And I had many
interruptions
short 1802.
Wordsworth - 1
would .
.
.
1842.
]
[Variant 14:
1845.
. . . summer . . . 1842. ]
[Variant 15:
1845.
The suns of twenty summers danced along,--
Ah! little marked, how fast they rolled away:
Then rose a mansion proud our woods among,
And cottage after cottage owned its sway,
No joy to see a neighbouring house, or stray
Through pastures not his own, the master took;
My Father dared his greedy wish gainsay;
He loved his old hereditary nook,
And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook. 1798.
Then rose a stately hall our woods among, 1800.
. . . how fast they rolled away:
But, through severe mischance, and cruel wrong,
My father's substance fell into decay;
We toiled, and struggled--hoping for a day
When Fortune should put on a kinder look;
But vain were wishes--efforts vain as they:
He from his old hereditary nook
Must part,--the summons came,--our final leave we took. 1820. ]
[Variant 16: The following stanza occurs only in the editions 1798 to
1805:
But, when he had refused the proffered gold,
To cruel injuries he became a prey,
Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold:
His troubles grew upon him day by day,
Till all his substance fell into decay.
His little range of water was denied; [i]
All but the bed where his old body lay,
All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side,
We sought a home where we uninjured might abide. 1798.
And all his substance fell into decay.
They dealt most hardly with him, and he tried
To move their hearts--but it was vain--for they
Seized all he had; and, weeping . . . 1802-5. ]
[Variant 17:
1820.
Can I forget that miserable hour, 1798.
It was in truth a lamentable hour 1802. ]
[Variant 18:
1798.
I saw our own dear home, that was . . . 1802.
The edition of 1820 returns to the text of 1798. ]
[Variant 19:
1827.
. . . many and many a song 1798. ]
[Variant 20:
1800.
. . . little birds . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 21:
1836.
His father said, that to a distant town
He must repair, to ply the artist's trade. 1798.
Two years were pass'd, since to a distant Town
He had repair'd to ply the artist's trade. 1802. ]
[Variant 22:
1802.
Four years each day with daily bread was blest,
By constant toil and constant prayer supplied. 1798. ]
[Variant 23:
1836.
Three lovely infants lay upon my breast; 1798. ]
[Variant 24:
1842.
When sad distress. . . 1798. ]
[Variant 25:
1836.
. . . from him the grave did hide 1798.
. . . for him . . . 1820. ]
[Variant 26:
1798.
. . . which . . . Only in 1820. ]
[Variant 27:
1836.
. . . could . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 28:
1798.
But soon, day after day, . . . 1802.
The edition of 1820 reverts to the reading of 1798. ]
[Variant 29:
1836.
. . . to sweep . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 30:
1836.
There foul neglect for months and months we bore,
Nor yet the crowded fleet its anchor stirred. 1798.
There, long were we neglected, and we bore
Much sorrow ere the fleet its anchor weigh'd; 1802. ]
[Variant 31:
1802.
Green fields before us and our native shore,
By fever, from polluted air incurred,
Ravage was made, for which no knell was heard.
Fondly we wished, and wished away, nor knew,
'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes deferr'd, 1798. ]
[Variant 32:
1802.
But from delay the summer calms were past. 1798. ]
[Variant 33:
1802.
We gazed with terror on the gloomy sleep
Of them that perished in the whirlwind's sweep, 1798. ]
[Variant 34:
Oh! dreadful price of being to resign
All that is dear _in_ being! better far
In Want's most lonely cave till death to pine,
Unseen, unheard, unwatched by any star;
Or in the streets and walks where proud men are,
Better our dying bodies to obtrude,
Than dog-like, wading at the heels of war,
Protract a curst existence, with the brood
That lap (their very nourishment! ) their brother's blood.
Only in the editions of 1798 and 1800. ]
[Variant 35:
1842.
It would thy brain unsettle even to hear. 1798. ]
[Variant 36:
1842.
