"Ghyll" was spelt "Gill" in the
editions
of 1800 to 1805.
William Wordsworth
hills .
.
.
1800.
]
[Variant 24:
1815.
From the stone on the summit of the steep 1800.
. . . upon . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 25:
1832.
. . . this . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 26:
1836.
. . . scented . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 27:
1827.
But now here's . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 28:
1815.
For them the quiet creatures . . . 1800. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare 'Othello', act I. scene iii. l. 135:
'Of moving accidents by flood and field. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare the sonnet (vol. iv. ) beginning:
"Beloved Vale! " I said. "when I shall con . . .
Ed. ]
[Footnote C: Compare Tennyson, 'In Memoriam', v. II. 3, 4.
'For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within. '
Ed. ]
This poem was suggested to Wordsworth in December 1799 during the
journey with his sister from Sockburn in Yorkshire to Grasmere. I owe
the following local note on 'Hart-Leap Well' to Mr. John R. Tutin of
Hull.
"June 20, 1881. Visited 'Hart-Leap Well,' the subject of Wordsworth's
poem. It is situated on the road side leading from Richmond to
Askrigg, at a distance of not more than three and a-half miles from
Richmond, and not five miles as stated in the prefatory note to the
poem. The 'three aspens at three corners of a square' are things of
the past; also the 'three stone pillars standing in a line, on the
hill above. In a straight line with the spring of water, and where the
pillars would have been, a wall has been built; so that it is very
probable the stone pillars were removed at the time of the building of
this wall. The scenery around answers exactly to the description
More doleful place did never eye survey;
It seemed as if the spring time came not here,
And Nature here were willing to decay.
. . .
Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade.
"It is barren moor for miles around. The water still falls into the
'cup of stone,' which appeared to be of very long standing. Within ten
yards of the well is a small tree, at the same side of the road as the
well, on the right hand coming from Richmond. "
The Rev. Thomas Hutchinson of Kimbolton wrote to me on June 18, 1883:
"The tree is not a Thorn, but a Lime. It is evidently an old one, but
is now in full and beautiful leaf. It stands on the western side of
the road, and a few yards distant from it. The well is somewhat nearer
the road. This side of the road is open to the fell. On the other side
the road is bounded by a stone wall: another wall meeting this one at
right angles, exactly opposite the well. I ascended the hill on the
north side of this wall for some distance, but could find no trace of
any rough-hewn stone. Descending on the other side, I found in the
wall one, and only one, such stone. I should say the base was in the
wall. The stone itself leans outwards; so that, at the top, three of
its square faces can be seen; and two, if not three, of these faces
bear marks of being hammer-dressed. The distance from the stone to the
well is about 40 yards, and the height of the stone out of the ground
about 3 or 4 feet.
"The ascent from the well is a gentle one, not 'sheer'; nor does there
appear to be any hollow by which the shepherd could ascend. On the
western side of the road there is a wide plain, with a slight fall in
that direction. "
"'Hart-Leap Well' is the tale for me; in matter as good as this
('Peter Bell'); in manner infinitely before it, in my poor judgment. "
Charles Lamb to Wordsworth, May 1819. (See 'The Letters of Charles
Lamb', edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. ii. p. 20. )--Ed.
* * * * *
THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE [A]
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. I will only add a little monitory
anecdote concerning this subject. When Coleridge and Southey were
walking together upon the Fells, Southey observed that, if I wished to
be considered a faithful painter of rural manners, I ought not to have
said that my shepherd-boys trimmed their rustic hats as described in the
poem. Just as the words had passed his lips two boys appeared with the
very plant entwined round their hats. I have often wondered that
Southey, who rambled so much about the mountains, should have fallen
into this mistake, and I record it as a warning for others who, with far
less opportunity than my dear friend had of knowing what things are, and
far less sagacity, give way to presumptuous criticism, from which he was
free, though in this matter mistaken. In describing a tarn under
Helvellyn I say:
"There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer. "
This was branded by a critic of these days, in a review ascribed to Mrs.
Barbauld, as unnatural and absurd. I admire the genius of Mrs. Barbauld
and am certain that, had her education been favourable to imaginative
influences, no female of her day would have been more likely to
sympathise with that image, and to acknowledge the truth of the
sentiment. --I. F. ]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood. "--Ed.
The valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the echoes play
A never never ending song,
To welcome in the May. [1]
The magpie chatters with delight; 5
The mountain raven's youngling brood
Have left the mother and the nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;
Or through the glittering vapours dart 10
In very wantonness of heart.
Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two boys are sitting in the sun;
Their work, if any work they have,
Is out of mind--or done. [2] 15
On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call stag-horn, or fox's tail,
Their rusty hats they trim: 20
And thus, as happy as the day,
Those Shepherds wear the time away.
Along the river's stony marge
The sand-lark chants a joyous song;
The thrush is busy in the wood, 25
And carols loud and strong.
A thousand lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky
Keep jubilee, [B] and more than all,
Those boys with their green coronal; 30
They never hear the cry,
That plaintive cry! which up the hill
Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.
Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
"Down to the stump of yon old yew 35
We'll for our whistles run a race. " [3]
--Away the shepherds flew;
They leapt--they ran--and when they came
Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,
Seeing that he should lose the prize, 40
"Stop! " to his comrade Walter cries--
James stopped with no good will:
Said Walter then, exulting; "Here
You'll find a task for half a year. [4]
"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross--45
Come on, and tread where I shall tread. " [5]
The other took him at his word,
And followed as he led. [6]
It was a spot which you may see
If ever you to Langdale go; 50
Into a chasm a mighty block
Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock:
The gulf is deep below;
And, in a basin black and small,
Receives a lofty waterfall. 55
With staff in hand across the cleft
The challenger pursued [7] his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained
The middle of the arch.
When list! he hears a piteous moan--60
Again! --his heart within him dies--
His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost,
He totters, pallid as a ghost, [8]
And, looking down, espies [9]
A lamb, that in the pool is pent 65
Within that black and frightful rent.
The lamb had slipped into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound
The cataract had borne him down
Into the gulf profound. 70
His dam had seen him when he fell,
She saw him down the torrent borne;
And, while with all a mother's love
She from the lofty rocks above
Sent forth a cry forlorn, 75
The lamb, still swimming round and round,
Made answer to that plaintive sound.
When he had learnt what thing it was,
That sent this rueful cry; I ween
The Boy recovered heart, and told 80
The sight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferred their task;
Nor was there wanting other aid--
A Poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the sages' books, 85
By chance had thither strayed;
And there the helpless lamb he found
By those huge rocks encompassed round.
He drew it from the troubled pool, [10]
And brought it forth into the light: 90
The Shepherds met him with his charge,
An unexpected sight!
Into their arms the lamb they took,
Whose life and limbs the flood had spared; [11]
Then up the steep ascent they hied, 95
And placed him at his mother's side;
And gently did the Bard
Those idle Shepherd-boys upbraid,
And bade them better mind their trade.
The "bridge of rock" across Dungeon-Ghyll "chasm," and the "lofty
waterfall," with all its accessories of place as described in the poem,
remain as they were in 1800. --Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
The valley rings with mirth and joy;
And, pleased to welcome in the May,
From hill to hill the echoes fling
Their liveliest roundelay. 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
It seems they have no work to do
Or that their work is done. 1800.
Boys that have had no work to do,
Or work that now is done. 1827. ]
[Variant 3:
1805.
I'll run with you a race. "--No more--1800.
We'll for this Whistle run a race. " . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 4:
1836.
Said Walter then, "Your task is here,
'Twill keep you working half a year. 1800.
'Twill baffle you for half a year. 1827. ]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Till you have cross'd where I shall cross,
Say that you'll neither sleep nor eat. " 1800.
"Now cross where I shall cross,--come on
And follow me where I shall lead--" 1802.
"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross--
Come on, and in my footsteps tread! " 1827. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
James proudly took him at his word,
But did not like the feat. 1800.
. . . the deed. 1802.
The other took him at his word, 1805. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
. . . began . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1827.
. . . pale as any ghost, 1800. ]
[Variant 9:
1827.
. . . he spies 1800. ]
[Variant 10:
1836.
He drew it gently from the pool, 1800. ]
[Variant 11:
1836.
Said they, "He's neither maim'd nor scarr'd"--1800. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: 'Ghyll', in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland is a
short and for the most part a steep narrow valley, with a stream running
through it. 'Force' is the word universally employed in these dialects
for Waterfall. --W. W. 1800.
"Ghyll" was spelt "Gill" in the editions of 1800 to 1805. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', iv. l. 3
(vol. viii. )--Ed. ]
* * * * *
THE PET-LAMB
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Barbara Lewthwaite, now living at
Ambleside (1843), though much changed as to beauty, was one of two most
lovely sisters. Almost the first words my poor brother John said, when
he visited us for the first time at Grasmere, were, "Were those two
Angels that I have just seen? " and from his description, I have no doubt
they were those two sisters. The mother died in childbed; and one of our
neighbours at Grasmere told me that the loveliest sight she had ever
seen was that mother as she lay in her coffin with her babe in her arm.
