No More Learning

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green:
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen. ,
And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessed bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, faery place;
That is fit home for thee!


## p. 16220 (#566) ##########################################

16220
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD
I
WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills:
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company.
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
TO A YOUNG LADY
WHO HAD
BEEN REPROACHED FOR TAKING LONG WALKS IN THE
COUNTRY
D
EAR child of nature, let them rail!
There is a nest in a green dale,
A harbor and a hold,
Where thou, a wife and friend, shalt see
Thy own heart-stirring days, and be
A light to young and old.
There, healthy as a shepherd boy,
And treading among Aowers of joy ·
Which at no season fade,


## p. 16221 (#567) ##########################################

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
162 21
Thou, while thy babes around thee cling,
Shalt show us how divine a thing
A woman may be made.
Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die,
Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh,
A melancholy slave;
But an old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,
Shall lead thee to thy grave.
THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US
HE world is much with us,
T" "Getting and"spending
. we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The sea that bares her bosom to the moon,-
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers, -
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn:
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
ODE TO DUTY
STER
TERN daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth;


## p. 16222 (#568) ##########################################

162 2 2
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Glad hearts! without reproach or blot
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every, random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide, -
Too blindly have reposed my trust;
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance desires;
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and
strong
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!


## p. 16223 (#569) ##########################################

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
16223
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF
EARLY CHILDHOOD
I
THERE
HERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Appareled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore:
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
II
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose,
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
III
Now while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief;
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;-
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong:
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;


## p. 16224 (#570) ##########################################

16224
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday ;-
Thou child of joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Shepherd-boy!
IV
Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fullness of your bliss, I feel -- I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May morning,
And the children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm;
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! -
But there's a tree, - of many, one,-
A single field which I have looked upon:
Both of them speak of something that is gone;
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ?
V
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing boy,


## p. 16225 (#571) ##########################################

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
16225
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows.
He sees it in his joy;
The youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
VI
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And even with something of a mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her inmate man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.
VII
Behold the child among his new-born blisses,
A six-years' darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly learned art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his “humorous stage”
With all the persons, down to palsied age,
That life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
XXVII–1015


## p. 16226 (#572) ##########################################

16226
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
VIII
Thou whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy soul's immensity;
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage; thou eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted forever by the eternal inind, -
Mighty prophet! seer blest!
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy immortality
Broods like the day, a 'master o'er a slave,
A presence which is not to be put by;
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, -
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
IX
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest, –
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast;
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise:
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,
High instincts before which our mortal nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:


## p. 16227 (#573) ##########################################

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
16227
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
Are yet a master light of all our seeing. -
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal silence: truths that wake,
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor,
Nor man nor boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither;
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
X
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind:
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering :
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.


## p. 16228 (#574) ##########################################

16228
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
XI
And oh, ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your inight;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they:
The innocent brightness of a new-born day
Is lovely yet;
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober coloring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality:
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
TO THE SMALL CELANDINE
PA
ANSIES, lilies, kingcups, daisies,
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story:
There's a flower that shall be mine,-
'Tis the little Celandine.
Eyes of some men travel far
For the finding of a star;
Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I'm as great as they, I trow,
Since the lay I found thee out,
Little Flower! —I'll make a stir,
Like a sage astronomer.
Modest, yet withal an Elf
Bold, and lavish of thyself;
Since we needs must first have met,
I have seen thee, high and low,
Thirty years or more, and yet
'Twas a face I did not know;


## p. 16229 (#575) ##########################################

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
16229
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.
Ere a leaf is on a bush,
In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about her nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal;
Telling tales about the sun,
When we've little warmth, or none.
Poets, vain men in their mood!
Travel with the multitude:
Never heed them, -I aver
That they all are wanton wooers;
But the thrifty cottager,
Who stirs little out of doors,
Joys to spy thee near her home:
Spring is coming, thou art come!
Comfort have thou of thy merit,
Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
Careless of thy neighborhood,
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane; – there's not a place,
Howsoever mean it be,
But 'tis good enough for thee.
Ill befall the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien:
They have done as worldlings do, -
Taken praise that should be thine,
Little, humble Celandine!
Prophet of delight and mirth,
Ill-requited upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing;
Serving at my heart's command,
Tasks that are no tasks renewing,–
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!