Peaceful as some immeasurable plain
By the first beams of dawning light impress'd, 1798. ]
[Variant 37:
1827.
. . . has its hour of rest,
That comes not to the human mourner's breast. 1798.
I too was calm, though heavily distress'd! 1802. ]
[Variant 38:
1842.
Remote from man, and storms of mortal care,
A heavenly silence did the waves invest;
I looked and looked along the silent air,
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair. 1798.
Oh me, how quiet sky and ocean were!
My heart was healed within me, I was bless'd.
And looked, and looked . . . 1802.
My heart was hushed within me, . . . 1815.
As quiet all within me, . . . 1827. ]
[Variant 39:
1800.
Where looks inhuman dwelt on festering heaps! 1798. ]
[Variant 40: The following stanza appeared only in the editions
1798-1805:
Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame,
When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape,
While like a sea the storming army came,
And Fire from Hell reared his gigantic shape,
And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape
Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!
But from these crazing thoughts my brain, escape!
--For weeks the balmy air breathed soft and mild,
And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled. 1798.
At midnight once the storming Army came,
Yet do I see the miserable sight,
The Bayonet, the Soldier, and the Flame
That followed us and faced us in our flight:
When Rape and Murder by the ghastly light
Seized their joint prey, the Mother and the Child!
But I must leave these thoughts. --From night to night,
From day to day, the air breathed soft and mild;
And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled. 1802-5. ]
[Variant 41:
1802.
And oft, robb'd of my perfect mind, I thought
At last my feet a resting-place had found:
Here will I weep in peace, (so fancy wrought,) 1798. ]
[Variant 42:
1842.
Here watch, of every human friend disowned,
All day, my ready tomb the ocean-flood-- 1798.
Here will I live:--of every friend disown'd,
Here will I roam about the ocean flood. -- 1802.
And end my days upon the ocean flood. "-- 1815. ]
[Variant 43:
1842.
By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift,
Helpless as sailor cast on desart rock; 1798.
Helpless as sailor cast on some bare rock; 1836. ]
[Variant 44:
1842.
Nor dared . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 45:
1802.
How dismal . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 46:
1832.
. . . frame . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 47:
1836.
So passed another day, and so the third:
Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort, 1798. ]
[Variant 48:
1827.
Dizzy my brain, with interruption short 1798.
And I had many interruptions short 1802. ]
[Variant 49:
1802.
. . . sunk . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 50:
1827.
And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital. 1798.
And thence was carried to a neighbouring Hospital. 1802. ]
[Variant 51:
1827.
Recovery came with food: but still, my brain
Was weak, nor of the past had memory. 1798. ]
[Variant 52:
1842.
. . . with careless cruelty, 1798. ]
[Variant 53:
1815.
. . . would . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 54:
1836.
. . . torpid . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 55:
1827.
Memory, though slow, returned with strength; . . . 1798.
My memory and my strength returned; . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 56:
1802.
The wild brood . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 57: The following stanza occurs only in the editions of 1798 to
1805:
My heart is touched to think that men like these,
The rude earth's tenants, were my first relief:
How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease!
And their long holiday that feared not grief,
For all belonged to all, and each was chief.
No plough their sinews strained; on grating road
No wain they drove, and yet, the yellow sheaf
In every vale for their delight was stowed:
For them, in nature's meads, the milky udder flowed. 1798.
My heart is touched to think that men like these,
Wild houseless Wanderers, were my first relief: 1802.
In every field, with milk their dairy overflow'd. 1802. ]
[Variant 58:
1836.
Semblance, with straw and pannier'd ass, they made
Of potters wandering on from door to door:
But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed, 1798.
They with their pannier'd Asses semblance made
Of Potters . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 59:
1836.
In depth of forest glade, when . . . 1798.
Among the forest glades when . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 60:
1802.
But ill it suited me, in journey dark 1798. ]
[Variant 61:
1802.
Poor father! . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 62:
1842.
