sanctity of Nature given to man, 295
A shadow, a delusion? ye who pore
On the dead letter, miss the spirit of things;
Whose truth is not a motion or a shape
Instinct with vital functions, but a block
Or waxen image which yourselves have made, 300
And ye adore! But blessed be the God
Of Nature and of Man that this was so;
That men before my inexperienced eyes
Did first present themselves thus purified,
Removed, and to a distance that was fit: 305
And so we all of us in some degree
Are led to knowledge, wheresoever led,
And howsoever; were it otherwise,
And we found evil fast as we find good
In our first years, or think that it is found, 310
How could the innocent heart bear up and live!
But doubly fortunate my lot; not here
Alone, that something of a better life
Perhaps was round me than it is the privilege
Of most to move in, but that first I looked 315
At Man through objects that were great or fair;
First communed with him by their help. And thus
Was founded a sure safeguard and defence
Against the weight of meanness, selfish cares,
Coarse manners, vulgar passions, that beat in 320
On all sides from the ordinary world
In which we traffic. Starting from this point
I had my face turned toward the truth, began
With an advantage furnished by that kind
Of prepossession, without which the soul 325
Receives no knowledge that can bring forth good,
No genuine insight ever comes to her.
From the restraint of over-watchful eyes
Preserved, I moved about, year after year,
Happy, [a] and now most thankful that my walk 330
Was guarded from too early intercourse
With the deformities of crowded life,
And those ensuing laughters and contempts,
Self-pleasing, which, if we would wish to think
With a due reverence on earth's rightful lord, 335
Here placed to be the inheritor of heaven,
Will not permit us; but pursue the mind,
That to devotion willingly would rise,
Into the temple and the temple's heart.
Yet deem not, Friend! that human kind with me 340
Thus early took a place pre-eminent;
Nature herself was, at this unripe time,
But secondary to my own pursuits
And animal activities, and all
Their trivial pleasures; [b] and when these had drooped 345
And gradually expired, and Nature, prized
For her own sake, became my joy, even then--[b]
And upwards through late youth, until not less
Than two-and-twenty summers had been told--[c]
Was Man in my affections and regards 350
Subordinate to her, her visible forms
And viewless agencies: a passion, she,
A rapture often, and immediate love
Ever at hand; he, only a delight
Occasional, an accidental grace, 355
His hour being not yet come. Far less had then
The inferior creatures, beast or bird, attuned
My spirit to that gentleness of love
(Though they had long been carefully observed),
Won from me those minute obeisances 360
Of tenderness, [d] which I may number now
With my first blessings. Nevertheless, on these
The light of beauty did not fall in vain,
Or grandeur circumfuse them to no end.
But when that first poetic faculty 365
Of plain Imagination and severe,
No longer a mute influence of the soul,
Ventured, at some rash Muse's earnest call,
To try her strength among harmonious words; [e]
And to book-notions and the rules of art 370
Did knowingly conform itself; there came
Among the simple shapes of human life
A wilfulness of fancy and conceit; [e]
And Nature and her objects beautified
These fictions, as in some sort, in their turn, 375
They burnished her. From touch of this new power
Nothing was safe: the elder-tree that grew
Beside the well-known charnel-house had then
A dismal look: the yew-tree had its ghost,
That took his station there for ornament: 380
The dignities of plain occurrence then
Were tasteless, and truth's golden mean, a point
Where no sufficient pleasure could be found.
Then, if a widow, staggering with the blow
Of her distress, was known to have turned her steps 385
To the cold grave in which her husband slept,
One night, or haply more than one, through pain
Or half-insensate impotence of mind,
The fact was caught at greedily, and there
She must be visitant the whole year through, 390
Wetting the turf with never-ending tears.
Through quaint obliquities I might pursue
These cravings; when the fox-glove, one by one,
Upwards through every stage of the tall stem,
Had shed beside the public way its bells, 395
And stood of all dismantled, save the last
Left at the tapering ladder's top, that seemed
To bend as doth a slender blade of grass
Tipped with a rain-drop, Fancy loved to seat,
Beneath the plant despoiled, but crested still 400
With this last relic, soon itself to fall,
Some vagrant mother, whose arch little ones,
All unconcerned by her dejected plight,
Laughed as with rival eagerness their hands
Gathered the purple cups that round them lay, 405
Strewing the turf's green slope.
A diamond light
(Whene'er the summer sun, declining, smote
A smooth rock wet with constant springs) was seen
Sparkling from out a copse-clad bank that rose
Fronting our cottage. [f] Oft beside the hearth 410
Seated, with open door, often and long
Upon this restless lustre have I gazed,
That made my fancy restless as itself.
'Twas now for me a burnished silver shield
Suspended over a knight's tomb, who lay 415
Inglorious, buried in the dusky wood:
An entrance now into some magic cave
Or palace built by fairies of the rock;
Nor could I have been bribed to disenchant
The spectacle, by visiting the spot. 420
Thus wilful Fancy, in no hurtful mood,
Engrafted far-fetched shapes on feelings bred
By pure Imagination: busy Power [g]
She was, and with her ready pupil turned
Instinctively to human passions, then 425
Least understood. Yet, 'mid the fervent swarm
Of these vagaries, with an eye so rich
As mine was through the bounty of a grand
And lovely region, [h] I had forms distinct
To steady me: each airy thought revolved 430
Round a substantial centre, which at once
Incited it to motion, and controlled.
I did not pine like one in cities bred,
As was thy melancholy lot, dear Friend! [i]
Great Spirit as thou art, in endless dreams 435
Of sickliness, disjoining, joining, things
Without the light of knowledge. Where the harm,
If, when the woodman languished with disease
Induced by sleeping nightly on the ground
Within his sod-built cabin, Indian-wise, 440
I called the pangs of disappointed love,
And all the sad etcetera of the wrong,
To help him to his grave? Meanwhile the man,
If not already from the woods retired
To die at home, was haply as I knew, 445
Withering by slow degrees, 'mid gentle airs,
Birds, running streams, and hills so beautiful
On golden evenings, while the charcoal pile
Breathed up its smoke, an image of his ghost
Or spirit that full soon must take her flight. 450
Nor shall we not be tending towards that point
Of sound humanity to which our Tale
Leads, though by sinuous ways, if here I shew
How Fancy, in a season when she wove
Those slender cords, to guide the unconscious Boy 455
For the Man's sake, could feed at Nature's call
Some pensive musings which might well beseem
Maturer years.
A grove there is whose boughs
Stretch from the western marge of Thurston-mere, [k]
With length of shade so thick, that whoso glides 460
Along the line of low-roofed water, moves
As in a cloister. Once--while, in that shade
Loitering, I watched the golden beams of light
Flung from the setting sun, as they reposed
In silent beauty on the naked ridge 465
Of a high eastern hill--thus flowed my thoughts
In a pure stream of words fresh from the heart:
Dear native Regions, [m] wheresoe'er shall close
My mortal course, there will I think on you;
Dying, will cast on you a backward look; 470
Even as this setting sun (albeit the Vale
Is no where touched by one memorial gleam)
Doth with the fond remains of his last power
Still linger, and a farewell lustre sheds
On the dear mountain-tops where first he rose. 475
Enough of humble arguments; recal,
My Song! those high emotions which thy voice
Has heretofore made known; that bursting forth
Of sympathy, inspiring and inspired,
When everywhere a vital pulse was felt, 480
And all the several frames of things, like stars,
Through every magnitude distinguishable,
Shone mutually indebted, or half lost
Each in the other's blaze, a galaxy
Of life and glory. In the midst stood Man, 485
Outwardly, inwardly contemplated,
As, of all visible natures, crown, though born
Of dust, and kindred to the worm; a Being,
Both in perception and discernment, first
In every capability of rapture, 490
Through the divine effect of power and love;
As, more than anything we know, instinct
With godhead, and, by reason and by will,
Acknowledging dependency sublime.
