No More Learning

Even now--to solemnise thy helpless state, 40
And to enliven in the mind's regard
Thy passive beauty--parallels have risen,
Resemblances, or contrasts, that connect,
Within the region of a father's thoughts,
Thee and thy mate and sister of the sky. 45
And first;--thy sinless progress, through a world
By sorrow darkened and by care disturbed,
Apt likeness bears to hers, through gathered clouds,
Moving untouched in silver purity,
And cheering oft-times their reluctant gloom. 50
Fair are ye both, and both are free from stain:
But thou, how leisurely thou fill'st thy horn
With brightness! leaving her to post along,
And range about, disquieted in change,
And still impatient of the shape she wears. 55
Once up, once down the hill, one journey, Babe
That will suffice thee; and it seems that now
Thou hast fore-knowledge that such task is thine;
Thou travellest so contentedly, and sleep'st
In such a heedless peace. Alas! full soon 60
Hath this conception, grateful to behold,
Changed countenance, like an object sullied o'er
By breathing mist; and thine appears to be
A mournful labour, while to her is given
Hope, and a renovation without end. 65
--That smile forbids the thought; for on thy face
Smiles are beginning, like the beams of dawn,
To shoot and circulate; smiles have there been seen;
Tranquil assurances that Heaven supports
The feeble motions of thy life, and cheers 70
Thy loneliness: or shall those smiles be called
Feelers of love, put forth as if to explore
This untried world, and to prepare thy way
Through a strait passage intricate and dim?
Such are they; and the same are tokens, signs, 75
Which, when the appointed season hath arrived,
Joy, as her holiest language, shall adopt;
And Reason's godlike Power be proud to own.



* * * * *


FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: The title from 1815 to 1845 was 'Address to my Infant
Daughter, on being reminded that she was a Month old, on that Day'.
After her death in 1847, her name was added to the title. --Ed. ]

[Footnote B: See Dryden's poem, 'To the pious memory of the accomplished
young lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew', I. l. 15. --Ed. ]


The text of this poem was never altered. --Ed.





* * * * *





THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES [A]


Composed 1804. --Published 1807


[Seen at Town-end, Grasmere. The elder-bush has long since disappeared;
it hung over the wall near the cottage: and the kitten continued to leap
up, catching the leaves as here described. The Infant was Dora. --J. F. ]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy. " In Henry Crabb Robinson's 'Diary,
etc. ', under date Sept. 10, 1816, we find,

"He" (Wordsworth) "quoted from 'The Kitten and the Falling Leaves' to
show he had connected even the kitten with the great, awful, and
mysterious powers of Nature. "

Ed.




That way look, my Infant, [1] lo!
What a pretty baby-show!
See the Kitten on the wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves--one--two--and three--5
From the lofty elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty [2] air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think, 10
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending,--
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute, 15
In his wavering parachute.
----But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts! [3]
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow; 20
There are many now--now one--
Now they stop and there are none:
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half-way 25
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her power again:
Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian conjurer; 30
Quick as he in feats of art,
Far beyond in joy of heart.
Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare, 35
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure! 40

'Tis a pretty baby-treat;
Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; [4]
Here, for neither Babe nor [5] me,
Other play-mate can I see.
Of the countless living things, 45
That with stir of feet and wings
(In the sun or under shade,
Upon bough or grassy blade)
And with busy revellings,
Chirp and song, and murmurings, 50
Made this orchard's narrow space,
And this vale so blithe a place;
Multitudes are swept away
Never more to breathe the day:
Some are sleeping; some in bands 55
Travelled into distant lands;
Others slunk to moor and wood,
Far from human neighbourhood;
And, among the Kinds that keep
With us closer fellowship, 60
With us openly abide,
All have laid their mirth aside.