Ill was I . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 63:
1842.
With tears whose course no effort could confine,
By high-way side forgetful would I sit 1798.
By the road-side forgetful would I sit 1802.
In the open air forgetful . . . 1836. ]
[Variant 64:
1836.
. . . my . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 65:
1836.
I lived upon the mercy of the fields,
And oft of cruelty the sky accused;
On hazard, or what general bounty yields, 1798.
I led a wandering life among the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
I liv'd upon what casual bounty yields, 1802. ]
[Variant 66:
1802.
The fields . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 67:
1836.
Three years a wanderer, often have I view'd,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend 1798.
Three years thus wandering, . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 68:
1836.
And now across this moor my steps I bend-- 1798. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES
[Footnote A: In the 'Prelude', he says it was "three summer days. " See
book xiii. l. 337. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: By an evident error, corrected in the first reprint of this
edition (1840). See p. 37. --Ed. [Footnote D of 'Descriptive Sketches',
the preceding poem in this text. ]]
[Footnote C: From a short MS. poem read to me when an under-graduate, by
my schoolfellow and friend Charles Farish, long since deceased. The
verses were by a brother of his, a man of promising genius, who died
young. --W. W. 1842.
Charles Farish was the author of 'The Minstrels of Winandermere'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote D: Compare Milton's "grinding sword," 'Paradise Lost', vi. l.
329. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE
[Sub-Footnote i: Several of the Lakes in the north of England are let
out to different Fishermen, in parcels marked out by imaginary lines
drawn from rock to rock. --W. W. 1798. ]
* * * * *
LINES LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE, WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF
ESTHWAITE, ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, COMMANDING [A] A BEAUTIFUL
PROSPECT
Composed 1795. --Published 1798
[Composed in part at school at Hawkshead. The tree has disappeared,
and the slip of Common on which it stood, that ran parallel to the
lake, and lay open to it, has long been enclosed; so that the road has
lost much of its attraction. This spot was my favourite walk in the
evenings during the latter part of my school-time. The individual
whose habits and character are here given, was a gentleman of the
neighbourhood, a man of talent and learning, who had been educated at
one of our Universities, and returned to pass his time in seclusion on
his own estate. He died a bachelor in middle age. Induced by the
beauty of the prospect, he built a small summer-house, on the rocks
above the peninsula on which the Ferry House [B] stands. This property
afterwards passed into the hands of the late Mr. Curwen. The site was
long ago pointed out by Mr. West, in his 'Guide', as the pride of the
Lakes, and now goes by the name of "The Station. " So much used I to be
delighted with the view from it, while a little boy, that some years
before the first pleasure house was built, I led thither from
Hawkshead a youngster about my own age, an Irish boy, who was a
servant to an itinerant conjurer. My notion was to witness the
pleasure I expected the boy would receive from the prospect of the
islands below and the intermingling water. I was not disappointed; and
I hope the fact, insignificant as it may appear to some, may be
thought worthy of note by others who may cast their eye over these
notes. --I. F. ]
* * * * *
From 1815 to 1843 these 'Lines' were placed by Wordsworth among his
"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection. " In 1845, they were classed among
"Poems written in Youth. "--Ed.
* * * * *
THE POEM
Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?
What if the bee love not these barren boughs? [1]
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves, 5
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
Who he was
That piled these stones and with the mossy sod
First covered, and here taught this aged Tree [2] 10
With its dark arms to form a circling bower, [3]
I well remember. --He was one who owned
No common soul. In youth by science nursed,
And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth 15
A favoured Being, knowing no desire
Which genius did not hallow; 'gainst the taint
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate,
And scorn,--against all enemies prepared,
All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, 20
Owed him no service; wherefore he at once
With indignation turned himself away, [4]
And with the food of pride sustained his soul
In solitude. --Stranger! these gloomy boughs
Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit, 25
His only visitants a straggling sheep,
The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper: [5]
And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath,
And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, [6]
Fixing his downcast [7] eye, he many an hour 30
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
And, lifting up his head, he then would gaze
On the more distant scene,--how lovely 'tis
Thou seest,--and he would gaze till it became 35
Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain
The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, that time,
When nature had subdued him to herself, [8]
Would he forget those Beings to whose minds
Warm from the labours of benevolence 40
The world, and human life, [9] appeared a scene
Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh,
Inly disturbed, to think [10] that others felt
What he must never feel: and so, lost Man!