I mention this to notice what I cannot but think a salutary custom once
universal in these vales. Every attendant on a funeral made it a duty to
look at the corpse in the coffin before the lid was closed, which was
never done (nor I believe is now) till a minute or two before the corpse
was removed. Barbara Lewthwaite was not in fact the child whom I had
seen and overheard as described in the poem. I chose the name for
reasons implied in the above; and here will add a caution against the
use of names of living persons. Within a few months after the
publication of this poem, I was much surprised, and more hurt, to find
it in a child's school book, which, having been compiled by Lindley
Murray, had come into use at Grasmere School where Barbara was a pupil;
and, alas! I had the mortification of hearing that she was very vain of
being thus distinguished; and, in after life she used to say that she
remembered the incident, and what I said to her upon the occasion. --I.
F. ]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood. "--Ed.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink! "
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.
Nor sheep nor kine [1] were near; the lamb was all alone, 5
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.
The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.
"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away: 15
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place [2]
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing: 20
"What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart? 25
Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art:
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!
"If the sun be [3] shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; 30
For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear,
The rain and storm are things that [4] scarcely can come here.
"Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were [5] on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, 35
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:
A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been. 40
"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.
"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, 45
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough;
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
"It will not, will not rest! --Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? [6] 50
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, 55
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again! " [7] 60
--As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was _mine_. [8]
Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; 65
"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel [9] must belong,
For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,
That I almost received her heart into my own. "
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
No other sheep . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
Towards the Lamb she look'd, and from that shady place 1800]
[Variant 3:
1802.
. . . is . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
. . . which . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1802.
. . . are . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1800.
. . . Poor creature, it must be
That thou hast lost thy mother, and 'tis that which troubles thee.
MS. ]
[Variant 7:
1802.
. . . the raven in the sky,
He will not come to thee, our Cottage is hard by,
Night and day thou art safe as living thing can be,
Be happy then and rest, what is't that aileth thee? " 1800. ]
[Variant 8: _Italics_ first used in 1815. ]
[Variant 9: This word was _italicised_ from 1813 to 1832. ]
* * * * *
THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE
Composed 1800. --Published 1815 [A]
[The character of this man was described to me, and the incident upon
which the verses turn was told me, by Mr. Poole of Nether Stowey, with
whom I became acquainted through our common friend, S. T. Coleridge.
During my residence at Alfoxden, I used to see much of him, and had
frequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, especially
his conduct to his labourers and poor neighbours; their virtues he
carefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales of charity.
If I seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses of the farmer
and his transgressions too tenderly, it may in part be ascribed to my
having received the story from one so averse to all harsh judgment.
After his death was found in his escritoir, a lock of grey hair
carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from the head of
his faithful shepherd, who had served him for a length of years. I need
scarcely add that he felt for all men as his brothers. He was much
beloved by distinguished persons--Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Southey, Sir H.
Davy, and many others; and in his own neighbourhood was highly valued as
a magistrate, a man of business, and in every other social relation. The
latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much
of an echo to 'The Reverie of Poor Susan'. --I. F. ]
Included in the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age. "--Ed.
'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined,
The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of mind,
And the small critic wielding his delicate pen,
That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men.
He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town; 5
His staff is a sceptre--his grey hairs a crown;
And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak
Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek. [1]
'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn,--'mid the joy
Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a boy; 10
That countenance there fashioned, which, spite of a stain [2]
That his life hath received, to the last will remain. [3]
A Farmer he was; and his house [4] far and near
Was the boast of the country [5] for excellent cheer:
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale 15
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale! [6]
Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin,
His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing;
And turnips, and corn-land, [7] and meadow, and lea,
All caught the infection--as generous as he. 20
Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl, [8]--
The fields better suited the ease of his soul:
He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight,
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.
For Adam was simple in thought; and the poor, 25
Familiar with him, made an inn of his door:
He gave them the best that he had; or, to say
What less may mislead you, they took it away.
[9]
Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm:
The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm: 30
At length, what to most is a season of sorrow,
His means are [10] run out,--he must beg, or must borrow.
To the neighbours he went,--all were free with their money;
For his hive had so long been replenished with honey,
That they dreamt not of dearth;--He continued his rounds, [11] 35
Knocked here-and knocked there, pounds still adding to pounds.