Ere long, the lonely mountains left, I moved, 495
Begirt, from day to day, with temporal shapes
Of vice and folly thrust upon my view,
Objects of sport, and ridicule, and scorn,
Manners and characters discriminate,
And little bustling passions that eclipse, 500
As well they might, the impersonated thought,
The idea, or abstraction of the kind.
An idler among academic bowers,
Such was my new condition, as at large
Has been set forth; [n] yet here the vulgar light 505
Of present, actual, superficial life,
Gleaming through colouring of other times,
Old usages and local privilege,
Was welcome, softened, if not solemnised.
This notwithstanding, being brought more near 510
To vice and guilt, forerunning wretchedness
I trembled,--thought, at times, of human life
With an indefinite terror and dismay,
Such as the storms and angry elements
Had bred in me; but gloomier far, a dim 515
Analogy to uproar and misrule,
Disquiet, danger, and obscurity.
It might be told (but wherefore speak of things
Common to all? ) that, seeing, I was led
Gravely to ponder--judging between good 520
And evil, not as for the mind's delight
But for her guidance--one who was to _act_,
As sometimes to the best of feeble means
I did, by human sympathy impelled:
And, through dislike and most offensive pain, 525
Was to the truth conducted; of this faith
Never forsaken, that, by acting well,
And understanding, I should learn to love
The end of life, and every thing we know.
Grave Teacher, stern Preceptress! for at times 530
Thou canst put on an aspect most severe;
London, to thee I willingly return.
Erewhile my verse played idly with the flowers
Enwrought upon thy mantle; satisfied
With that amusement, and a simple look 535
Of child-like inquisition now and then
Cast upwards on thy countenance, to detect
Some inner meanings which might harbour there.
But how could I in mood so light indulge,
Keeping such fresh remembrance of the day, 540
When, having thridded the long labyrinth
Of the suburban villages, I first
Entered thy vast dominion? [o] On the roof
Of an itinerant vehicle I sate,
With vulgar men about me, trivial forms 545
Of houses, pavement, streets, of men and things,--
Mean shapes on every side: but, at the instant,
When to myself it fairly might be said,
The threshold now is overpast, (how strange
That aught external to the living mind 550
Should have such mighty sway! yet so it was),
A weight of ages did at once descend
Upon my heart; no thought embodied, no
Distinct remembrances, but weight and power,--
Power growing under weight: alas! I feel 555
That I am trifling: 'twas a moment's pause,--
All that took place within me came and went
As in a moment; yet with Time it dwells,
And grateful memory, as a thing divine.
The curious traveller, who, from open day, 560
Hath passed with torches into some huge cave,
The Grotto of Antiparos, [p] or the Den
In old time haunted by that Danish Witch,
Yordas; [q] he looks around and sees the vault
Widening on all sides; sees, or thinks he sees, 565
Erelong, the massy roof above his head,
That instantly unsettles and recedes,--
Substance and shadow, light and darkness, all
Commingled, making up a canopy
Of shapes and forms and tendencies to shape 570
That shift and vanish, change and interchange
Like spectres,--ferment silent and sublime!
That after a short space works less and less,
Till, every effort, every motion gone,
The scene before him stands in perfect view 575
Exposed, and lifeless as a written book! --
But let him pause awhile, and look again,
And a new quickening shall succeed, at first
Beginning timidly, then creeping fast,
Till the whole cave, so late a senseless mass, 580
Busies the eye with images and forms
Boldly assembled,--here is shadowed forth
From the projections, wrinkles, cavities,
A variegated landscape,--there the shape
Of some gigantic warrior clad in mail, 585
The ghostly semblance of a hooded monk.
Veiled nun, or pilgrim resting on his staff:
Strange congregation! yet not slow to meet
Eyes that perceive through minds that can inspire.
Even in such sort had I at first been moved, 590
Nor otherwise continued to be moved,
As I explored the vast metropolis,
Fount of my country's destiny and the world's;
That great emporium, chronicle at once
And burial-place of passions, and their home 595
Imperial, their chief living residence.
With strong sensations teeming as it did
Of past and present, such a place must needs
Have pleased me, seeking knowledge at that time
Far less than craving power; yet knowledge came, 600
Sought or unsought, and influxes of power
Came, of themselves, or at her call derived
In fits of kindliest apprehensiveness,
From all sides, when whate'er was in itself
Capacious found, or seemed to find, in me 605
A correspondent amplitude of mind;
Such is the strength and glory of our youth!
The human nature unto which I felt
That I belonged, and reverenced with love,
Was not a punctual presence, but a spirit 610
Diffused through time and space, with aid derived
Of evidence from monuments, erect,
Prostrate, or leaning towards their common rest
In earth, the widely scattered wreck sublime
Of vanished nations, or more clearly drawn 615
From books and what they picture and record.
'Tis true, the history of our native land,
With those of Greece compared and popular Rome,
And in our high-wrought modern narratives
Stript of their harmonising soul, the life 620
Of manners and familiar incidents,
Had never much delighted me. And less
Than other intellects had mine been used
To lean upon extrinsic circumstance
Of record or tradition; but a sense 625
Of what in the Great City had been done
And suffered, and was doing, suffering, still,
Weighed with me, could support the test of thought;
And, in despite of all that had gone by,
Or was departing never to return, 630
There I conversed with majesty and power
Like independent natures. Hence the place
Was thronged with impregnations like the Wilds
In which my early feelings had been nursed--
Bare hills and valleys, full of caverns, rocks, 635
And audible seclusions, dashing lakes,
Echoes and waterfalls, and pointed crags
That into music touch the passing wind.
Here then my young imagination found
No uncongenial element; could here 640
Among new objects serve or give command,
Even as the heart's occasions might require,
To forward reason's else too scrupulous march.
The effect was, still more elevated views
Of human nature. Neither vice nor guilt, 645
Debasement undergone by body or mind,
Nor all the misery forced upon my sight,
Misery not lightly passed, but sometimes scanned
Most feelingly, could overthrow my trust
In what we _may_ become; induce belief 650
That I was ignorant, had been falsely taught,
A solitary, who with vain conceits
Had been inspired, and walked about in dreams.
From those sad scenes when meditation turned,
Lo! every thing that was indeed divine 655
Retained its purity inviolate,
Nay brighter shone, by this portentous gloom
Set off; such opposition as aroused
The mind of Adam, yet in Paradise
Though fallen from bliss, when in the East he saw 660
[r] Darkness ere day's mid course, and morning light
More orient in the western cloud, that drew
O'er the blue firmament a radiant white,
Descending slow with something heavenly fraught.
Add also, that among the multitudes 665
Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen
Affectingly set forth, more than elsewhere
Is possible, the unity of man,
One spirit over ignorance and vice
Predominant, in good and evil hearts; 670
One sense for moral judgments, as one eye
For the sun's light. The soul when smitten thus
By a sublime _idea_, whencesoe'er
Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds
On the pure bliss, and takes her rest with God. 675
Thus from a very early age, O Friend!