On visionary views would fancy feed, 45
Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
He died,--this seat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, 50
Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him
Is in its infancy. The man whose eye 55
Is ever on himself doth look on one,
The least of Nature's works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; 60
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.
* * * * *
The place where this Yew-tree stood may be found without difficulty. It
was about three-quarters of a mile from Hawkshead, on the eastern shore
of the lake, a little to the left above the present highway, as one goes
towards Sawrey. Mr. Bowman, the son of Wordsworth's last teacher at the
grammar-school of Hawkshead, told me that it stood about forty yards
nearer the village than the yew which is now on the roadside, and is
sometimes called "Wordsworth's Yew. " In the poet's school-days the road
passed right through the unenclosed common, and the tree was a
conspicuous object. It was removed, he says, owing to the popular belief
that its leaves were poisonous, and might injure the cattle grazing in
the common. The present tree is erroneously called "Wordsworth's Yew. "
Its proximity to the place where the tree of the poem stood has given
rise to the local tradition. --Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1832.
What if these barren boughs the bee not loves; 1798. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
First covered o'er, and taught this aged tree, 1798. ]
[Variant 3:
1800.
Now wild, to bend its arms in circling shade, 1798. ]
[Variant 4:
1802.
. . .
[Variant 14:
1845.
. . . summer . . . 1842. ]
[Variant 15:
1845.
The suns of twenty summers danced along,--
Ah! little marked, how fast they rolled away:
Then rose a mansion proud our woods among,
And cottage after cottage owned its sway,
No joy to see a neighbouring house, or stray
Through pastures not his own, the master took;
My Father dared his greedy wish gainsay;
He loved his old hereditary nook,
And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook. 1798.
Then rose a stately hall our woods among, 1800.
. . . how fast they rolled away:
But, through severe mischance, and cruel wrong,
My father's substance fell into decay;
We toiled, and struggled--hoping for a day
When Fortune should put on a kinder look;
But vain were wishes--efforts vain as they:
He from his old hereditary nook
Must part,--the summons came,--our final leave we took. 1820. ]
[Variant 16: The following stanza occurs only in the editions 1798 to
1805:
But, when he had refused the proffered gold,
To cruel injuries he became a prey,
Sore traversed in whate'er he bought and sold:
His troubles grew upon him day by day,
Till all his substance fell into decay.
His little range of water was denied; [i]
All but the bed where his old body lay,
All, all was seized, and weeping, side by side,
We sought a home where we uninjured might abide. 1798.
And all his substance fell into decay.
They dealt most hardly with him, and he tried
To move their hearts--but it was vain--for they
Seized all he had; and, weeping . . . 1802-5. ]
[Variant 17:
1820.
Can I forget that miserable hour, 1798.
It was in truth a lamentable hour 1802. ]
[Variant 18:
1798.
I saw our own dear home, that was . . . 1802.
The edition of 1820 returns to the text of 1798. ]
[Variant 19:
1827.
. . . many and many a song 1798. ]
[Variant 20:
1800.
. . . little birds . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 21:
1836.
His father said, that to a distant town
He must repair, to ply the artist's trade. 1798.
Two years were pass'd, since to a distant Town
He had repair'd to ply the artist's trade. 1802. ]
[Variant 22:
1802.
Four years each day with daily bread was blest,
By constant toil and constant prayer supplied. 1798. ]
[Variant 23:
1836.
Three lovely infants lay upon my breast; 1798. ]
[Variant 24:
1842.