He paid what he could with his [12] ill-gotten pelf,
And something, it might be, reserved for himself: [13]
Then (what is too true) without hinting a word,
Turned his back on the country--and off like a bird. 40
You lift up your eyes! --but I guess that you frame
A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame; [14]
In him it was scarcely [15] a business of art,
For this he did all in the _ease_ [16] of his heart.
To London--a sad emigration I ween--45
With his grey hairs he went from the brook [17] and the green;
And there, with small wealth but his legs and his hands,
As lonely he stood as [18] a crow on the sands.
All trades, as need [19] was, did old Adam assume,--
Served as stable-boy, errand-boy, porter, and groom; 50
But nature is gracious, necessity kind,
And, in spite of the shame that may lurk in his mind, [20]
[21]
He seems ten birthdays younger, is green and is stout; [22]
Twice as fast as before does his blood run about;
You would [23] say that each hair of his beard was alive, 55
And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive.
For he's not like an Old Man that leisurely goes
About work that he knows, [24] in a track that he knows;
But often his mind is compelled to demur,
And you guess that the more then his body must stir. 60
In the throng of the town like a stranger is he,
Like one whose own country's far over the sea;
And Nature, while through the great city he hies,
Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise.
This gives him the fancy of one that is young, 65
More of soul in his face than of words on [25] his tongue;
Like a maiden of twenty he trembles and sighs,
And tears of fifteen will come [26] into his eyes.
What's a tempest to him, or the dry parching heats?
Yet he watches the clouds that pass over the streets; 70
With a look of such earnestness often will stand, [27]
You might think he'd twelve reapers at work in the Strand.
Where proud Covent-garden, in desolate hours
Of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruits and her flowers,
Old Adam will smile at the pains that have made 75
Poor winter look fine in such strange masquerade. [28]
[29]
'Mid coaches and chariots, a waggon of straw,
Like a magnet, the heart of old Adam can draw;
With a thousand soft pictures his memory will teem,
And his hearing is touched with the sounds of a dream. 80
Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way,
Thrusts his hands in a waggon, and smells at the hay; [30]
He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown,
And is happy as if the rich freight were his own. [31]
But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to repair,--85
If you pass by at morning, you'll meet with him there.
The breath of the cows you may see him inhale,
And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury Vale.
Now farewell, old Adam! when low [32] thou art laid,
May one blade of grass spring over [33] thy head; 90
And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever it be,
Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a tree.
With this picture, which was taken from real life, compare the
imaginative one of 'The Reverie of Poor Susan' [vol. i. p. 226]; and see
(to make up the deficiencies of this class) 'The Excursion, passim'. --W.
W. 1837.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
Erect as a sunflower he stands, and the streak
Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek. 1815.
. . . still enlivens his cheek. 1827. ]
[Variant 2:
1840.
There fashion'd that countenance, which, in spite of a stain 1815. ]
[Variant 3:
There's an old man in London, the prime of old men,
You may hunt for his match through ten thousand and ten,
Of prop or of staff, does he walk, does he run,
No more need has he than a flow'r of the sun. 1800.
This stanza appeared only in 1800, occupying the place of the three
first stanzas in the final text. ]
[Variant 4:
1815.
. . . name . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1815.
Was the Top of the Country, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
Not less than the skill of an Exchequer Teller
Could count the shoes worn on the steps of his cellar. 1800.
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his good ale. 1815. ]
[Variant 7:
1815.
. . . plough'd land, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1815.
. . . the noise of the bowl, 1800]
[Variant 9:
On the works of the world, on the bustle and sound,
Seated still in his boat, he look'd leisurely round;
And if now and then he his hands did employ,
'Twas with vanity, wonder, and infantine joy.
Only in the text of 1800. ]
[Variant 10:
1815.
[Variant 24:
1815.
From the stone on the summit of the steep 1800.
. . . upon . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 25:
1832.
. . . this . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 26:
1836.
. . . scented . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 27:
1827.
But now here's . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 28:
1815.
For them the quiet creatures . . . 1800. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: Compare 'Othello', act I. scene iii. l. 135:
'Of moving accidents by flood and field. '
Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare the sonnet (vol. iv. ) beginning:
"Beloved Vale! " I said. "when I shall con . . .
Ed. ]
[Footnote C: Compare Tennyson, 'In Memoriam', v. II. 3, 4.
'For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within. '
Ed. ]
This poem was suggested to Wordsworth in December 1799 during the
journey with his sister from Sockburn in Yorkshire to Grasmere. I owe
the following local note on 'Hart-Leap Well' to Mr. John R. Tutin of
Hull.