Where is he that giddy [6] Sprite,
Blue-cap, with his colours bright,
Who was blest as bird could be, 65
Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;
Hung--head pointing towards the ground--[7]
Fluttered, perched, into a round 70
Bound himself, and then unbound;
Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin!
Prettiest tumbler ever seen!
Light of heart and light of limb;
What is now become of Him? 75
Lambs, that through the mountains went
Frisking, bleating merriment,
When the year was in its prime,
They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or [8] hill, 80
If you listen, all is still,
Save a little neighbouring rill,
That from out the rocky ground
Strikes a solitary sound.
Vainly glitter [9] hill and plain, 85
And the air is calm in vain;
Vainly Morning spreads the lure
Of a sky serene and pure;
Creature none can she decoy
Into open sign of joy: 90
Is it that they have a fear
Of the dreary season near?
Or that other pleasures be
Sweeter even than gaiety?

Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell 95
In the impenetrable cell
Of the silent heart which Nature
Furnishes to every creature;
Whatsoe'er we feel and know
Too sedate for outward show, 100
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten! from thy freaks,--
Spreads with such a living grace
O'er my little Dora's [10] face;
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms 105
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms,
That almost I could repine
That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair! [11] 110
And I will have my careless season
Spite of melancholy reason, [12]
Will walk through life in such a way
That, when time brings on decay,
Now and then I may possess 115
Hours of perfect gladsomeness. [13]
--Pleased by any random toy;
By a kitten's busy joy,
Or an infant's laughing eye
Sharing in the ecstasy; 120
I would fare like that or this,
Find my wisdom in my bliss;
Keep the sprightly soul awake,
And have faculties to take,
Even from things [14] by sorrow wrought, 125
Matter for a jocund thought,
Spite of care, and spite of grief,
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.



* * * * *


VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

. . . Darling, . . . MS. ]


[Variant 2:

. . . silent . . . MS. ]


[Variant 3:

Knows not what she would be at,
Now on this side, now on that. MS. ]


[Variant 4:

One for me, too, as is meet. MS. ]


[Variant 5:

1815.

. . . or . . . 1807. ]


[Variant 6:

. . . busy . . . MS. ]


[Variant 7:

1836,

Hung with head towards the ground, 1807. ]


[Variant 8:

. . . and . . . MS. ]


[Variant 9:

1836.

. . . glitters . . . 1807. ]


[Variant 10:

1849.

Laura's [a] 1807]


[Variant 11: Additional lines:

But I'll take a hint from you,
And to pleasure will be true, MS. ]


[Variant 12:

Be it songs of endless Spring
Which the frolic Muses sing,
Jest, and Mirth's unruly brood
Dancing to the Phrygian mood;
Be it love, or be it wine,
Myrtle wreath, or ivy twine,
Or a garland made of both;
Whether then Philosophy
That would fill us full of glee
Seeing that our breath we draw
Under an unbending law,
That our years are halting never;
Quickly gone, and gone for ever,
And would teach us thence to brave
The conclusion in the grave;
Whether it be these that give
Strength and spirit so to live,
Or the conquest best be made,
By a sober course and staid,
I would walk in such a way, MS. ]


[Variant 13:

. . . joyousness. MS. ]


[Variant 14:

From the things by . . . MS. ]



* * * * *


FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: In the editions of 1807-1832 the title was 'The Kitten and
the Falling Leaves'. --Ed. ]



* * * * *


SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Sub-Footnote a: Dora Wordsworth died in July 1847. Probably the change
of text in 1849--one of the latest which the poet made--was due to the
wish to connect this poem with memories of his dead daughter's
childhood, and her "laughing eye. "--Ed. ]





* * * * *





THE SMALL CELANDINE [A]


Composed 1804. --Published 1807


[Grasmere, Town-end. It is remarkable that this flower coming out so
early in the spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and in such
profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English verse. What
adds much to the interest that attends it, is its habit of shutting
itself up and opening out according to the degree of light and
temperature of the air. --I. F. ]

In pencil on opposite page "Has not Chaucer noticed it? "--W. W.

This was classed by Wordsworth among his "Poems referring to the Period
of Old Age. "-Ed.