My thoughts by slow gradations had been drawn
To human-kind, and to the good and ill
Of human life: Nature had led me on;
And oft amid the "busy hum" I seemed [s] 680
To travel independent of her help,
As if I had forgotten her; but no,
The world of human-kind outweighed not hers
In my habitual thoughts; the scale of love,
Though filling daily, still was light, compared 685
With that in which _her_ mighty objects lay.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
. . . which . . .
MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 2:
Is yon assembled in the gay green field?
MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 3:
. . . family of men,
Twice twenty with their children and their wives,
And here and there a stranger interspersed.
Such show, on this side now, . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 4:
Sees annually; if storms be not abroad
And mists have left him . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 5:
It is a summer Festival, a Fair,
The only one which that secluded Glen
Has to be proud of . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 6:
. . . heat of noon,
Behold! the cattle are driven down, the sheep
That have for this day's traffic been call'd out
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 7:
. . . visitant!
The showman with his freight upon his back,
And once, perchance, in lapse of many years
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 8:
But one is here, . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 9:
. . . orchard, apples, pears,
(On this day only to such office stooping)
She carries in her basket and walks round
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 10:
. . . calling, . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 11:
. . . rich, the old man now (l. 44)
Is generous, so gaiety prevails
Which all partake of, young and old. Immense (l. 55)
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 12:
. . . green field:
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 13:
. . . seem,
Their herds and flocks about them, they themselves
And all which they can further . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 14:
The lurking brooks for their . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 15:
And the blue sky that roofs . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Dorothy Wordsworth alludes to one of these "Fairs" in her
Grasmere Journal, September 2, 1800. Her brothers William and John, with
Coleridge, were all at Dove Cottage at that time.
"They all went to Stickle Tarn. A very fine, warm, sunny, beautiful
morning. We walked to the fair. . . . It was a lovely moonlight night.
We talked much about our house on Helvellyn. The moonlight shone only
upon the village. It did not eclipse the village lights; and the sound
of dancing and merriment came along the still air. I walked with
Coleridge and William up the lane and by the church. . . . "
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: These lines are from a descriptive Poem--'Malvern
Hills'--by one of Wordsworth's oldest friends, Mr. Joseph Cottle of
Bristol. Cottle was the publisher of the first edition of "Lyrical
Ballads," 1798 (Mr. Carter 1850). --Ed. ]
[Footnote C: The district round Cockermouth. --Ed. ]
[Footnote D: Possibly an allusion to the hanging gardens of Babylon,
said to have been constructed by Nebuchadnezzar for his Median queen.
Berosus in Joseph, _contr. Ap. _ I. 19, calls it a hanging _Paradise_
(though Diodorus Siculus uses the term [Greek: kaepos]). --Ed.
The park of the Emperor of China at Gehol, is called 'Van-shoo-yuen',
"the paradise of ten thousand trees. " Lord Macartney concludes his
description of that "wonderful garden" by saying,
"If any place can be said in any respect to have similar features to
the western park of 'Van-shoo-yuen,' which I have seen this day, it is
at Lowther Hall in Westmoreland, which (when I knew it many years ago)
. . . I thought might be reckoned . . . the finest scene in the British
dominions. "
See Barrow's 'Travels in China', p. 134. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E: 150 miles north-east of Pekin. See a description of them in
Sir George Stanton's 'Authentic Account of an Embassy from the King of
Great Britain to the Emperor of China' (from the papers of Lord
Macartney), London, 1797, vol. ii. ch. ii. See also 'Encyclopaedia
Britannica', ninth edition, article "Gehol. "--Ed. ]
[Footnote F: Compare 'Paradise Lost', iv. l. 242. --Ed. ]
[Footnote G: Compare 'Kubla Khan', ll. 1, 2:
'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote H: The Hawkshead district. --Ed. ]
[Footnote I: Compare 'Michael', vol. ii. p. 215, 'Fidelity', p. 44 of
this vol. , etc. --Ed. ]
[Footnote K: See Virgil, 'AEneid' viii. 319. --Ed. ]
[Footnote L: See Polybius, 'Historiarum libri qui supersunt', vi. 20,
21; and Virgil, 'Eclogue' x. 32. --Ed. ]
[Footnote M: See 'As You Like It', act III. scene v. --Ed. ]
[Footnote N: See 'The Winter's Tale', act IV. scene iii. --Ed. ]
[Footnote O: See Spenser, 'The Shepheard's Calendar (May)'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote P: An Italian river in Calabria, famous for its groves and the
fine-fleeced sheep that pastured on its banks. See Virgil, 'Georgics'
iv. 126; Horace, 'Odes' II. vi.
Meanwhile, as if the whole were one vast mill,
Are vomiting, receiving on all sides, 720
Men, Women, three-years' Children, Babes in arms.
Oh, blank confusion! true epitome
Of what the mighty City is herself,
To thousands upon thousands of her sons,
Living amid the same perpetual whirl 725
Of trivial objects, melted and reduced
To one identity, by differences
That have no law, no meaning, and no end--
Oppression, under which even highest minds
Must labour, whence the strongest are not free. [d] 730
But though the picture weary out the eye,
By nature an unmanageable sight,
It is not wholly so to him who looks
In steadiness, who hath among least things
An under-sense of greatest; sees the parts 735
As parts, but with a feeling of the whole.
This, of all acquisitions, first awaits
On sundry and most widely different modes
Of education, nor with least delight
On that through which I passed. Attention springs, 740
And comprehensiveness and memory flow,
From early converse with the works of God
Among all regions; chiefly where appear
Most obviously simplicity and power.