## p. 16230 (#576) ##########################################

16230
SIR THOMAS WYATT
(1503-1542)
)
(
IR THOMAS WYATT, the elder friend of the poet Surrey, and
one of the two chief lanternes of light to all others that
have since employed their pennes upon English poesie,”
was one of the most attractive figures at the court of Henry VIII.
“Let my friend bring me into court, but let my merit and my service
keep me there,” he wrote; and although his rash courage led him, as
he warned his son, “into a thousand dangers, and hazards, enmities,
hatreds, prisonments, despites, and indignations,” yet he emerged
from them all with untarnished integrity,
and the restored confidence of the King.
His safeguard was unswerving sincerity.
“If you will seem honest, be honest, or else
seem as you are,” he wrote his son. «Well
I wot honest name is goodly. But he that
hunteth only for that is like him that had
rather seem warm than be warm, and edg-
eth a single coat about with a fur. ”
So
when accused of high treason in 1541, and
thrown into the Tower, he was able to
vindicate his innocence in a stout-hearted
defense, which has come down to us as a
SIR THOMAS WYATT model of simple eloquence.
His father, Sir Henry Wyatt of Allington
Castle, Kent, had also been a courtier, and had been of the King's
suite to the memorable Field of the Cloth of Gold. He prepared
a promising career for his son; and Sir Thomas had already borne
many honorable responsibilities, and was fast becoming a trusted coun-
cilor of the King, when he died prematurely at the age of thirty-nine.
He had been sent to Falmouth to escort an ambassador from the
Emperor of Germany, and heat and hurry brought on a fever from
which he died on the way.
It is quite likely that after finishing his course at St. John's Col-
lege, Cambridge, where he took the degree of B. A. in 1518 and that
of M. A. in 1520, Sir Thomas, like other young noblemen of his day,
went to Italy for a time. He was certainly familiar with Italian liter-
ature; and his great title to consideration is that he introduced the
sonnet into English poetry, and made the little poem of Petrarch a



## p. 16231 (#577) ##########################################

SIR THOMAS WYATT
16231
popular model for greater poets than himself. He wrote also ron-
deaux and other lyrics, with grace and sweetness, and has left some
spirited satiric verse. Most of his poems are wistful love songs;-
inspired, according to tradition, by a hopeless passion for unfortunate
Anne Boleyn. Little is known of Lady Elizabeth Brooke, the young
wife Wyatt married when he was eighteen; but his plaintive lines
indicate a later and unhappy love. If the Queen was the object,
the fact did not lessen the King's friendship for Wyatt, or the latter's
stanch loyalty. Although during her trial he was confined in the
Tower on some charge now unknown, it was probably unconnected
with her. Yet it is said that after her execution in 1536, he was a
changed man. The dashing courtier, noted for his wit, became
sedate and thoughtful statesman. He seemed to leave youth behind,
and grow suddenly mature; and his later poems reflect the change.
Wyatt's verse, although uneven, is often pleasantly melodious. It
has the charm of spontaneity; and although less skillful than that of
Surrey, contains some homely similes that foreshadow Elizabethan
vividness.
a
A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS HE WOULD LOVE
A
FACE that should content me wondrous well
Should not be fair, but lovely to behold;
Of lively look, all grief for to repel;
With right good grace, so would I that it should
Speak without word, such words as none can tell:
Her tress also should be of crisped gold;
With wit and these perchance I might be tried,
And knit again with knot that should not slide.
AN EARNEST SUIT TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO
FORSAKE HIM
A
ND wilt thou leave me thus ?
Say nay! say nay! for shame!
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus ?
Say này! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among?