When sad distress. . . 1798. ]
[Variant 25:
1836.
. . . from him the grave did hide 1798.
. . . for him . . . 1820. ]
[Variant 26:
1798.
. . . which . . . Only in 1820. ]
[Variant 27:
1836.
. . . could . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 28:
1798.
But soon, day after day, . . . 1802.
The edition of 1820 reverts to the reading of 1798. ]
[Variant 29:
1836.
. . . to sweep . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 30:
1836.
There foul neglect for months and months we bore,
Nor yet the crowded fleet its anchor stirred. 1798.
There, long were we neglected, and we bore
Much sorrow ere the fleet its anchor weigh'd; 1802. ]
[Variant 31:
1802.
Green fields before us and our native shore,
By fever, from polluted air incurred,
Ravage was made, for which no knell was heard.
Fondly we wished, and wished away, nor knew,
'Mid that long sickness, and those hopes deferr'd, 1798. ]
[Variant 32:
1802.
But from delay the summer calms were past. 1798. ]
[Variant 33:
1802.
We gazed with terror on the gloomy sleep
Of them that perished in the whirlwind's sweep, 1798. ]
[Variant 34:
Oh! dreadful price of being to resign
All that is dear _in_ being! better far
In Want's most lonely cave till death to pine,
Unseen, unheard, unwatched by any star;
Or in the streets and walks where proud men are,
Better our dying bodies to obtrude,
Than dog-like, wading at the heels of war,
Protract a curst existence, with the brood
That lap (their very nourishment! ) their brother's blood.
Only in the editions of 1798 and 1800. ]
[Variant 35:
1842.
It would thy brain unsettle even to hear. 1798. ]
[Variant 36:
1842.
Peaceful as some immeasurable plain
By the first beams of dawning light impress'd, 1798. ]
[Variant 37:
1827.
. . . has its hour of rest,
That comes not to the human mourner's breast. 1798.
I too was calm, though heavily distress'd! 1802. ]
[Variant 38:
1842.
Remote from man, and storms of mortal care,
A heavenly silence did the waves invest;
I looked and looked along the silent air,
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair. 1798.
Oh me, how quiet sky and ocean were!
My heart was healed within me, I was bless'd.
And looked, and looked . . . 1802.
My heart was hushed within me, . . . 1815.
As quiet all within me, . . . 1827. ]
[Variant 39:
1800.
Where looks inhuman dwelt on festering heaps! 1798. ]
[Variant 40: The following stanza appeared only in the editions
1798-1805:
Yet does that burst of woe congeal my frame,
When the dark streets appeared to heave and gape,
While like a sea the storming army came,
And Fire from Hell reared his gigantic shape,
And Murder, by the ghastly gleam, and Rape
Seized their joint prey, the mother and the child!
But from these crazing thoughts my brain, escape!
--For weeks the balmy air breathed soft and mild,
And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled. 1798.
At midnight once the storming Army came,
Yet do I see the miserable sight,
The Bayonet, the Soldier, and the Flame
That followed us and faced us in our flight:
When Rape and Murder by the ghastly light
Seized their joint prey, the Mother and the Child!
But I must leave these thoughts. --From night to night,
From day to day, the air breathed soft and mild;
And on the gliding vessel Heaven and Ocean smiled. 1802-5. ]
[Variant 41:
1802.
And oft, robb'd of my perfect mind, I thought
At last my feet a resting-place had found:
Here will I weep in peace, (so fancy wrought,) 1798. ]
[Variant 42:
1842.
Here watch, of every human friend disowned,
All day, my ready tomb the ocean-flood-- 1798.
Here will I live:--of every friend disown'd,
Here will I roam about the ocean flood. -- 1802.
And end my days upon the ocean flood. "-- 1815. ]
[Variant 43:
1842.
By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift,
Helpless as sailor cast on desart rock; 1798.
Helpless as sailor cast on some bare rock; 1836. ]
[Variant 44:
1842.