Think, how the everlasting streams and woods, 745
Stretched and still stretching far and wide, exalt
The roving Indian, on his desert sands:
What grandeur not unfelt, what pregnant show
Of beauty, meets the sun-burnt Arab's eye:
And, as the sea propels, from zone to zone, 750
Its currents; magnifies its shoals of life
Beyond all compass; spreads, and sends aloft
Armies of clouds,--even so, its powers and aspects
Shape for mankind, by principles as fixed,
The views and aspirations of the soul 755
To majesty. Like virtue have the forms
Perennial of the ancient hills; nor less
The changeful language of their countenances
Quickens the slumbering mind, and aids the thoughts,
However multitudinous, to move 760
With order and relation. This, if still,
As hitherto, in freedom I may speak,
Not violating any just restraint,
As may be hoped, of real modesty,--
This did I feel, in London's vast domain. 765
The Spirit of Nature was upon me there;
The soul of Beauty and enduring Life
Vouchsafed her inspiration, and diffused,
Through meagre lines and colours, and the press
Of self-destroying, transitory things, 770
Composure, and ennobling Harmony.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Goslar, February 10th, 1799. Compare Mr. Carter's note to
'The Prelude', book vii. l. 3. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: The first two paragraphs of book i. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C: April 1804: see the reference in book vi. l. 48. --Ed. ]
[Footnote D: Before he left for Malta, Coleridge had urged Wordsworth to
complete this work. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E: The summer of 1804. --Ed. ]
[Footnote F: Doubtless John's Grove, below White Moss Common. On
November 24, 1801, Dorothy Wordsworth wrote in her Journal,
"As we were going along, we were stopped at once, at the distance
perhaps of fifty yards from our favourite birch tree. It was yielding
to the gusty wind with all its tender twigs. The sun shone upon it,
and it glanced in the wind like a flying sunshiny shower. It was a
tree in shape, with stem and branches, but it was like a spirit of
water. The sun went in, and it resumed its purplish appearance, the
twigs still yielding to the wind, but not so visibly to us. The other
birch trees that were near it looked bright and cheerful, but it was a
Creation by itself amongst them. "
This does not refer to John's Grove, but it may be interesting to
compare the sister's description of a birch tree "tossing in sunshine,"
with the brother's account of a grove of fir trees similarly
moved. --Ed. ]
[Footnote G: The visit to Switzerland with Jones in 1790, described in
book vi. --Ed. ]
[Footnote H: He took his B. A. degree in January 1791, and immediately
afterwards left Cambridge. --Ed. ]
[Footnote I: Going to Forncett Rectory, near Norwich, he spent six weeks
with his sister, and then went to London, where he stayed four
months. --Ed. ]
[Footnote K: From the hint given in this passage, it would seem that he
had gone up to London for a few days in 1788. Compare book viii. l. 543,
and note [Footnote o]. --Ed. ]
[Footnote L: The story of Whittington, hearing the bells ring out the
prosperity in store for him,
'Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London,'
is well known. --Ed. ]
[Footnote M: Tea-gardens, till well on in this century; now built
over. --Ed. ]
[Footnote N: Bedlam, a popular corruption of Bethlehem, a lunatic
hospital, founded in 1246. The old building, with its "carved maniacs at
the gates," was taken down in 1675, and the hospital removed to
Moorfields. The second building--the one to which Wordsworth
refers--was demolished in 1814. --Ed. ]
[Footnote O: The London "Monument," erected from a design by Sir
Christopher Wren, on the spot where the great London Fire of 1666
began. --Ed. ]
[Footnote P: The historic Tower of London. --Ed. ]
[Footnote Q: A theatre in St. John's Street Road, Clerkenwell, erected
in 1765. --Ed. ]
[Footnote R: See 'Samson Agonistes', l. 88. --Ed. ]
[Footnote S: See 'Hamlet', act I. sc. v. l. 100. --Ed. ]
[Footnote T: The story of Mary, "The Maid of Buttermere," as told in the
guidebooks, is as follows:
'She was the daughter of the inn-keeper at the Fish Inn. She was much
admired, and many suitors sought her hand in vain. At last a stranger,
named Hatfield, who called himself the Hon. Colonel Hope, brother of
Lord Hopetoun, won her heart, and married her. Soon after the
marriage, he was apprehended on a charge of forgery, surreptitiously
franking a letter in the name of a Member of Parliament, tried at
Carlisle, convicted, and hanged. It was discovered during the trial,
that he had a wife and family, and had fled to these sequestered parts
to escape the arm of the law. '
See 'Essays on his own Times', by S. T. Coleridge, edited by his
daughter Sara. A melodrama on the story of the Maid of Buttermere was
produced in all the suburban London theatres; and in 1843 a novel was
published in London by Henry Colburn, entitled 'James Hatfield and the
Beauty of Buttermere, a Story of Modern Times', with illustrations by
Robert Cruikshank. --Ed. ]
[Footnote U: Compare S. T. C. 's 'Essays on his own Times', p. 585. --Ed. ]
[Footnote V: He first went south to Cambridge, in October 1787; and he
left London, at the close of his second visit to Town, in the end of May
1791. --Ed. ]
[Footnote W: Compare 'Macbeth', act II. sc. i. l. 58:
'Thy very stones prate of my whereabout. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote X: The Houses of Parliament. --Ed. ]
[Footnote Y: See Shakespeare's 'King Henry the Fifth', act IV. sc. iii.
l. 53. --Ed. ]
[Footnote Z: Solomon Gesner (or Gessner), a landscape artist, etcher,
and poet, born at Zurich in 1730, died in 1787. His 'Tod Abels' (the
death of Abel), though the poorest of all his works, became a favourite
in Germany, France, and England. It was translated into English by Mary
Collyer, a 12th edition of her version appearing in 1780. As 'The Death
of Abel' was written before 1760, in the line "he who penned, the other
day," Wordsworth probably refers to some new edition of the
translation. --Ed. ]
[Footnote a: Edward Young, author of 'Night Thoughts, on Life, Death,
and Immortality'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote b: In Argyleshire. --Ed. ]
[Footnote c: Permission was given by Henry I. to hold a "Fair" on St.
Bartholomew's day. --Ed. ]
[Footnote d: In one of the MS. books in Dorothy Wordsworth's
handwriting, on the outside leather cover of which is written, "May to
December 1802," there are some lines which were evidently dictated to
her, or copied by her, from the numerous experimental efforts of her
brother in connection with this autobiographical poem. They are as
follows:
'Shall he who gives his days to low pursuits
Amid the undistinguishable crowd
Of cities, 'mid the same eternal flow
Of the same objects, melted and reduced
To one identity, by differences
That have no law, no meaning, and no end,
Shall he feel yearning to those lifeless forms,
And shall we think that Nature is less kind
To those, who all day long, through a busy life,
Have walked within her sight? It cannot be. '
Ed. ]
* * * * *
BOOK EIGHT
RETROSPECT--LOVE OF NATURE LEADING TO LOVE OF MAN
What sounds are those, Helvellyn, that [1] are heard
Up to thy summit, through the depth of air
Ascending, as if distance had the power
To make the sounds more audible? What crowd
Covers, or sprinkles o'er, yon village green? [2] 5
Crowd seems it, solitary hill! to thee,
Though but a little family of men,
Shepherds and tillers of the ground--betimes
Assembled with their children and their wives,
And here and there a stranger interspersed. 10
They hold a rustic fair--a festival,
Such as, on this side now, and now on that, [3]
Repeated through his tributary vales,
Helvellyn, in the silence of his rest,
Sees annually, [A] if clouds towards either ocean 15
Blown from their favourite resting-place, or mists
Dissolved, have left him [4] an unshrouded head.
Delightful day it is for all who dwell
In this secluded glen, and eagerly
They give it welcome. [5] Long ere heat of noon, 20
From byre or field the kine were brought; the sheep [6]
Are penned in cotes; the chaffering is begun.
The heifer lows, uneasy at the voice
Of a new master; bleat the flocks aloud.
Booths are there none; a stall or two is here; 25
A lame man or a blind, the one to beg,
The other to make music; hither, too,
From far, with basket, slung upon her arm,
Of hawker's wares--books, pictures, combs, and pins--
Some aged woman finds her way again, 30
Year after year, a punctual visitant!
There also stands a speech-maker by rote,
Pulling the strings of his boxed raree-show;
And in the lapse of many years may come [7]
Prouder itinerant, mountebank, or he 35
Whose wonders in a covered wain lie hid.
But one there is, [8] the loveliest of them all,
Some sweet lass of the valley, looking out
For gains, and who that sees her would not buy?
Fruits of her father's orchard, are her wares, 40
And with the ruddy produce, she walks round [9]
Among the crowd, half pleased with, half ashamed
Of her new office, [10] blushing restlessly.