## p. 16232 (#578) ##########################################

16232
SIR THOMAS WYATT
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus ?
Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart
Never for to depart,
Neither for pain nor smart?
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity,
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas! thy cruelty!
And wilt thou leave me thus ?
Say nay! say nay!
SONG: THE LOVER'S LUTE CANNOT BE BLAMED THOUGH IT
SING OF HIS LADY'S UNKINDNESS
B.
LAME not my Lute! for he must sound
Of this or that as liketh me;
For lack of wit the Lute is bound
To give such tunes as pleaseth me;
Though my songs be somewhat strange,
And speak such words as touch thy change,
Blame not my Lute!
My Lute, alas! doth not offend,
Though that perforce he must agree
To sound such tunes as I intend
To sing to them that heareth me;
Then though my songs be somewhat plain,
And toucheth some that use to feign,
Blame not my Lute!
My Lute and strings may not deny,
But as I strike they must obey:
Break not them then so wrongfully,
But wreak thyself some other way;
And though the songs which I indite
Do quit thy change with rightful spite,
Blame not my Lute!


## p. 16233 (#579) ##########################################

SIR THOMAS WYATT
16233
Spite asketh spite, and changing change,
And falsèd faith must needs be known;
The faults so great, the case so strange,
Of right it must abroad be blown:
Then since that by thine own desert
My songs do tell how true thou art,
Blame not my Lute!
Blame but thyself that hast misdone,
And well deserved to have blame.
Change thou thy way, so evil begone,
And then my Lute shall sound that same;
But if till then my fingers play,
By thy desert, their wonted way,
Blame not my Lute!
Farewell! Unknown; for though thou break
My strings in spite with great disdain,
Yet have I found out for thy sake,
Strings for to string my Lute again;
And if perchance this sely rhyme
Do make thee blush at any time,
Blame not my Lute!
HOW THE LOVER PERISHETH IN HIS DELIGHT AS THE FLY
IN THE FIRE
S
OME fowels there be who have so perfect sight,
Against the sun their eyes for to defend;
And some, because the light doth them offend,
Never appear but in the dark or night;
Others rejoice to see the fire so bright,
And ween to play in it, as they pretend,
But find contrary of it, that they intend.
Alas! of that sort may I be by right;
For to withstand her look I am not able :
Yet can I not hide me in no dark place;
So followeth me remembrance of that face,
That with my teary eyen, swoln and unstable,
My destiny to behold her doth me lead;
And yet I know I run into the glead.


## p. 16234 (#580) ##########################################

16234
SIR THOMAS WYATT
A RENOUNCING OF LOVE
F
AREWELL, Love, and all thy laws for ever;
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more:
Senec, and Plato, call me from thy lore,
To perfect wealth, my wit for to endeavor.
In blind error when I did persever,
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore,
Taught me in trifles that I set no store;
But scaped forth thence, since liberty is lever,
Therefore, farewell: go trouble younger hearts
And in me claim no more authority;
With idle youth go use thy property,
And thereon spend thy many brittle darts:
For, hitherto though I have lost my time,
Me list no longer rotten boughs to climb.
THE LOVER PRAYETH NOT TO BE DISDAINED, REFUSED, MIS-
TRUSTED, NOR FORSAKEN
D'S
ISDAIN me not without desert,
Nor leave me not so suddenly:
Since well ye wot that in my heart
I mean ye not but honestly.
Refuse me not without cause why,
For think me not to be unjust;
Since that by lot of fantasy,
This careful knot needs knit I must.
Mistrust me not, though some there be
That fain would spot my steadfastness;
Believe them not, since that ye see,
The proof is not as they express.
Forsake me not, till I deserve;
Nor hate me not, till I offend;
Destroy me not, till that I swerve:
But since ye know what I intend,
Disdain me not, that am your own;
Refuse mne not, that am so true;
Mistrust me not, till all be known;
Forsake me not now for no new.


## p. 16234 (#581) ##########################################



## p. 16234 (#582) ##########################################


season
WYCLIF.