"June 20, 1881. Visited 'Hart-Leap Well,' the subject of Wordsworth's
poem. It is situated on the road side leading from Richmond to
Askrigg, at a distance of not more than three and a-half miles from
Richmond, and not five miles as stated in the prefatory note to the
poem. The 'three aspens at three corners of a square' are things of
the past; also the 'three stone pillars standing in a line, on the
hill above. In a straight line with the spring of water, and where the
pillars would have been, a wall has been built; so that it is very
probable the stone pillars were removed at the time of the building of
this wall. The scenery around answers exactly to the description
More doleful place did never eye survey;
It seemed as if the spring time came not here,
And Nature here were willing to decay.
. . .
Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade.
"It is barren moor for miles around. The water still falls into the
'cup of stone,' which appeared to be of very long standing. Within ten
yards of the well is a small tree, at the same side of the road as the
well, on the right hand coming from Richmond. "
The Rev. Thomas Hutchinson of Kimbolton wrote to me on June 18, 1883:
"The tree is not a Thorn, but a Lime. It is evidently an old one, but
is now in full and beautiful leaf. It stands on the western side of
the road, and a few yards distant from it. The well is somewhat nearer
the road. This side of the road is open to the fell. On the other side
the road is bounded by a stone wall: another wall meeting this one at
right angles, exactly opposite the well. I ascended the hill on the
north side of this wall for some distance, but could find no trace of
any rough-hewn stone. Descending on the other side, I found in the
wall one, and only one, such stone. I should say the base was in the
wall. The stone itself leans outwards; so that, at the top, three of
its square faces can be seen; and two, if not three, of these faces
bear marks of being hammer-dressed. The distance from the stone to the
well is about 40 yards, and the height of the stone out of the ground
about 3 or 4 feet.
"The ascent from the well is a gentle one, not 'sheer'; nor does there
appear to be any hollow by which the shepherd could ascend. On the
western side of the road there is a wide plain, with a slight fall in
that direction. "
"'Hart-Leap Well' is the tale for me; in matter as good as this
('Peter Bell'); in manner infinitely before it, in my poor judgment. "
Charles Lamb to Wordsworth, May 1819. (See 'The Letters of Charles
Lamb', edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. ii. p. 20. )--Ed.
* * * * *
THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS; OR, DUNGEON-GHYLL FORCE [A]
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. I will only add a little monitory
anecdote concerning this subject. When Coleridge and Southey were
walking together upon the Fells, Southey observed that, if I wished to
be considered a faithful painter of rural manners, I ought not to have
said that my shepherd-boys trimmed their rustic hats as described in the
poem. Just as the words had passed his lips two boys appeared with the
very plant entwined round their hats. I have often wondered that
Southey, who rambled so much about the mountains, should have fallen
into this mistake, and I record it as a warning for others who, with far
less opportunity than my dear friend had of knowing what things are, and
far less sagacity, give way to presumptuous criticism, from which he was
free, though in this matter mistaken. In describing a tarn under
Helvellyn I say:
"There sometimes doth a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer. "
This was branded by a critic of these days, in a review ascribed to Mrs.
Barbauld, as unnatural and absurd. I admire the genius of Mrs. Barbauld
and am certain that, had her education been favourable to imaginative
influences, no female of her day would have been more likely to
sympathise with that image, and to acknowledge the truth of the
sentiment. --I. F. ]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood. "--Ed.
The valley rings with mirth and joy;
Among the hills the echoes play
A never never ending song,
To welcome in the May. [1]
The magpie chatters with delight; 5
The mountain raven's youngling brood
Have left the mother and the nest;
And they go rambling east and west
In search of their own food;
Or through the glittering vapours dart 10
In very wantonness of heart.
Beneath a rock, upon the grass,
Two boys are sitting in the sun;
Their work, if any work they have,
Is out of mind--or done. [2] 15
On pipes of sycamore they play
The fragments of a Christmas hymn;
Or with that plant which in our dale
We call stag-horn, or fox's tail,
Their rusty hats they trim: 20
And thus, as happy as the day,
Those Shepherds wear the time away.
Along the river's stony marge
The sand-lark chants a joyous song;
The thrush is busy in the wood, 25
And carols loud and strong.
A thousand lambs are on the rocks,
All newly born! both earth and sky
Keep jubilee, [B] and more than all,
Those boys with their green coronal; 30
They never hear the cry,
That plaintive cry! which up the hill
Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll.
