No More Learning

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.

. . . were . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 11:

1815.

For they all still imagin'd his hive full of honey;
Like a Church-warden, Adam continu'd his rounds, 1800. ]


[Variant 12:

1837.

. . . this . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 13:

1815.

. . . he kept to himself; 1800. ]


[Variant 14:

1820.

You lift up your eyes, "O the merciless Jew! "
But in truth he was never more cruel than you; 1800.

. . . --and I guess that you frame
A judgment too harsh of the sin and the shame; 1815. ]


[Variant 15:

1815.

. . . scarce e'en . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 16: _Italics_ first used in 1815. ]


[Variant 17:

1815.

. . . lawn . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 18:

1815.

He stood all alone like . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 19:

1800.

. . . needs . . . 1815.

The edition of 1827 returns to the text of 1800. ]


[Variant 20:

1815.

Both stable-boy, errand-boy, porter and groom;
You'd think it the life of a Devil in H--l,
But nature was kind, and with Adam 'twas well. 1800. ]


[Variant 21:

He's ten birth-days younger, he's green, and he's stout,
Twice as fast as before does his blood run about,
You'd think it the life of a Devil in H--l,
But Nature is kind, and with Adam 'twas well.

This stanza appeared only in 1800. It was followed by that which now
forms lines 53-56 of the final text. ]


[Variant 22:

1815.

He's ten birth-days younger, he's green, and he's stout, 1800. ]


[Variant 23:

1815.

You'd . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 24:

1815.

. . . does . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 25:

1815.

. . . in . . . 1800. ]


[Variant 26:

1800.

. . . have come . . . 1815.

The text of 1820 returns to that of 1800. ]


[Variant 27:

1815.

. . . he'll stand 1800. ]


[Variant 28:

1837.

Where proud Covent-Garden, in frost and in snow,
Spreads her fruits and her flow'rs, built up row after row;
Old Adam will point with his finger and say,
To them that stand by, "I've seen better than they. " 1800.

. . . her fruit . . . 1815.

(The text of 1815 is otherwise identical with that of 1837. )]


[Variant 29:

Where the apples are heap'd on the barrows in piles,
You see him stop short, he looks long, and he smiles;
He looks, and he smiles, and a Poet might spy
The image of fifty green fields in his eye.

Only in the text of 1800. ]


[Variant 30:

1837.

. . . in the waggons, and smells to the hay; 1800.

. . . in the Waggon, and smells at . . . 1815.