## p. 16234 (#583) ##########################################

9
br. 15 a
ir 11:11
timin
t"?
i tineri
of its'ta
hisi
PI!
tais
1.
-i r . ܪܘܽ
1
611
jin
Piotr,
ti
i


## p. 16234 (#584) ##########################################


-


## p. 16235 (#585) ##########################################

16235
JOHN WYCLIF
(1324? -1384)
le. . .
HE literary significance of the great English churchman and
reformer, John Wyclif, is to be found in his splendid ren-
dering into the mother tongue of the sacred Scriptures.
The King James Version of the Bible has for so long been the
accepted form, — that in which all literary association centres, — that
there is danger of overlooking the importance and merit of this ear-
lier work of Wyclif. His may be called the first English version of
the Book having a high literary value; and this gives it importance
in the literary development of the tongue. Wyclif's translation is a
fine example of the marrowy vernacular of the fourteenth century,
the time of Chaucer; and it is not extravagant to say that the prose
of Wyclif did for the English of that period what the verse of the
first great poet of the race did for it, — namely, set the stamp of lit-
erary genius upon a native instrument hitherto unstrung and uncer-
tain of sound. This was Wyclif's service; and he — more than later
laborers in Biblical translation, like Tyndale and Coverdale - had the
gift as a writer necessary to give to the English Scriptures a power
and beauty endearing them to the people, and making them treasure-
trove for the students of literature. Without Wyclif's work, the King
James Version would never have been what it is. He was a mighty
pioneer, blazing the literary path at a crucial time in the history of
the evolution of the English speech and literature.
In the face of this his great achievement for literature, his other
writings, however important in their polemical and reformatory as-
pects, sink into relative obscurity. His tracts and sermons
many, — they number upwards of 200,— and can be now consulted in
the edition of the Wyclif Society. These polemical writings are part
of his career and influence as a reformer: here he played a striking
rôle. Wyclif was a scholar and thinker, a noble idealist in thrall
to a high purpose, - this despite the practical nature of much of his
labor and the variety of his accomplishment. He was born at Spres-
wel - probably the modern Hipswell — in Yorkshire: his birth year
fell before 1324, and is not accurately known. Wyclif was success-
ively scholar and fellow of Balliol College, Oxford, and before 1361 a
master there, since in that year he accepted the college living of Fill-
ingham; exchanging it in 1369 for that of Ludgershall, and again in
were
-


## p. 16236 (#586) ##########################################

162 36
JOHN WYCLIF
-
1374, by the gift of the Crown, for the more important living of Lut-
terworth. As early as 1363 he was reading lectures on divinity at
Oxford.
By 1361, when he was still a man well under forty, Wyclif had
begun his attacks on the Church: first assailing the mendicant orders,
and later aiming his shafts at the papal power; whence came a charge
of heresy in 1378, from which he only escaped persecution through
the intervention of the Princess of Wales. The papal schism in the
same year shows that Wyclif was not alone in his contentions. In-
deed, the English folk were beginning to arouse. The rapid multi-
plication of Wyclifites, - or Lollards, as his followers were styled by
their opponents,- and the quick spread of similar views in Hungary
under Huss, are signs of the times. In 1381 Wyclif passed from the
criticism of conduct and government to that of doctrine. He attacked
transubstantiation, with the result that he was condemned by a synod,
debarred from lecturing at Oxford, and forced to retire to his Lut-
terworth living; where he continued to promulgate his views with
the pen, and where death overtook him December 31st, 1384. In 1415
the Council of Constance condemned his doctrines, and ordered his
bones to be thrown on a dunghill.
But his influence was continually
broadening A forerunner of Luther and Calvin, he is a mainspring
of the great religious reformatory movement. His translation of the
Bible was made in 1382, - about the time Chaucer was publishing his
Prologue. Wyclif's pupil, Nicholas of Hereford, did the Old Testa-
ment version, while Wyclif did all or most of the New. Entirely
aside from his place as the “morning star of the Reformation,” John
Wyclif's yeoman service in this translation of the Book entitles him to
rank high as a fourteenth-century worthy of literature. The speech he
uses, contemporaneous with Chaucer's, is “bottomed on the vernacu-
lar,” in Hazlitt's phrase; and an interesting specimen of plain, strong,
effective English. It is far more representative of the common folk
than is Chaucer's courtly style. In the extracts which follow, a speci-
men of the Bible version is given first unchanged, then the same
and other selections are modernized; enabling the reader to realize
that aside from the archaic spelling, there is very little to-day un-
intelligible about the fourteenth-century style of Wyclif.
>
>