The children now are rich, for the old to-day
Are generous as the young; and, if content 45
With looking on, some ancient wedded pair
Sit in the shade together, while they gaze,
"A cheerful smile unbends the wrinkled brow,
The days departed start again to life,
And all the scenes of childhood reappear, 50
Faint, but more tranquil, like the changing sun
To him who slept at noon and wakes at eve. " [B]
Thus gaiety and cheerfulness prevail,
Spreading from young to old, from old to young,
And no one seems to want his share. --Immense [11] 55
Is the recess, the circumambient world
Magnificent, by which they are embraced:
They move about upon the soft green turf: [12]
How little they, they and their doings, seem,
And all that they can further or obstruct! [13] 60
Through utter weakness pitiably dear,
As tender infants are: and yet how great!
For all things serve them: them the morning light
Loves, as it glistens on the silent rocks;
And them the silent rocks, which now from high 65
Look down upon them; the reposing clouds;
The wild brooks prattling from [14] invisible haunts;
And old Helvellyn, conscious of the stir
Which animates this day [15] their calm abode.
With deep devotion, Nature, did I feel, 70
In that enormous City's turbulent world
Of men and things, what benefit I owed
To thee, and those domains of rural peace,
Where to the sense of beauty first my heart
Was opened; [C] tract more exquisitely fair 75
Than that famed paradise often thousand trees, [D]
Or Gehol's matchless gardens, [E] for delight
Of the Tartarian dynasty composed
(Beyond that mighty wall, not fabulous,
China's stupendous mound) by patient toil 80
Of myriads and boon nature's lavish help; [F]
There, in a clime from widest empire chosen,
Fulfilling (could enchantment have done more? )
A sumptuous dream of flowery lawns, with domes
Of pleasure [G] sprinkled over, shady dells 85
For eastern monasteries, sunny mounts
With temples crested, bridges, gondolas,
Rocks, dens, and groves of foliage taught to melt
Into each other their obsequious hues,
Vanished and vanishing in subtle chase, 90
Too fine to be pursued; or standing forth
In no discordant opposition, strong
And gorgeous as the colours side by side
Bedded among rich plumes of tropic birds;
And mountains over all, embracing all; 95
And all the landscape, endlessly enriched
With waters running, falling, or asleep.
But lovelier far than this, the paradise
Where I was reared; [H] in Nature's primitive gifts
Favoured no less, and more to every sense 100
Delicious, seeing that the sun and sky,
The elements, and seasons as they change,
Do find a worthy fellow-labourer there--
Man free, man working for himself, with choice
Of time, and place, and object; by his wants, 105
His comforts, native occupations, cares,
Cheerfully led to individual ends
Or social, and still followed by a train
Unwooed, unthought-of even--simplicity,
And beauty, and inevitable grace. 110
Yea, when a glimpse of those imperial bowers
Would to a child be transport over-great,
When but a half-hour's roam through such a place
Would leave behind a dance of images,
That shall break in upon his sleep for weeks; 115
Even then the common haunts of the green earth,
And ordinary interests of man,
Which they embosom, all without regard
As both may seem, are fastening on the heart
Insensibly, each with the other's help. 120
For me, when my affections first were led
From kindred, friends, and playmates, to partake
Love for the human creature's absolute self,
That noticeable kindliness of heart
Sprang out of fountains, there abounding most 125
Where sovereign Nature dictated the tasks
And occupations which her beauty adorned,
And Shepherds were the men that pleased me first; [I]
Not such as Saturn ruled 'mid Latian wilds,
With arts and laws so tempered, that their lives 130
Left, even to us toiling in this late day,
A bright tradition of the golden age; [K]
Not such as, 'mid Arcadian fastnesses
Sequestered, handed down among themselves
Felicity, in Grecian song renowned; [L] 135
Nor such as--when an adverse fate had driven,
From house and home, the courtly band whose fortunes
Entered, with Shakespeare's genius, the wild woods
Of Arden--amid sunshine or in shade,
Culled the best fruits of Time's uncounted hours, 140
Ere Phoebe sighed for the false Ganymede; [M]
Or there where Perdita and Florizel
Together danced, Queen of the feast, and King; [N]
Nor such as Spenser fabled. True it is,
That I had heard (what he perhaps had seen) 145
Of maids at sunrise bringing in from far
Their May-bush [O], and along the streets in flocks
Parading with a song of taunting rhymes,
Aimed at the laggards slumbering within doors;
Had also heard, from those who yet remembered, 150
Tales of the May-pole dance, and wreaths that decked
Porch, door-way, or kirk-pillar; [O] and of youths,
Each with his maid, before the sun was up,
By annual custom, issuing forth in troops,
To drink the waters of some sainted well, 155
And hang it round with garlands. Love survives;
But, for such purpose, flowers no longer grow:
The times, too sage, perhaps too proud, have dropped
These lighter graces; and the rural ways
And manners which my childhood looked upon 160
Were the unluxuriant produce of a life
Intent on little but substantial needs,
Yet rich in beauty, beauty that was felt.
But images of danger and distress,
Man suffering among awful Powers and Forms; 165
Of this I heard, and saw enough to make
Imagination restless; nor was free
Myself from frequent perils; nor were tales
Wanting,--the tragedies of former times,
Hazards and strange escapes, of which the rocks 170
Immutable and overflowing streams,
Where'er I roamed, were speaking monuments.
Smooth life had flock and shepherd in old time,
Long springs and tepid winters, on the banks
Of delicate Galesus [P]; and no less 175
Those scattered along Adria's myrtle shores: [Q]
Smooth life had herdsman, and his snow-white herd
To triumphs and to sacrificial rites
Devoted, on the inviolable stream
Of rich Clitumnus [R]; and the goat-herd lived 180
As calmly, underneath the pleasant brows
Of cool Lucretilis [S], where the pipe was heard
Of Pan, Invisible God, thrilling the rocks
With tutelary music, from all harm
The fold protecting. I myself, mature 185
In manhood then, have seen a pastoral tract
Like one of these, where Fancy might run wild,
Though under skies less generous, less serene:
There, for her own delight had Nature framed
A pleasure-ground, diffused a fair expanse 190
Of level pasture, islanded with groves
And banked with woody risings; but the Plain [T]
Endless, here opening widely out, and there
Shut up in lesser lakes or beds of lawn
And intricate recesses, creek or bay 195
Sheltered within a shelter, where at large
The shepherd strays, a rolling hut his home.
Thither he comes with spring-time, there abides
All summer, and at sunrise ye may hear
His flageolet to liquid notes of love 200
Attuned, or sprightly fife resounding far.
Nook is there none, nor tract of that vast space
Where passage opens, but the same shall have
In turn its visitant, telling there his hours
In unlaborious pleasure, with no task 205
More toilsome than to carve a beechen bowl
For spring or fountain, which the traveller finds,
When through the region he pursues at will
His devious course. A glimpse of such sweet life
I saw when, from the melancholy walls 210
Of Goslar, once imperial, I renewed
My daily walk along that wide champaign, [U]
That, reaching to her gates, spreads east and west,
And northwards, from beneath the mountainous verge
Of the Hercynian forest, [V] Yet, hail to you 215
Moors, mountains, headlands, and ye hollow vales,
Ye long deep channels for the Atlantic's voice, [W]
Powers of my native region! Ye that seize
The heart with firmer grasp! Your snows and streams
Ungovernable, and your terrifying winds, 220
That howl so dismally for him who treads
Companionless your awful solitudes!