There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine,
That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain;
And, the first moment that the sun may shine,
Bright as the sun himself, [1] 'tis out again!

When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 5
Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest,
Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm,
In close self-shelter, like a Thing at rest.

But lately, one rough day, this Flower I passed
And recognised it, though an altered form, 10
Now standing forth an offering to the blast,
And buffeted at will by rain and storm.

I stopped, and said with inly-muttered voice,
"It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold:
This neither is its courage nor its choice, 15
But its necessity in being old.

"The sunshine may not cheer [2] it, nor the dew;
It cannot help itself in its decay;
Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue. "
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey. 20

To be a Prodigal's Favourite--then, worse truth,
A Miser's Pensioner--behold our lot!
O Man, that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not!



* * * * *


VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1837.

. . . itself, . . . 1807. ]


[Variant 2:

1827

. . . bless . . . 1807. ]



* * * * *


FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: Common Pilewort. --W. W. 1807. ]



With the last stanza compare one from 'The Fountain', vol. ii. p. 93:

'Thus fares it still in our decay:
And yet the wiser mind
Mourns less for what age takes away
Than what it leaves behind. '

Compare also the other two poems on the Celandine, vol. ii. pp. 300,
303, written in a previous year. --Ed.





* * * * *





AT APPLETHWAITE, NEAR KESWICK

1804


Composed 1804. --Published 1842


[This was presented to me by Sir George Beaumont, with a view to the
erection of a house upon it, for the sake of being near to Coleridge,
then living, and likely to remain, at Greta Hall, near Keswick. The
severe necessities that prevented this arose from his domestic
situation. This little property, with a considerable addition that still
leaves it very small, lies beautifully upon the banks of a rill that
gurgles down the side of Skiddaw; and the orchard and other parts of the
grounds command a magnificent prospect of Derwent Water, the mountains
of Borrowdale and Newlands. Not many years ago I gave the place to my
daughter. --I. F. ]

In pencil on the opposite page in Dora Wordsworth's (Mrs. Quillinan's)
handwriting--"Many years ago, Sir; for it was given when she was a frail
feeble monthling. "

One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets. "--Ed.




BEAUMONT! it was thy wish that I should rear
A seemly Cottage in this sunny Dell,
On favoured ground, thy gift, where I might dwell
In neighbourhood with One to me most dear,
That undivided we from year to year 5
Might work in our high Calling--a bright hope
To which our fancies, mingling, gave free scope
Till checked by some necessities severe.
And should these slacken, honoured BEAUMONT! still
Even then we may perhaps in vain implore 10
Leave of our fate thy wishes [1] to fulfil.
Whether this boon be granted us or not,
Old Skiddaw will look down upon the Spot
With pride, the Muses love it evermore. [2] [A]



* * * * *


VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

. . . pleasure . . . MS. ]


[Variant 2:

. . . will be proud, and that same spot
Be dear unto the Muses evermore. MS. ]



* * * * *


FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: In the edition of 1842 the following footnote is given by
Wordsworth,

"This biographical Sonnet, if so it may be called, together with the
Epistle that follows, have been long suppressed from feelings of
personal delicacy. "

The "Epistle" was that addressed to Sir George Beaumont in 1811. --Ed. ]


This little property at Applethwaite now belongs to Mr. Gordon
Wordsworth, the grandson of the poet. It is a "sunny dell" only in its
upper reaches, above the spot where the cottage--which still bears
Wordsworth's name--is built. This sonnet, and Sir George Beaumont's wish
that Wordsworth and Coleridge should live so near each other, as to be
able to carry on joint literary labour, recall the somewhat similar wish
and proposal on the part of W.
Calvert, unfolded in a letter from
Coleridge to Sir Humphry Davy. --Ed.





* * * * *




VAUDRACOUR AND JULIA


Composed 1804. --Published 1820


The following Tale was written as an Episode, in a work from which its
length may perhaps exclude it. [A] The facts are true; no invention as
to these has been exercised, as none was needed. --W. W. 1820.