## p. 16237 (#587) ##########################################

JOHN WYCLIF
16237
LUKE XV. 11-32
A, ,
ND he seide, A man hadde twei sones; and the yonger of hem
seide to the fadir, Fadir, gyue me the porcioun of catel, that
fallith to me. And he departide to hem the catel. And
not aftir many daies, whanne alle thingis weren gederid togider,
the yonger sone wente forth in pilgrymage in to a fer cuntre;
and there he wastide hise goodis in lyuynge lecherously. And
aftir that he hadde endid alle thingis a strong hungre was maad
in that cuntre, and he bigan to haue nede. And he wente and
drough hym to oon of the citeseyns of that cuntre. And he sente
hym in to his toun, to fede swyn. And he coueitide to fille his
wombe of the coddis that the hoggis eeten, and no man gaf hym.
And he turnede agen to hym silf, and seide, Hou many hirid
men in my fadir hous han plente of looues; and Y perische
here thorough hungir. Y schal rise vp, and go to my fadir, and
Y schal seie to hym, Fadir, Y haue synned in to heuene, and
bifor thee; and now Yam not worthi to be clepid thi sone,
make me as oon of thin hirid men. And he roos vp, and cam
to his fadir. And whanne he was yit afer, his fadir saigh hym,
and was stirrid bi mercy. And he ran, and fel on his necke, and
kisside hym. And the sone seide to hym, Fadir, Y haue synned
in to heuene, and bifor thee; and now Y am not worthi to be
clepid thi sone. And the father seide to hise seruauntis, Swithe
brynge ye forth the firste stoole, and clothe ye hym, and gyue ye
a ryng in his hoond, and schoon on hise feet; and brynge ye a
fat calf, and sle ye, and ete we, and make we feeste. For this
my sone was deed, and hath lyued agen; he perischid, and is
foundun. And alle men bigunnen to ete.
But his eldere sone
was in the feeld; and whanne he cam, and neighede to the
hous, he herde a symfonye and a croude. And he clepide oon of
the seruauntis, and axide, what these thingis weren. And he
seide to hym, Thi brother is comun, and thi fadir slewe a fat
calf, for he resseyuede hym saaf. And he was wrooth, and wolde
not come in. Therfor his fadir wente out, and bigan to preye
hym. And he answerde to his fadir, and seide, Lo! so many
yeeris Y serue thee, and Y neuer brak thi comaundement; and
thou neuer gaf to me a kidde, that Y with my freendis schulde
haue ete. But aftir that this thi sone, that hath deuourid his
substaunce with horis, cam, thou hast slayn to hym a fat calf.


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16238
JOHN WYCLIF
And he seide to hym, Sone, thou art euer more with me, and
alle my thingis ben thine. But it bihofte for to make feeste,
and to haue ioye; for this thi brother was deed, and lyuede
agen; he perischide, and is foundun.
SAME: MODERN VERSION
A
ND he said, A man had two sons; and the younger of them
said to the father, Father, give me the portion of cattle,
that falleth
to me. And he departed to him the cattle.
And not after many days, when all things were gathered together,
the younger son went forth in pilgrimage in to a far country; and
.
there he wasted his goods in living lecherously. And after that he
had ended all things, a strong hunger was made in that country,
and he began to have need. And he went and drew him to one
of the citizens of that country. And he sent him in to his town,
to feed swine. And he coveted to fill his womb of the cods that
the hogs eat, and no man gave him. And he turned again to
himself, and said, How many hired men in my father's house
have plenty of loaves; and I perish here through hunger. I shall
rise up, and go to my father, and I shall say to him, Father, I
have sinned in to heaven, and before thee; and now I am not
worthy to be clept* thy son, make me as one of thine hired men.
And he rose up, and came to his father. And when he was yet
afar, his father saw him, and was stirred by mercy. And he ran,
and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said to him,
Father, I have sinned in to heaven, and before thee; and now I
am not worthy to be clept thy son. And the father said to his
servants, Swithe f bring ye forth the first stool, and clothe ye him,
and give ye a ring in his hand, and shoon on his feet; and bring
ye a fat calf, and slay ye, and eat we, and make we feast. For this
my son was dead, and hath lived again; he perished, and is found.
And all men begun to eat. But his elder son was in the field;
and when he came, and nighed to the house, he heard a sym-
phony and a crowd. And he clept one of the servants, and asked,
what these things were. And he said to him, Thy brother is
come, and thy father slew a fat calf, for he received him safe.
And he was wroth, and would not come in. Therefore his father
went out, and began to pray him. And he answered to his father,
and said, Lo! so many years I serve thee, and I never brake thy
* Called. Quickly.
>