There, 'tis the shepherd's task the winter long
To wait upon the storms: of their approach
Sagacious, into sheltering coves he drives 225
His flock, and thither from the homestead bears
A toilsome burden up the craggy ways,
And deals it out, their regular nourishment
Strewn on the frozen snow. And when the spring
Looks out, and all the pastures dance with lambs, 230
And when the flock, with warmer weather, climbs
Higher and higher, him his office leads
To watch their goings, whatsoever track
The wanderers choose. For this he quits his home
At day-spring, and no sooner doth the sun 235
Begin to strike him with a fire-like heat,
Than he lies down upon some shining rock,
And breakfasts with his dog. When they have stolen,
As is their wont, a pittance from strict time,
For rest not needed or exchange of love, 240
Then from his couch he starts; and now his feet
Crush out a livelier fragrance from the flowers
Of lowly thyme, by Nature's skill enwrought
In the wild turf: the lingering dews of morn
Smoke round him, as from hill to hill he hies, 245
His staff protending like a hunter's spear,
Or by its aid leaping from crag to crag,
And o'er the brawling beds of unbridged streams.
Philosophy, methinks, at Fancy's call,
Might deign to follow him through what he does 250
Or sees in his day's march; himself he feels,
In those vast regions where his service lies,
A freeman, wedded to his life of hope
And hazard, and hard labour interchanged
With that majestic indolence so dear 255
To native man. A rambling school-boy, thus
I felt his presence in his own domain,
As of a lord and master, or a power,
Or genius, under Nature, under God,
Presiding; and severest solitude 260
Had more commanding looks when he was there.
When up the lonely brooks on rainy days
Angling I went, or trod the trackless hills
By mists bewildered, [X] suddenly mine eyes
Have glanced upon him distant a few steps, 265
In size a giant, stalking through thick fog,
His sheep like Greenland bears; or, as he stepped
Beyond the boundary line of some hill-shadow,
His form hath flashed upon me, glorified
By the deep radiance of the setting sun: 270
Or him have I descried in distant sky,
A solitary object and sublime,
Above all height! like an aerial cross
Stationed alone upon a spiry rock
Of the Chartreuse, for worship. [Y] Thus was man 275
Ennobled outwardly before my sight,
And thus my heart was early introduced
To an unconscious love and reverence
Of human nature; hence the human form
To me became an index of delight, 280
Of grace and honour, power and worthiness.
Meanwhile this creature--spiritual almost
As those of books, but more exalted far;
Far more of an imaginative form
Than the gay Corin of the groves, [Z] who lives 285
For his own fancies, or to dance by the hour,
In coronal, with Phyllis in the midst--[Z]
Was, for the purposes of kind, a man
With the most common; husband, father; learned,
Could teach, admonish; suffered with the rest 290
From vice and folly, wretchedness and fear;
Of this I little saw, cared less for it,
But something must have felt.
Call ye these appearances
Which I beheld of shepherds in my youth,
This sanctity of Nature given to man, 295
A shadow, a delusion? ye who pore
On the dead letter, miss the spirit of things;
Whose truth is not a motion or a shape
Instinct with vital functions, but a block
Or waxen image which yourselves have made, 300
And ye adore! But blessed be the God
Of Nature and of Man that this was so;
That men before my inexperienced eyes
Did first present themselves thus purified,
Removed, and to a distance that was fit: 305
And so we all of us in some degree
Are led to knowledge, wheresoever led,
And howsoever; were it otherwise,
And we found evil fast as we find good
In our first years, or think that it is found, 310
How could the innocent heart bear up and live!
But doubly fortunate my lot; not here
Alone, that something of a better life
Perhaps was round me than it is the privilege
Of most to move in, but that first I looked 315
At Man through objects that were great or fair;
First communed with him by their help. And thus
Was founded a sure safeguard and defence
Against the weight of meanness, selfish cares,
Coarse manners, vulgar passions, that beat in 320
On all sides from the ordinary world
In which we traffic. Starting from this point
I had my face turned toward the truth, began
With an advantage furnished by that kind
Of prepossession, without which the soul 325
Receives no knowledge that can bring forth good,
No genuine insight ever comes to her.
From the restraint of over-watchful eyes
Preserved, I moved about, year after year,
Happy, [a] and now most thankful that my walk 330
Was guarded from too early intercourse
With the deformities of crowded life,
And those ensuing laughters and contempts,
Self-pleasing, which, if we would wish to think
With a due reverence on earth's rightful lord, 335
Here placed to be the inheritor of heaven,
Will not permit us; but pursue the mind,
That to devotion willingly would rise,
Into the temple and the temple's heart.
Yet deem not, Friend! that human kind with me 340
Thus early took a place pre-eminent;
Nature herself was, at this unripe time,
But secondary to my own pursuits
And animal activities, and all
Their trivial pleasures; [b] and when these had drooped 345
And gradually expired, and Nature, prized
For her own sake, became my joy, even then--[b]
And upwards through late youth, until not less
Than two-and-twenty summers had been told--[c]
Was Man in my affections and regards 350
Subordinate to her, her visible forms
And viewless agencies: a passion, she,
A rapture often, and immediate love
Ever at hand; he, only a delight
Occasional, an accidental grace, 355
His hour being not yet come. Far less had then
The inferior creatures, beast or bird, attuned
My spirit to that gentleness of love
(Though they had long been carefully observed),
Won from me those minute obeisances 360
Of tenderness, [d] which I may number now
With my first blessings. Nevertheless, on these
The light of beauty did not fall in vain,
Or grandeur circumfuse them to no end.
But when that first poetic faculty 365
Of plain Imagination and severe,
No longer a mute influence of the soul,
Ventured, at some rash Muse's earnest call,
To try her strength among harmonious words; [e]
And to book-notions and the rules of art 370
Did knowingly conform itself; there came
Among the simple shapes of human life
A wilfulness of fancy and conceit; [e]
And Nature and her objects beautified
These fictions, as in some sort, in their turn, 375
They burnished her. From touch of this new power
Nothing was safe: the elder-tree that grew
Beside the well-known charnel-house had then
A dismal look: the yew-tree had its ghost,
That took his station there for ornament: 380
The dignities of plain occurrence then
Were tasteless, and truth's golden mean, a point
Where no sufficient pleasure could be found.
Then, if a widow, staggering with the blow
Of her distress, was known to have turned her steps 385
To the cold grave in which her husband slept,
One night, or haply more than one, through pain
Or half-insensate impotence of mind,
The fact was caught at greedily, and there
She must be visitant the whole year through, 390
Wetting the turf with never-ending tears.
Through quaint obliquities I might pursue
These cravings; when the fox-glove, one by one,
Upwards through every stage of the tall stem,
Had shed beside the public way its bells, 395
And stood of all dismantled, save the last
Left at the tapering ladder's top, that seemed
To bend as doth a slender blade of grass
Tipped with a rain-drop, Fancy loved to seat,
Beneath the plant despoiled, but crested still 400
With this last relic, soon itself to fall,
Some vagrant mother, whose arch little ones,
All unconcerned by her dejected plight,
Laughed as with rival eagerness their hands
Gathered the purple cups that round them lay, 405
Strewing the turf's green slope.
A diamond light
(Whene'er the summer sun, declining, smote
A smooth rock wet with constant springs) was seen
Sparkling from out a copse-clad bank that rose
Fronting our cottage. [f] Oft beside the hearth 410
Seated, with open door, often and long
Upon this restless lustre have I gazed,
That made my fancy restless as itself.