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Faithfully narrated, though with the
omission of many pathetic circumstances, from the mouth of a French
lady, [B] who had been an eye-and-ear witness of all that was done and
said. Many long years after, I was told that Dupligne was then a monk in
the Convent of La Trappe. --I. F. ]

This was included among the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.




O happy time of youthful lovers (thus
My story may begin) O balmy time,
In which a love-knot on a lady's brow
Is fairer than the fairest star in heaven!
To such inheritance of blessed fancy 5
(Fancy that sports more desperately with minds
Than ever fortune hath been known to do)
The high-born Vaudracour was brought, by years
Whose progress had a little overstepped
His stripling prime. A town of small repute, 10
Among the vine-clad mountains of Auvergne,
Was the Youth's birth-place. There he wooed a Maid
Who heard the heart-felt music of his suit
With answering vows. Plebeian was the stock,
Plebeian, though ingenuous, the stock, 15
From which her graces and her honours sprung:
And hence the father of the enamoured Youth,
With haughty indignation, spurned the thought
Of such alliance. --From their cradles up,
With but a step between their several homes, 20
Twins had they been in pleasure; after strife
And petty quarrels, had grown fond again;
Each other's advocate, each other's stay;
And, in their happiest moments, not content,
If more divided than a sportive pair [1] 25
Of sea-fowl, conscious both that they are hovering
Within the eddy of a common blast,
Or hidden only by the concave depth
Of neighbouring billows from each other's sight.

Thus, not without concurrence of an age 30
Unknown to memory, was an earnest given
By ready nature for a life of love,
For endless constancy, and placid truth;
But whatsoe'er of such rare treasure lay
Reserved, had fate permitted, for support 35
Of their maturer years, his present mind
Was under fascination;--he beheld
A vision, and adored the thing he saw.
Arabian fiction never filled the world
With half the wonders that were wrought for him. 40
Earth breathed in one great presence of the spring;
Life turned the meanest of her implements,
Before his eyes, to price above all gold;
The house she dwelt in was a sainted shrine;
Her chamber-window did surpass in glory 45
The portals of the dawn; all paradise
Could, by the simple opening of a door,
Let itself in upon him:--pathways, walks,
Swarmed with enchantment, till his spirit sank,
Surcharged, within him, overblest to move 50
Beneath a sun that wakes a weary world
To its dull round of ordinary cares;
A man too happy for mortality!

So passed the time, till whether through effect
Of some unguarded moment that dissolved 55
Virtuous restraint--ah, speak it, think it, not!
Deem rather that the fervent Youth, who saw
So many bars between his present state
And the dear haven where he wished to be
In honourable wedlock with his Love, 60
Was in his judgment tempted to decline
To perilous weakness, [2] and entrust his cause
To nature for a happy end of all;
Deem that by such fond hope the Youth was swayed,
And bear with their transgression, when I add 65
That Julia, wanting yet the name of wife,
Carried about her for a secret grief
The promise of a mother.
To conceal
The threatened shame, the parents of the Maid 70
Found means to hurry her away by night,
And unforewarned, that in some distant spot
She might remain shrouded in privacy,
Until the babe was born. When morning came,
The Lover, thus bereft, stung with his loss, 75
And all uncertain whither he should turn,
Chafed like a wild beast in the toils; but soon
Discovering traces of the fugitives,
Their steps he followed to the Maid's retreat.
Easily may the sequel be divined--[3] 80
Walks to and fro--watchings at every hour;
And the fair Captive, who, whene'er she may,
Is busy at her casement as the swallow
Fluttering its pinions, almost within reach,
About the pendent nest, did thus espy 85
Her Lover! --thence a stolen interview,
Accomplished under friendly shade of night.