## p. 16239 (#589) ##########################################

JOHN WYCLIF
16239
commandment; and thou never gave to me a kid, that I with my
friends should have eaten. But after that this thy son, that hath
devoured his substance with whores, came, thou hast slain to him
a fat calf. And he said to him, Son, thou art ever more with
me, and all my things be thine. But it behoved for to make
feast, and to have joy; for this thy brother was dead, and lived
again; he perished, and is found.
I CORINTHIANS XIII.
F I speak with tongues of men and of angels, and I have not
charity, I am made as brass sounding, or a cymbal tinkling.
And if I have prophecy, and know all mysteries and all
cunning, and if I have all faith, so that I move hills from their
place, and I have not charity, I am naught. And if I depart all
my goods in to the meats of poor men, and if I betake my body, so
that I burn, and if I have not charity, it profiteth to me no thing.
Charity is patient, it is benign; charity envieth not, it doeth not
wickedly, it is not upblown, it is not covetous, it seeketh not the
things that be its own, it is not stirred to wrath, it thinketh not
evil, it joyeth not on wickedness, but it joyeth together to truth;
it suffereth all things, it believeth all things, it hopeth all things,
it sustaineth all things. Charity falleth never down, whether
prophecies shall be void, or languages shall cease, or science
shall be destroyed. For a part we know, and a part we prophesy;
but when that shall come that is perfect, that thing that is of
part shall be avoided. When I was a little child, I spake as a
little child, I understood as a little child; but when I was made ·
a man, I avoided the things that were of a little child. And we
see now by a mirror in darkness, but then face to face; now I
know of part, but then I shall know, as I am known.
And now
dwell faith, hope, and charity, these three; but the most of these
is charity.
JOHN XX. 1-31
AND
Nd in one day of the week Mary Magdalene came early to
the grave, when it was yet dark. And she saw the stone
moved away from the grave. Therefore she ran, and came
to Simon Peter, and to another disciple, whom Jesus loved, and


## p. 16240 (#590) ##########################################

16240
JOHN WYCLIF
saith to them, They have taken the Lord from the grave, and we
wis not, where they have laid him. Therefore Peter went out, and
that other disciple, and they came to the grave. And they twain
run together, and that other disciple ran before Peter, and came
first to the grave.
And when he stooped, he saw the sheets
lying, natheless he entered not. Therefore Simon Peter came
pursuing him, and he entered into the grave, and he saw the
sheets laid, and the napkin that was on his head, not laid with
the sheets, but by itself wrapped in to a place. Therefore then
that disciple that came first to the grave, entered, and saw, and
believed. For they knew not yet the scripture, that it behoved
him to rise again from death. Therefore the disciples went eft-
soon to themselves. But Mary stood at the grave with outforth
weeping And the while she wept, she bowed her, and beheld
forth in to the grave. And she saw two angels sitting in white,
one at the head and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus
was laid.
And they said to her, Woman, what weepest thou ?
She said to them, For they have taken away my lord, and I wot
not, where they have laid him. When she had said these things,
she turned backward, and saw Jesus standing, and wist not that
it was Jesus. Jesus saith to her, Woman, what weepest thou ?
whom seekest thou ? She guessing that he was a gardener, saith
to him, Sire, if thou hast taken him up, say to me where thou
hast laid him, and I shall take him away. Jesus saith to her,
, .
Mary. She turned, and saith to him, Raboni, that is to say,
Master. Jesus saith to her, Nill* thou touch me, for I have not
yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say to
them, I go to my Father and to your Father, to my God and to
your God. Mary Magdalene came, telling to the disciples, That
I saw the Lord, and these things he said to me. Therefore
when it was eve in that day, one of the sabbaths, and the gates
were shut, where the disciples were gathered, for dread of the
Jews, Jesus came, and stood in the middle of the disciples, and
he saith to them, Peace to you. And when he had said this, he
shewed to them hands and side; therefore the disciples joyed,
for the Lord was seen. And he saith to them eftsoon, Peace to
you: as the Father sent me, I send you. When he had said this,
he blew on them, and said, Take ye the Holy Ghost: whose sins
ye forgive, they be forgiven to them; and whose ye withhold, they
* Nill - Ne will: touch me not.