Said Walter, leaping from the ground,
"Down to the stump of yon old yew 35
We'll for our whistles run a race. " [3]
--Away the shepherds flew;
They leapt--they ran--and when they came
Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll,
Seeing that he should lose the prize, 40
"Stop! " to his comrade Walter cries--
James stopped with no good will:
Said Walter then, exulting; "Here
You'll find a task for half a year. [4]
"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross--45
Come on, and tread where I shall tread. " [5]
The other took him at his word,
And followed as he led. [6]
It was a spot which you may see
If ever you to Langdale go; 50
Into a chasm a mighty block
Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock:
The gulf is deep below;
And, in a basin black and small,
Receives a lofty waterfall. 55
With staff in hand across the cleft
The challenger pursued [7] his march;
And now, all eyes and feet, hath gained
The middle of the arch.
When list! he hears a piteous moan--60
Again! --his heart within him dies--
His pulse is stopped, his breath is lost,
He totters, pallid as a ghost, [8]
And, looking down, espies [9]
A lamb, that in the pool is pent 65
Within that black and frightful rent.
The lamb had slipped into the stream,
And safe without a bruise or wound
The cataract had borne him down
Into the gulf profound. 70
His dam had seen him when he fell,
She saw him down the torrent borne;
And, while with all a mother's love
She from the lofty rocks above
Sent forth a cry forlorn, 75
The lamb, still swimming round and round,
Made answer to that plaintive sound.
When he had learnt what thing it was,
That sent this rueful cry; I ween
The Boy recovered heart, and told 80
The sight which he had seen.
Both gladly now deferred their task;
Nor was there wanting other aid--
A Poet, one who loves the brooks
Far better than the sages' books, 85
By chance had thither strayed;
And there the helpless lamb he found
By those huge rocks encompassed round.
He drew it from the troubled pool, [10]
And brought it forth into the light: 90
The Shepherds met him with his charge,
An unexpected sight!
Into their arms the lamb they took,
Whose life and limbs the flood had spared; [11]
Then up the steep ascent they hied, 95
And placed him at his mother's side;
And gently did the Bard
Those idle Shepherd-boys upbraid,
And bade them better mind their trade.
The "bridge of rock" across Dungeon-Ghyll "chasm," and the "lofty
waterfall," with all its accessories of place as described in the poem,
remain as they were in 1800. --Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1800.
The valley rings with mirth and joy;
And, pleased to welcome in the May,
From hill to hill the echoes fling
Their liveliest roundelay. 1836.
The text of 1845 returns to that of 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
It seems they have no work to do
Or that their work is done. 1800.
Boys that have had no work to do,
Or work that now is done. 1827. ]
[Variant 3:
1805.
I'll run with you a race. "--No more--1800.
We'll for this Whistle run a race. " . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 4:
1836.
Said Walter then, "Your task is here,
'Twill keep you working half a year. 1800.
'Twill baffle you for half a year. 1827. ]
[Variant 5:
1836.
Till you have cross'd where I shall cross,
Say that you'll neither sleep nor eat. " 1800.
"Now cross where I shall cross,--come on
And follow me where I shall lead--" 1802.
"Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross--
Come on, and in my footsteps tread! " 1827. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
James proudly took him at his word,
But did not like the feat. 1800.
. . . the deed. 1802.
The other took him at his word, 1805. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
. . . began . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1827.
. . . pale as any ghost, 1800. ]
[Variant 9:
1827.
. . . he spies 1800. ]
[Variant 10:
1836.
He drew it gently from the pool, 1800. ]
[Variant 11:
1836.
Said they, "He's neither maim'd nor scarr'd"--1800. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: 'Ghyll', in the dialect of Cumberland and Westmoreland is a
short and for the most part a steep narrow valley, with a stream running
through it. 'Force' is the word universally employed in these dialects
for Waterfall. --W. W. 1800.
"Ghyll" was spelt "Gill" in the editions of 1800 to 1805. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: Compare the 'Ode, Intimations of Immortality', iv. l. 3
(vol. viii. )--Ed. ]
* * * * *
THE PET-LAMB
A PASTORAL
Composed 1800. --Published 1800
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Barbara Lewthwaite, now living at
Ambleside (1843), though much changed as to beauty, was one of two most
lovely sisters. Almost the first words my poor brother John said, when
he visited us for the first time at Grasmere, were, "Were those two
Angels that I have just seen? " and from his description, I have no doubt
they were those two sisters. The mother died in childbed; and one of our
neighbours at Grasmere told me that the loveliest sight she had ever
seen was that mother as she lay in her coffin with her babe in her arm.