I pass the raptures of the pair;--such theme
Is, by innumerable poets, touched
In more delightful verse than skill of mine 90
Could fashion; chiefly by that darling bard
Who told of Juliet and her Romeo,
And of the lark's note heard before its time,
And of the streaks that laced the severing clouds
In the unrelenting east. --Through all her courts 95
The vacant city slept; the busy winds,
That keep no certain intervals of rest,
Moved not; meanwhile the galaxy displayed
Her fires, that like mysterious pulses beat
Aloft;--momentous but uneasy bliss! 100
To their full hearts the universe seemed hung
On that brief meeting's slender filament!

They parted; and the generous Vaudracour
Reached speedily the native threshold, bent
On making (so the Lovers had agreed) 105
A sacrifice of birthright to attain
A final portion from his father's hand;
Which granted, Bride and Bridegroom then would flee
To some remote and solitary place,
Shady as night, and beautiful as heaven, 110
Where they may live, with no one to behold
Their happiness, or to disturb their love.
But _now_ of this no whisper; not the less,
If ever an obtrusive word were dropped
Touching the matter of his passion, still, 115
In his stern father's hearing, Vaudracour
Persisted openly that death alone
Should abrogate his human privilege
Divine, of swearing everlasting truth,
Upon the altar, to the Maid he loved. 120

"You shall be baffled in your mad intent
If there be justice in the court of France,"
Muttered the Father. --From these words the Youth [4]
Conceived a terror; and, by night or day,
Stirred nowhere without weapons, that full soon 125
Found dreadful provocation: for at night [5]
When to his chamber he retired, attempt
Was made to seize him by three armed men,
Acting, in furtherance of the father's will,
Under a private signet of the State. 130
One the rash Youth's ungovernable hand
Slew, and as quickly to a second gave [6]
A perilous wound--he shuddered to behold
The breathless corse; then peacefully resigned
His person to the law, was lodged in prison, 135
And wore the fetters of a criminal.

Have you observed [7] a tuft of winged seed
That, from the dandelion's naked stalk,
Mounted aloft, is suffered not to use
Its natural gifts for purposes of rest, 140
Driven by the autumnal whirlwind to and fro
Through the wide element? or have you marked
The heavier substance of a leaf-clad bough,
Within the vortex of a foaming flood,
Tormented? by such aid you may conceive 145
The perturbation that ensued; [8]--ah, no!
Desperate the Maid--the Youth is stained with blood;
Unmatchable on earth is their disquiet! [9]
Yet [10] as the troubled seed and tortured bough
Is Man, subjected to despotic sway. 150

For him, by private influence with the Court,
Was pardon gained, and liberty procured;
But not without exaction of a pledge,
Which liberty and love dispersed in air.
He flew to her from whom they would divide him--155
He clove to her who could not give him peace--
Yea, his first word of greeting was,--"All right
Is gone from me; my lately-towering hopes,
To the least fibre of their lowest root,
Are withered; thou no longer canst be mine, 160
I thine--the conscience-stricken must not woo
The unruffled Innocent,--I see thy face,
Behold thee, and my misery is complete! "

"One, are we not? " exclaimed the Maiden--"One,
For innocence and youth, for weal and woe? " 165
Then with the father's name she coupled words
Of vehement indignation; but the Youth
Checked her with filial meekness; for no thought
Uncharitable crossed his mind, no sense
Of hasty anger rising in the eclipse [11] 170
Of true domestic loyalty, did e'er
Find place within his bosom. --Once again
The persevering wedge of tyranny
Achieved their separation: and once more
Were they united,--to be yet again 175
Disparted, pitiable lot! But here
A portion of the tale may well be left
In silence, though my memory could add
Much how the Youth, in scanty space of time,
Was traversed from without; much, too, of thoughts 180
That occupied his days in solitude
Under privation and restraint; and what,
Through dark and shapeless fear of things to come,
And what, through strong compunction for the past,
He suffered--breaking down in heart and mind! 185