## p. 16241 (#591) ##########################################

JOHN WYCLIF
16241
be withholden. But Thomas, one of the twelve, that is said
Didymus, was not with them, when Jesus came. Therefore the
other disciples said, We have seen the Lord. And he said to
them, But I see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my
finger in to the places of the nails, and put mine hand in to his
side, I shall not believe. And after eight days eftsoon his dis-
ciples were with in, and Thomas with them. Jesus came, while
the gates were shut, and stood in the middle, and said, Peace to
you.
Afterward he saith to Thomas, Put in here thy finger,
and see mine hands, and put hither thine hand, and put into
my side, and nil thou be unbelieveful, but faithful. Thomas
answered, and said to him, My Lord and my God. Jesus saith to
him, Thomas, for thou hast seen me, thou believedest: blessed be
they that see not, and have believed. And Jesus did many other
signs in the sight of his disciples, which be not written in this
book. But these be written, that ye believe, that Jesus is Christ,
the son of God, and that ye believing have life in his name.
APOCALYPSE V. 1-14
AND
ND I saw in the right hand of the sitter on the throne, a
book written with in and with out, and sealed with seven
seals. And I saw a strong angel, preaching with a great
voice, Who is worthy to open the book, and to undo the seals of
it ? And none in heaven, neither in earth, neither under earth,
might open the book, neither behold it. And I wept much, for
none was found worthy to open the book, neither to see it. And
one of the elder men said to me, Weep thou not: lo! a lion of
the lineage of Judah, the root of David, hath overcome to open
the book, and to undo the seven seals of it. And I saw, and
lo! in the middle of the throne, and of the four beasts, and in
the middle of the elder men, a lamb standing as slain, that had
seven horns, and seven eyne, which be seven spirits of God,
sent in to all the earth. And he came, and took of the right
hand of the sitter in the throne the book. And when he had
opened the book, the four beasts and the four and twenty elder
men fell down before the lamb; and had each of them harps,
and golden vials full of odors, which be the prayers of saints.
And they sung a new song, and said, Lord our God, thou art
worthy to take the book, and to open the seals of it; for thou
XXVII-1016


## p. 16242 (#592) ##########################################

16242
JOHN WYCLIF
wert slain, and again boughtest * us to God in thy blood, of each
lineage, and tongue, and people, and nation; and madest us a
kingdom, and priests to our God; and we shall reign on earth.
And I saw, and heard the voice of many angels all about the
throne, and of the beasts, and of the elder men. And the num-
ber of them was thousands of thousands, saying with a great
voice, The lamb that was slain, is worthy to take virtue, and
godhead, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and
blessing. And each creature that is in heaven, and that is on
earth, and under earth, and the sea, and which things be in it, I
heard all saying, To him that sat in the throne, and to the
lamb, blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, in to worlds
of worlds. And the four beasts said, Amen. And the four and
twenty elder men fell down on their faces, and worshiped him
that liveth in to worlds of worlds.
* Redeemest.