'Twas now for me a burnished silver shield
Suspended over a knight's tomb, who lay 415
Inglorious, buried in the dusky wood:
An entrance now into some magic cave
Or palace built by fairies of the rock;
Nor could I have been bribed to disenchant
The spectacle, by visiting the spot. 420
Thus wilful Fancy, in no hurtful mood,
Engrafted far-fetched shapes on feelings bred
By pure Imagination: busy Power [g]
She was, and with her ready pupil turned
Instinctively to human passions, then 425
Least understood. Yet, 'mid the fervent swarm
Of these vagaries, with an eye so rich
As mine was through the bounty of a grand
And lovely region, [h] I had forms distinct
To steady me: each airy thought revolved 430
Round a substantial centre, which at once
Incited it to motion, and controlled.
I did not pine like one in cities bred,
As was thy melancholy lot, dear Friend! [i]
Great Spirit as thou art, in endless dreams 435
Of sickliness, disjoining, joining, things
Without the light of knowledge. Where the harm,
If, when the woodman languished with disease
Induced by sleeping nightly on the ground
Within his sod-built cabin, Indian-wise, 440
I called the pangs of disappointed love,
And all the sad etcetera of the wrong,
To help him to his grave? Meanwhile the man,
If not already from the woods retired
To die at home, was haply as I knew, 445
Withering by slow degrees, 'mid gentle airs,
Birds, running streams, and hills so beautiful
On golden evenings, while the charcoal pile
Breathed up its smoke, an image of his ghost
Or spirit that full soon must take her flight. 450
Nor shall we not be tending towards that point
Of sound humanity to which our Tale
Leads, though by sinuous ways, if here I shew
How Fancy, in a season when she wove
Those slender cords, to guide the unconscious Boy 455
For the Man's sake, could feed at Nature's call
Some pensive musings which might well beseem
Maturer years.
A grove there is whose boughs
Stretch from the western marge of Thurston-mere, [k]
With length of shade so thick, that whoso glides 460
Along the line of low-roofed water, moves
As in a cloister. Once--while, in that shade
Loitering, I watched the golden beams of light
Flung from the setting sun, as they reposed
In silent beauty on the naked ridge 465
Of a high eastern hill--thus flowed my thoughts
In a pure stream of words fresh from the heart:
Dear native Regions, [m] wheresoe'er shall close
My mortal course, there will I think on you;
Dying, will cast on you a backward look; 470
Even as this setting sun (albeit the Vale
Is no where touched by one memorial gleam)
Doth with the fond remains of his last power
Still linger, and a farewell lustre sheds
On the dear mountain-tops where first he rose. 475
Enough of humble arguments; recal,
My Song! those high emotions which thy voice
Has heretofore made known; that bursting forth
Of sympathy, inspiring and inspired,
When everywhere a vital pulse was felt, 480
And all the several frames of things, like stars,
Through every magnitude distinguishable,
Shone mutually indebted, or half lost
Each in the other's blaze, a galaxy
Of life and glory. In the midst stood Man, 485
Outwardly, inwardly contemplated,
As, of all visible natures, crown, though born
Of dust, and kindred to the worm; a Being,
Both in perception and discernment, first
In every capability of rapture, 490
Through the divine effect of power and love;
As, more than anything we know, instinct
With godhead, and, by reason and by will,
Acknowledging dependency sublime.
Ere long, the lonely mountains left, I moved, 495
Begirt, from day to day, with temporal shapes
Of vice and folly thrust upon my view,
Objects of sport, and ridicule, and scorn,
Manners and characters discriminate,
And little bustling passions that eclipse, 500
As well they might, the impersonated thought,
The idea, or abstraction of the kind.
An idler among academic bowers,
Such was my new condition, as at large
Has been set forth; [n] yet here the vulgar light 505
Of present, actual, superficial life,
Gleaming through colouring of other times,
Old usages and local privilege,
Was welcome, softened, if not solemnised.
This notwithstanding, being brought more near 510
To vice and guilt, forerunning wretchedness
I trembled,--thought, at times, of human life
With an indefinite terror and dismay,
Such as the storms and angry elements
Had bred in me; but gloomier far, a dim 515
Analogy to uproar and misrule,
Disquiet, danger, and obscurity.
It might be told (but wherefore speak of things
Common to all? ) that, seeing, I was led
Gravely to ponder--judging between good 520
And evil, not as for the mind's delight
But for her guidance--one who was to _act_,
As sometimes to the best of feeble means
I did, by human sympathy impelled:
And, through dislike and most offensive pain, 525
Was to the truth conducted; of this faith
Never forsaken, that, by acting well,
And understanding, I should learn to love
The end of life, and every thing we know.
Grave Teacher, stern Preceptress! for at times 530
Thou canst put on an aspect most severe;
London, to thee I willingly return.
Erewhile my verse played idly with the flowers
Enwrought upon thy mantle; satisfied
With that amusement, and a simple look 535
Of child-like inquisition now and then
Cast upwards on thy countenance, to detect
Some inner meanings which might harbour there.
But how could I in mood so light indulge,
Keeping such fresh remembrance of the day, 540
When, having thridded the long labyrinth
Of the suburban villages, I first
Entered thy vast dominion? [o] On the roof
Of an itinerant vehicle I sate,
With vulgar men about me, trivial forms 545
Of houses, pavement, streets, of men and things,--
Mean shapes on every side: but, at the instant,
When to myself it fairly might be said,
The threshold now is overpast, (how strange
That aught external to the living mind 550
Should have such mighty sway! yet so it was),
A weight of ages did at once descend
Upon my heart; no thought embodied, no
Distinct remembrances, but weight and power,--
Power growing under weight: alas! I feel 555
That I am trifling: 'twas a moment's pause,--
All that took place within me came and went
As in a moment; yet with Time it dwells,
And grateful memory, as a thing divine.
The curious traveller, who, from open day, 560
Hath passed with torches into some huge cave,
The Grotto of Antiparos, [p] or the Den
In old time haunted by that Danish Witch,
Yordas; [q] he looks around and sees the vault
Widening on all sides; sees, or thinks he sees, 565
Erelong, the massy roof above his head,
That instantly unsettles and recedes,--
Substance and shadow, light and darkness, all
Commingled, making up a canopy
Of shapes and forms and tendencies to shape 570
That shift and vanish, change and interchange
Like spectres,--ferment silent and sublime!
That after a short space works less and less,
Till, every effort, every motion gone,
The scene before him stands in perfect view 575
Exposed, and lifeless as a written book! --
But let him pause awhile, and look again,
And a new quickening shall succeed, at first
Beginning timidly, then creeping fast,
Till the whole cave, so late a senseless mass, 580
Busies the eye with images and forms
Boldly assembled,--here is shadowed forth
From the projections, wrinkles, cavities,
A variegated landscape,--there the shape
Of some gigantic warrior clad in mail, 585
The ghostly semblance of a hooded monk.
Veiled nun, or pilgrim resting on his staff:
Strange congregation! yet not slow to meet
Eyes that perceive through minds that can inspire.
Even in such sort had I at first been moved, 590
Nor otherwise continued to be moved,
As I explored the vast metropolis,
Fount of my country's destiny and the world's;
That great emporium, chronicle at once
And burial-place of passions, and their home 595
Imperial, their chief living residence.
With strong sensations teeming as it did
Of past and present, such a place must needs
Have pleased me, seeking knowledge at that time
Far less than craving power; yet knowledge came, 600
Sought or unsought, and influxes of power
Came, of themselves, or at her call derived
In fits of kindliest apprehensiveness,
From all sides, when whate'er was in itself
Capacious found, or seemed to find, in me 605
A correspondent amplitude of mind;
Such is the strength and glory of our youth!