Doomed to a third and last captivity,
His freedom he recovered on the eve
Of Julia's travail. When the babe was born,
Its presence tempted him to cherish schemes
Of future happiness. "You shall return, 190
Julia," said he, "and to your father's house
Go with the child. --You have been wretched; yet
The silver shower, whose reckless burthen weighs
Too heavily upon the lily's head,
Oft leaves a saving moisture at its root. 195
Malice, beholding you, will melt away.
Go! --'tis a town where both of us were born;
None will reproach you, for our truth is known;
And if, amid those once-bright bowers, our fate
Remain unpitied, pity is not in man. 200
With ornaments--the prettiest, nature yields
Or art can fashion, shall you deck our [12] boy,
And feed his countenance with your own sweet looks
Till no one can resist him. --Now, even now,
I see him sporting on the sunny lawn; 205
My father from the window sees him too;
Startled, as if some new-created thing
Enriched the earth, or Faery of the woods
Bounded before him;--but the unweeting Child
Shall by his beauty win his grandsire's heart 210
So that it shall be softened, and our loves
End happily, as they began! "

These gleams
Appeared but seldom; oftener was he seen
Propping a pale and melancholy face 215
Upon the Mother's bosom; resting thus
His head upon one breast, while from the other
The Babe was drawing in its quiet food.
--That pillow is no longer to be thine,
Fond Youth! that mournful solace now must pass 220
Into the list of things that cannot be!
Unwedded Julia, terror-smitten, hears
The sentence, by her mother's lip pronounced,
That dooms her to a convent. --Who shall tell,
Who dares report, the tidings to the lord 225
Of her affections? so they blindly asked
Who knew not to what quiet depths a weight
Of agony had pressed the Sufferer down:
The word, by others dreaded, he can hear
Composed and silent, without visible sign 230
Of even the least emotion. Noting this,
When the impatient object of his love
Upbraided him with slackness, he returned
No answer, only took the mother's hand
And kissed it; seemingly devoid of pain, 235
Or care, that what so tenderly he pressed
Was a dependant on [13] the obdurate heart
Of one who came to disunite their lives
For ever--sad alternative! preferred,
By the unbending Parents of the Maid, 240
To secret 'spousals meanly disavowed.
--So be it!

In the city he remained
A season after Julia had withdrawn
To those religious walls. He, too, departs--245
Who with him? --even the senseless Little-one.
With that sole charge he passed the city-gates,
For the last time, attendant by the side
Of a close chair, a litter, or sedan,
In which the Babe was carried. To a hill, 250
That rose a brief league distant from the town,
The dwellers in that house where he had lodged
Accompanied his steps, by anxious love
Impelled;--they parted from him there, and stood
Watching below till he had disappeared 255
On the hill top. His eyes he scarcely took,
Throughout that journey, from the vehicle
(Slow-moving ark of all his hopes! ) that veiled
The tender infant: and at every inn,
And under every hospitable tree 260
At which the bearers halted or reposed,
Laid him with timid care upon his knees,
And looked, as mothers ne'er were known to look,
Upon the nursling which his arms embraced.

This was the manner in which Vaudracour 265
Departed with his infant; and thus reached
His father's house, where to the innocent child
Admittance was denied. The young man spake
No word [14] of indignation or reproof,
But of his father begged, a last request, 270
That a retreat might be assigned to him
Where in forgotten quiet he might dwell,
With such allowance as his wants required;
For wishes he had none. To a lodge that stood
Deep in a forest, with leave given, at the age 275
Of four-and-twenty summers he withdrew;
And thither took with him his motherless Babe, [15]
And one domestic for their common needs,
An aged woman. It consoled him here
To attend upon the orphan, and perform 280
Obsequious service to the precious child,
Which, after a short time, by some mistake
Or indiscretion of the Father, died. --
The Tale I follow to its last recess
Of suffering or of peace, I know not which: 285
Theirs be the blame who caused the woe, not mine!