I mention this to notice what I cannot but think a salutary custom once
universal in these vales. Every attendant on a funeral made it a duty to
look at the corpse in the coffin before the lid was closed, which was
never done (nor I believe is now) till a minute or two before the corpse
was removed. Barbara Lewthwaite was not in fact the child whom I had
seen and overheard as described in the poem. I chose the name for
reasons implied in the above; and here will add a caution against the
use of names of living persons. Within a few months after the
publication of this poem, I was much surprised, and more hurt, to find
it in a child's school book, which, having been compiled by Lindley
Murray, had come into use at Grasmere School where Barbara was a pupil;
and, alas! I had the mortification of hearing that she was very vain of
being thus distinguished; and, in after life she used to say that she
remembered the incident, and what I said to her upon the occasion. --I.
F. ]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood. "--Ed.
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink! "
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.
Nor sheep nor kine [1] were near; the lamb was all alone, 5
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.
The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.
"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away: 15
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place [2]
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing: 20
"What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart? 25
Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art:
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!
"If the sun be [3] shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; 30
For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear,
The rain and storm are things that [4] scarcely can come here.
"Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were [5] on the hills, but thou wert owned by none, 35
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:
A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been. 40
"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.
"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, 45
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough;
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
"It will not, will not rest! --Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? [6] 50
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, 55
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again! " [7] 60
--As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was _mine_. [8]
Again, and once again, did I repeat the song; 65
"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel [9] must belong,
For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,
That I almost received her heart into my own. "
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1836.
No other sheep . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
Towards the Lamb she look'd, and from that shady place 1800]
[Variant 3:
1802.
. . . is . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 4:
1827.
. . . which . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1802.
. . . are . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1800.
. . . Poor creature, it must be
That thou hast lost thy mother, and 'tis that which troubles thee.
MS. ]
[Variant 7:
1802.
. . . the raven in the sky,
He will not come to thee, our Cottage is hard by,
Night and day thou art safe as living thing can be,
Be happy then and rest, what is't that aileth thee? " 1800. ]
[Variant 8: _Italics_ first used in 1815. ]
[Variant 9: This word was _italicised_ from 1813 to 1832. ]
* * * * *
THE FARMER OF TILSBURY VALE
Composed 1800. --Published 1815 [A]
[The character of this man was described to me, and the incident upon
which the verses turn was told me, by Mr. Poole of Nether Stowey, with
whom I became acquainted through our common friend, S. T. Coleridge.
During my residence at Alfoxden, I used to see much of him, and had
frequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, especially
his conduct to his labourers and poor neighbours; their virtues he
carefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales of charity.
If I seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses of the farmer
and his transgressions too tenderly, it may in part be ascribed to my
having received the story from one so averse to all harsh judgment.
After his death was found in his escritoir, a lock of grey hair
carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from the head of
his faithful shepherd, who had served him for a length of years. I need
scarcely add that he felt for all men as his brothers. He was much
beloved by distinguished persons--Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Southey, Sir H.
Davy, and many others; and in his own neighbourhood was highly valued as
a magistrate, a man of business, and in every other social relation. The
latter part of the poem perhaps requires some apology, as being too much
of an echo to 'The Reverie of Poor Susan'. --I. F. ]
Included in the "Poems referring to the Period of Old Age. "--Ed.
'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refined,
The squeamish in taste, and the narrow of mind,
And the small critic wielding his delicate pen,
That I sing of old Adam, the pride of old men.
He dwells in the centre of London's wide Town; 5
His staff is a sceptre--his grey hairs a crown;
And his bright eyes look brighter, set off by the streak
Of the unfaded rose that still blooms on his cheek. [1]
'Mid the dews, in the sunshine of morn,--'mid the joy
Of the fields, he collected that bloom, when a boy; 10
That countenance there fashioned, which, spite of a stain [2]
That his life hath received, to the last will remain. [3]
A Farmer he was; and his house [4] far and near
Was the boast of the country [5] for excellent cheer:
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale 15
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his mild ale! [6]
Yet Adam was far as the farthest from ruin,
His fields seemed to know what their Master was doing;
And turnips, and corn-land, [7] and meadow, and lea,
All caught the infection--as generous as he. 20
Yet Adam prized little the feast and the bowl, [8]--
The fields better suited the ease of his soul:
He strayed through the fields like an indolent wight,
The quiet of nature was Adam's delight.
For Adam was simple in thought; and the poor, 25
Familiar with him, made an inn of his door:
He gave them the best that he had; or, to say
What less may mislead you, they took it away.