The human nature unto which I felt
That I belonged, and reverenced with love,
Was not a punctual presence, but a spirit 610
Diffused through time and space, with aid derived
Of evidence from monuments, erect,
Prostrate, or leaning towards their common rest
In earth, the widely scattered wreck sublime
Of vanished nations, or more clearly drawn 615
From books and what they picture and record.
'Tis true, the history of our native land,
With those of Greece compared and popular Rome,
And in our high-wrought modern narratives
Stript of their harmonising soul, the life 620
Of manners and familiar incidents,
Had never much delighted me. And less
Than other intellects had mine been used
To lean upon extrinsic circumstance
Of record or tradition; but a sense 625
Of what in the Great City had been done
And suffered, and was doing, suffering, still,
Weighed with me, could support the test of thought;
And, in despite of all that had gone by,
Or was departing never to return, 630
There I conversed with majesty and power
Like independent natures. Hence the place
Was thronged with impregnations like the Wilds
In which my early feelings had been nursed--
Bare hills and valleys, full of caverns, rocks, 635
And audible seclusions, dashing lakes,
Echoes and waterfalls, and pointed crags
That into music touch the passing wind.
Here then my young imagination found
No uncongenial element; could here 640
Among new objects serve or give command,
Even as the heart's occasions might require,
To forward reason's else too scrupulous march.
The effect was, still more elevated views
Of human nature. Neither vice nor guilt, 645
Debasement undergone by body or mind,
Nor all the misery forced upon my sight,
Misery not lightly passed, but sometimes scanned
Most feelingly, could overthrow my trust
In what we _may_ become; induce belief 650
That I was ignorant, had been falsely taught,
A solitary, who with vain conceits
Had been inspired, and walked about in dreams.
From those sad scenes when meditation turned,
Lo! every thing that was indeed divine 655
Retained its purity inviolate,
Nay brighter shone, by this portentous gloom
Set off; such opposition as aroused
The mind of Adam, yet in Paradise
Though fallen from bliss, when in the East he saw 660
[r] Darkness ere day's mid course, and morning light
More orient in the western cloud, that drew
O'er the blue firmament a radiant white,
Descending slow with something heavenly fraught.
Add also, that among the multitudes 665
Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen
Affectingly set forth, more than elsewhere
Is possible, the unity of man,
One spirit over ignorance and vice
Predominant, in good and evil hearts; 670
One sense for moral judgments, as one eye
For the sun's light. The soul when smitten thus
By a sublime _idea_, whencesoe'er
Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds
On the pure bliss, and takes her rest with God. 675
Thus from a very early age, O Friend!
My thoughts by slow gradations had been drawn
To human-kind, and to the good and ill
Of human life: Nature had led me on;
And oft amid the "busy hum" I seemed [s] 680
To travel independent of her help,
As if I had forgotten her; but no,
The world of human-kind outweighed not hers
In my habitual thoughts; the scale of love,
Though filling daily, still was light, compared 685
With that in which _her_ mighty objects lay.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
. . . which . . .
MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 2:
Is yon assembled in the gay green field?
MS. letter to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 3:
. . . family of men,
Twice twenty with their children and their wives,
And here and there a stranger interspersed.
Such show, on this side now, . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 4:
Sees annually; if storms be not abroad
And mists have left him . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 5:
It is a summer Festival, a Fair,
The only one which that secluded Glen
Has to be proud of . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 6:
. . . heat of noon,
Behold! the cattle are driven down, the sheep
That have for this day's traffic been call'd out
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 7:
. . . visitant!
The showman with his freight upon his back,
And once, perchance, in lapse of many years
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 8:
But one is here, . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 9:
. . . orchard, apples, pears,
(On this day only to such office stooping)
She carries in her basket and walks round
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 10:
. . . calling, . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 11:
. . . rich, the old man now (l. 44)
Is generous, so gaiety prevails
Which all partake of, young and old. Immense (l. 55)
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 12:
. . . green field:
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 13:
. . . seem,
Their herds and flocks about them, they themselves
And all which they can further . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 14:
The lurking brooks for their . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
[Variant 15:
And the blue sky that roofs . . .
MS. to Sir George Beaumont, 1805. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Dorothy Wordsworth alludes to one of these "Fairs" in her
Grasmere Journal, September 2, 1800. Her brothers William and John, with
Coleridge, were all at Dove Cottage at that time.
"They all went to Stickle Tarn. A very fine, warm, sunny, beautiful
morning. We walked to the fair. . . . It was a lovely moonlight night.
We talked much about our house on Helvellyn. The moonlight shone only
upon the village. It did not eclipse the village lights; and the sound
of dancing and merriment came along the still air. I walked with
Coleridge and William up the lane and by the church. . . . "
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: These lines are from a descriptive Poem--'Malvern
Hills'--by one of Wordsworth's oldest friends, Mr. Joseph Cottle of
Bristol. Cottle was the publisher of the first edition of "Lyrical
Ballads," 1798 (Mr. Carter 1850). --Ed. ]
[Footnote C: The district round Cockermouth. --Ed. ]
[Footnote D: Possibly an allusion to the hanging gardens of Babylon,
said to have been constructed by Nebuchadnezzar for his Median queen.
Berosus in Joseph, _contr. Ap. _ I. 19, calls it a hanging _Paradise_
(though Diodorus Siculus uses the term [Greek: kaepos]). --Ed.
The park of the Emperor of China at Gehol, is called 'Van-shoo-yuen',
"the paradise of ten thousand trees. " Lord Macartney concludes his
description of that "wonderful garden" by saying,
"If any place can be said in any respect to have similar features to
the western park of 'Van-shoo-yuen,' which I have seen this day, it is
at Lowther Hall in Westmoreland, which (when I knew it many years ago)
. . . I thought might be reckoned . . . the finest scene in the British
dominions. "
See Barrow's 'Travels in China', p. 134. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E: 150 miles north-east of Pekin. See a description of them in
Sir George Stanton's 'Authentic Account of an Embassy from the King of
Great Britain to the Emperor of China' (from the papers of Lord
Macartney), London, 1797, vol. ii. ch. ii. See also 'Encyclopaedia
Britannica', ninth edition, article "Gehol. "--Ed. ]
[Footnote F: Compare 'Paradise Lost', iv. l. 242. --Ed. ]
[Footnote G: Compare 'Kubla Khan', ll. 1, 2:
'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote H: The Hawkshead district. --Ed. ]
[Footnote I: Compare 'Michael', vol. ii. p. 215, 'Fidelity', p. 44 of
this vol. , etc. --Ed. ]
[Footnote K: See Virgil, 'AEneid' viii. 319. --Ed. ]
[Footnote L: See Polybius, 'Historiarum libri qui supersunt', vi. 20,
21; and Virgil, 'Eclogue' x. 32. --Ed. ]
[Footnote M: See 'As You Like It', act III. scene v. --Ed. ]
[Footnote N: See 'The Winter's Tale', act IV. scene iii. --Ed. ]
[Footnote O: See Spenser, 'The Shepheard's Calendar (May)'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote P: An Italian river in Calabria, famous for its groves and the
fine-fleeced sheep that pastured on its banks. See Virgil, 'Georgics'
iv. 126; Horace, 'Odes' II. vi.