From this time forth he never shared a smile
With mortal creature. An Inhabitant
Of that same town, in which the pair had left
So lively a remembrance of their griefs, 290
By chance of business, coming within reach
Of his retirement, to the forest lodge
Repaired, but only found the matron there, [16]
Who told him that his pains were thrown away,
For that her Master never uttered word 295
To living thing--not even to her. --Behold!
While they were speaking, Vaudracour approached;
But, seeing some one near, as on the latch
Of the garden-gate his hand was laid, he shrunk--[17]
And, like a shadow, glided out of view. 300
Shocked at his savage aspect, from the place
The visitor retired.

Thus lived the Youth
Cut off from all intelligence with man,
And shunning even the light of common day; 305
Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through France
Full speedily resounded, public hope,
Or personal memory of his own deep wrongs,
Rouse him: but in those solitary shades
His days he wasted, an imbecile mind! 310



* * * * *


VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1:

1836.

And strangers to content if long apart,
Or more divided . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 2:

1827.

Was inwardly prepared to turn aside
From law and custom, . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 3:

1836.

The sequel may be easily divined,--1820. ]


[Variant 4:

1827.

. . . From this time the Youth 1820. ]


[Variant 5:

1827.

Stirred no where without arms. To their rural seat,
Meanwhile, his Parents artfully withdrew,
Upon some feigned occasion, and the Son
Remained with one attendant. At midnight 1820. ]


[Variant 6:

1836.

One, did the Youth's ungovernable hand
Assault and slay;--and to a second gave 1820. ]


[Variant 7:

1836.

. . . beheld . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 8:

1836.

The perturbation of each mind;--. . . 1820. ]


[Variant 9: This line was added in 1836. ]


[Variant 10:

1836.

But . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 11:

1845.

. . . for no thought
Uncharitable, no presumptuous rising
Of hasty censure, modelled in the eclipse 1820.

. . . for no thought
Undutifully harsh dwelt in his mind,
No proud resentment cherished in the eclipse C. ]


[Variant 12:

1840.

. . . your . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 13:

1827.

. . . upon . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 14:

1836.

No words . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 15:

1836.

. . . infant Babe, 1820. ]


[Variant 16:

1827.

. . . to the spot repaired
With an intent to visit him. He reached
The house, and only found the Matron there, 1820]


[Variant 17:

1836.

But, seeing some one near, even as his hand
Was stretched towards the garden gate, he shrunk--1820]



* * * * *


FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT

[Footnote A: The work was 'The Prelude'. See book ix. , p. 310 of this
volume. --Ed. ]


[Footnote B: Compare 'The Prelude', book ix. l. 548, p. 310, where
Wordsworth says it was told him "by my Patriot friend. "--Ed. ]



In the preface to his volume, "'Poems of Wordsworth' chosen and edited
by Matthew Arnold," that distinguished poet and critic has said (p.
xxv. ), "I can read with pleasure and edification . . . everything of
Wordsworth, I think, except 'Vaudracour and Julia'. "--Ed.





* * * * *





1805


During 1805, the autobiographical poem, which was afterwards named by
Mrs. Wordsworth 'The Prelude', was finished. In that year also
Wordsworth wrote the 'Ode to Duty', 'To a Sky-Lark', 'Fidelity', the
fourth poem 'To the Daisy', the 'Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a Picture
of Peele Castle in a Storm', the 'Elegiac Verses' in memory of his
brother John, 'The Waggoner', and a few other poems. --Ed.





* * * * *





FRENCH REVOLUTION,

AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COMMENCEMENT

REPRINTED FROM 'THE FRIEND'


Composed 1805. --Published 1809


[An extract from the long poem on my own poetical education. It was
first published by Coleridge in his 'Friend', which is the reason of its
having had a place in every edition of my poems since. --I. F. ]

These lines appeared first in 'The Friend', No. 11, October 26, 1809, p.
163. They afterwards found a place amongst the "Poems of the
Imagination," in all the collective editions from 1815 onwards. They are
part of the eleventh book of 'The Prelude', entitled "France--
(concluded)," ll. 105-144.