[9]
Thus thirty smooth years did he thrive on his farm:
The Genius of plenty preserved him from harm: 30
At length, what to most is a season of sorrow,
His means are [10] run out,--he must beg, or must borrow.
To the neighbours he went,--all were free with their money;
For his hive had so long been replenished with honey,
That they dreamt not of dearth;--He continued his rounds, [11] 35
Knocked here-and knocked there, pounds still adding to pounds.
He paid what he could with his [12] ill-gotten pelf,
And something, it might be, reserved for himself: [13]
Then (what is too true) without hinting a word,
Turned his back on the country--and off like a bird. 40
You lift up your eyes! --but I guess that you frame
A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame; [14]
In him it was scarcely [15] a business of art,
For this he did all in the _ease_ [16] of his heart.
To London--a sad emigration I ween--45
With his grey hairs he went from the brook [17] and the green;
And there, with small wealth but his legs and his hands,
As lonely he stood as [18] a crow on the sands.
All trades, as need [19] was, did old Adam assume,--
Served as stable-boy, errand-boy, porter, and groom; 50
But nature is gracious, necessity kind,
And, in spite of the shame that may lurk in his mind, [20]
[21]
He seems ten birthdays younger, is green and is stout; [22]
Twice as fast as before does his blood run about;
You would [23] say that each hair of his beard was alive, 55
And his fingers are busy as bees in a hive.
For he's not like an Old Man that leisurely goes
About work that he knows, [24] in a track that he knows;
But often his mind is compelled to demur,
And you guess that the more then his body must stir. 60
In the throng of the town like a stranger is he,
Like one whose own country's far over the sea;
And Nature, while through the great city he hies,
Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise.
This gives him the fancy of one that is young, 65
More of soul in his face than of words on [25] his tongue;
Like a maiden of twenty he trembles and sighs,
And tears of fifteen will come [26] into his eyes.
What's a tempest to him, or the dry parching heats?
Yet he watches the clouds that pass over the streets; 70
With a look of such earnestness often will stand, [27]
You might think he'd twelve reapers at work in the Strand.
Where proud Covent-garden, in desolate hours
Of snow and hoar-frost, spreads her fruits and her flowers,
Old Adam will smile at the pains that have made 75
Poor winter look fine in such strange masquerade. [28]
[29]
'Mid coaches and chariots, a waggon of straw,
Like a magnet, the heart of old Adam can draw;
With a thousand soft pictures his memory will teem,
And his hearing is touched with the sounds of a dream. 80
Up the Haymarket hill he oft whistles his way,
Thrusts his hands in a waggon, and smells at the hay; [30]
He thinks of the fields he so often hath mown,
And is happy as if the rich freight were his own. [31]
But chiefly to Smithfield he loves to repair,--85
If you pass by at morning, you'll meet with him there.
The breath of the cows you may see him inhale,
And his heart all the while is in Tilsbury Vale.
Now farewell, old Adam! when low [32] thou art laid,
May one blade of grass spring over [33] thy head; 90
And I hope that thy grave, wheresoever it be,
Will hear the wind sigh through the leaves of a tree.
With this picture, which was taken from real life, compare the
imaginative one of 'The Reverie of Poor Susan' [vol. i. p. 226]; and see
(to make up the deficiencies of this class) 'The Excursion, passim'. --W.
W. 1837.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1837.
Erect as a sunflower he stands, and the streak
Of the unfaded rose is expressed on his cheek. 1815.
. . . still enlivens his cheek. 1827. ]
[Variant 2:
1840.
There fashion'd that countenance, which, in spite of a stain 1815. ]
[Variant 3:
There's an old man in London, the prime of old men,
You may hunt for his match through ten thousand and ten,
Of prop or of staff, does he walk, does he run,
No more need has he than a flow'r of the sun. 1800.
This stanza appeared only in 1800, occupying the place of the three
first stanzas in the final text. ]
[Variant 4:
1815.
. . . name . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 5:
1815.
Was the Top of the Country, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
Not less than the skill of an Exchequer Teller
Could count the shoes worn on the steps of his cellar. 1800.
How oft have I heard in sweet Tilsbury Vale
Of the silver-rimmed horn whence he dealt his good ale. 1815. ]
[Variant 7:
1815.
. . . plough'd land, . . . 1800. ]
[Variant 8:
1815.
. . . the noise of the bowl, 1800]
[Variant 9:
On the works of the world, on the bustle and sound,
Seated still in his boat, he look'd leisurely round;
And if now and then he his hands did employ,
'Twas with vanity, wonder, and infantine joy.
Only in the text of 1800. ]
[Variant 10:
1815.