Nor dared . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 45:
1802.
How dismal . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 46:
1832.
. . . frame . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 47:
1836.
So passed another day, and so the third:
Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort, 1798. ]
[Variant 48:
1827.
Dizzy my brain, with interruption short 1798.
And I had many interruptions short 1802. ]
[Variant 49:
1802.
. . . sunk . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 50:
1827.
And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital. 1798.
And thence was carried to a neighbouring Hospital. 1802. ]
[Variant 51:
1827.
Recovery came with food: but still, my brain
Was weak, nor of the past had memory. 1798. ]
[Variant 52:
1842.
. . . with careless cruelty, 1798. ]
[Variant 53:
1815.
. . . would . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 54:
1836.
. . . torpid . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 55:
1827.
Memory, though slow, returned with strength; . . . 1798.
My memory and my strength returned; . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 56:
1802.
The wild brood . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 57: The following stanza occurs only in the editions of 1798 to
1805:
My heart is touched to think that men like these,
The rude earth's tenants, were my first relief:
How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease!
And their long holiday that feared not grief,
For all belonged to all, and each was chief.
No plough their sinews strained; on grating road
No wain they drove, and yet, the yellow sheaf
In every vale for their delight was stowed:
For them, in nature's meads, the milky udder flowed. 1798.
My heart is touched to think that men like these,
Wild houseless Wanderers, were my first relief: 1802.
In every field, with milk their dairy overflow'd. 1802. ]
[Variant 58:
1836.
Semblance, with straw and pannier'd ass, they made
Of potters wandering on from door to door:
But life of happier sort to me pourtrayed, 1798.
They with their pannier'd Asses semblance made
Of Potters . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 59:
1836.
In depth of forest glade, when . . . 1798.
Among the forest glades when . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 60:
1802.
But ill it suited me, in journey dark 1798. ]
[Variant 61:
1802.
Poor father! . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 62:
1842.
Ill was I . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 63:
1842.
With tears whose course no effort could confine,
By high-way side forgetful would I sit 1798.
By the road-side forgetful would I sit 1802.
In the open air forgetful . . . 1836. ]
[Variant 64:
1836.
. . . my . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 65:
1836.
I lived upon the mercy of the fields,
And oft of cruelty the sky accused;
On hazard, or what general bounty yields, 1798.
I led a wandering life among the fields;
Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused,
I liv'd upon what casual bounty yields, 1802. ]
[Variant 66:
1802.
The fields . . . 1798. ]
[Variant 67:
1836.
Three years a wanderer, often have I view'd,
In tears, the sun towards that country tend 1798.
Three years thus wandering, . . . 1802. ]
[Variant 68:
1836.
And now across this moor my steps I bend-- 1798. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES
[Footnote A: In the 'Prelude', he says it was "three summer days. " See
book xiii. l. 337. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: By an evident error, corrected in the first reprint of this
edition (1840). See p. 37. --Ed. [Footnote D of 'Descriptive Sketches',
the preceding poem in this text. ]]
[Footnote C: From a short MS. poem read to me when an under-graduate, by
my schoolfellow and friend Charles Farish, long since deceased. The
verses were by a brother of his, a man of promising genius, who died
young. --W. W. 1842.
Charles Farish was the author of 'The Minstrels of Winandermere'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote D: Compare Milton's "grinding sword," 'Paradise Lost', vi. l.
329. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE
[Sub-Footnote i: Several of the Lakes in the north of England are let
out to different Fishermen, in parcels marked out by imaginary lines
drawn from rock to rock. --W. W. 1798. ]
* * * * *
LINES LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE, WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF
ESTHWAITE, ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE, COMMANDING [A] A BEAUTIFUL
PROSPECT
Composed 1795. --Published 1798
[Composed in part at school at Hawkshead. The tree has disappeared,
and the slip of Common on which it stood, that ran parallel to the
lake, and lay open to it, has long been enclosed; so that the road has
lost much of its attraction. This spot was my favourite walk in the
evenings during the latter part of my school-time. The individual
whose habits and character are here given, was a gentleman of the
neighbourhood, a man of talent and learning, who had been educated at
one of our Universities, and returned to pass his time in seclusion on
his own estate. He died a bachelor in middle age. Induced by the
beauty of the prospect, he built a small summer-house, on the rocks
above the peninsula on which the Ferry House [B] stands. This property
afterwards passed into the hands of the late Mr. Curwen. The site was
long ago pointed out by Mr. West, in his 'Guide', as the pride of the
Lakes, and now goes by the name of "The Station. " So much used I to be
delighted with the view from it, while a little boy, that some years
before the first pleasure house was built, I led thither from
Hawkshead a youngster about my own age, an Irish boy, who was a
servant to an itinerant conjurer. My notion was to witness the
pleasure I expected the boy would receive from the prospect of the
islands below and the intermingling water. I was not disappointed; and
I hope the fact, insignificant as it may appear to some, may be
thought worthy of note by others who may cast their eye over these
notes. --I. F. ]
* * * * *
From 1815 to 1843 these 'Lines' were placed by Wordsworth among his
"Poems of Sentiment and Reflection. " In 1845, they were classed among
"Poems written in Youth. "--Ed.
* * * * *
THE POEM
Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely Yew-tree stands
Far from all human dwelling: what if here
No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb?
What if the bee love not these barren boughs? [1]
Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves, 5
That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
Who he was
That piled these stones and with the mossy sod
First covered, and here taught this aged Tree [2] 10
With its dark arms to form a circling bower, [3]
I well remember. --He was one who owned
No common soul. In youth by science nursed,
And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth 15
A favoured Being, knowing no desire
Which genius did not hallow; 'gainst the taint
Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate,
And scorn,--against all enemies prepared,
All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, 20
Owed him no service; wherefore he at once
With indignation turned himself away, [4]
And with the food of pride sustained his soul
In solitude. --Stranger! these gloomy boughs
Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit, 25
His only visitants a straggling sheep,
The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper: [5]
And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath,
And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, [6]
Fixing his downcast [7] eye, he many an hour 30
A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here
An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
And, lifting up his head, he then would gaze
On the more distant scene,--how lovely 'tis
Thou seest,--and he would gaze till it became 35
Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain
The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, that time,
When nature had subdued him to herself, [8]
Would he forget those Beings to whose minds
Warm from the labours of benevolence 40
The world, and human life, [9] appeared a scene
Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh,
Inly disturbed, to think [10] that others felt
What he must never feel: and so, lost Man!
On visionary views would fancy feed, 45
Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
He died,--this seat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, 50
Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him
Is in its infancy. The man whose eye 55
Is ever on himself doth look on one,
The least of Nature's works, one who might move
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; 60
True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,
Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.
* * * * *
The place where this Yew-tree stood may be found without difficulty. It
was about three-quarters of a mile from Hawkshead, on the eastern shore
of the lake, a little to the left above the present highway, as one goes
towards Sawrey. Mr. Bowman, the son of Wordsworth's last teacher at the
grammar-school of Hawkshead, told me that it stood about forty yards
nearer the village than the yew which is now on the roadside, and is
sometimes called "Wordsworth's Yew. " In the poet's school-days the road
passed right through the unenclosed common, and the tree was a
conspicuous object. It was removed, he says, owing to the popular belief
that its leaves were poisonous, and might injure the cattle grazing in
the common. The present tree is erroneously called "Wordsworth's Yew. "
Its proximity to the place where the tree of the poem stood has given
rise to the local tradition. --Ed.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1832.
What if these barren boughs the bee not loves; 1798. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
First covered o'er, and taught this aged tree, 1798. ]
[Variant 3:
1800.
Now wild, to bend its arms in circling shade, 1798. ]
[Variant 4:
1802.
. . .