## p. 16243 (#593) ##########################################

16243
XENOPHON
(430 B. C. ? -355 B. C. ? )
BY WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON
X
one.
ENOPHON, son of Gryllus, was an Athenian, modest of de-
meanor and beautiful beyond description. Tradition tells
how Socrates met him in a narrow way, and barring the
passage with his leveled staff, began to ask him where this or that
commodity could be bought. The boy answered readily. Finally the
sage inquired, “Where can the beautiful and noble be found ? ) The
youth shook his head in perplexity. Fol-
low me and learn. ” So Xenophon became
his hearer.
The anecdote is traceable only to gossip-
ing Diogenes Laertius, six centuries later.
It is doubtless an invention; but a good
As a beautiful and vigorous stripling,
joining in the Socratic search for wisdom
with the eager half-comprehending faith
of youth, Xenophon stands eternalized in
Raphael's School of Athens, and in the
grateful memory of mankind.
It is most natural and fitting, then, that
Xenophon's masterpiece, the Anabasis,' is XENOPHON
the ideal book for boys, and furnishes the
chosen high-road for every new generation, marching in slow daily
stages — albeit unwilling and tearful ofttimes— toward a mastery of
the speech and life of ancient Athens. Furthermore this supreme
adventure, this triumphant failure, of Xenophon's life, begins with a
bold outbreak of truancy and disobedience!
« There was in the army a certain Xenophon, an Athenian, who
was neither general, captain, nor soldier. His old friend, the general
Proxenus, had written inviting him, promising to make him a friend
to Prince Cyrus, whom Proxenus declared he himself prized more
than he did his native city. ” This unpatriotic sentiment of a The-
ban toward a barbarian, a boy, a despot, should have warned the
Athenian youth. Xenophon, however, on reading the letter, asked
Socrates's advice. He, wisely fearing that Cyrus's friendship would



## p. 16244 (#594) ##########################################

16244
XENOPHON
cost Xenophon the good-will of Athens, and perhaps to gain time for
riper thought, bade him consult Apollo's Delphic oracle. «Xenophon,
going to Delphi, asked Apollo to which of the gods he should make
prayers and vows, in order to succeed in the expedition on which
his heart was set, so as to come prosperous and safe home again. ”
Socrates reproached his disciple, upon his return, for not asking first
whether it were better to go at all or to stay at home. “Since, how-
ever,” he added, “you did put the question so, you must now do what
the god bade you. ”
Many scenes and incidents of the Anabasis) are used again in
the Cyropædeia' (Youth of Cyrus the Elder), which makes no real
pretension to truth, being indeed the first European historical >
novel or romance. This has cast much doubt on the veracity of the
Anabasis. The remark in a third Xenophontic work (the Hellenica,'
or Contemporary History) that the upward march and retreat of the
Ten Thousand had been recorded “by Themistogenes the Syracusan,”
does not help our faith.
Every reader of the Anabasis) must see, at any rate, that the
writer views the world through Xenophon's eyes, always knowing
his thoughts, and even his dreams. Of its authorship we can have
no real doubt. Its truthfulness is another question. Like Cæsar's
Commentaries,' it represents what the chief hero, and sole recorder,
wishes the world to accept as truth. It is rarely possible to convict
such masterly special pleaders of direct falsifying:
Perhaps every story of a life, adequately told, is felt to be typ-
ical of universal humanity. Certainly many a reader has dreamily
felt that this truant scholar, deserting Athens, home, school, philoso-
phy, for Babel, wealth, power, the favor of a rash and doomed
prince,- is but young manhood itself, hesitant and erring at the
parting of the ways.
It was a veteran schoolmaster who attempted at last to indicate
this recurrent feeling in a marginal comment on the Anabasis)
(iv. 8, 4).
The imperial boy had fallen in his pride
Before the gates of golden Babylon.
The host, who deemed that priceless treasure won,
For many a day since then had wandered wide,
By famine thinned, by savage hordes defied.
In a deep vale, beneath the setting sun,
They saw at last a swift black river run,
While shouting spearmen thronged the farther side.
Then eagerly, with startled joyous eyes,
Toward the desponding chief a soldier flew:-
"I was a slave in Athens, never knew


## p. 16245 (#595) ##########################################

XENOPHON
16245
My native country; but I understand
The meaning of yon wild barbarian cries,
And I believe this is my fatherland! »
This glimpse have we, no more. Did parents fond,
Brothers, or kinsmen, hail his late return ?
Or did he, doubly exiled, only yearn
To greet the Euxine's waves at Trebizond,
The blue Ægean, and Pallas's towers beyond ?
Mute is the record. We shall never learn.
But as once more the well-worn page I turn,
Forever by reluctant schoolboys conned,
A parable to me the tale appears,
Of blacker waters in a drearier vale.
Ab me! When on that brink we exiles stand,
As earthly lights and mortal accents fail,
Shall voices long forgotten reach our ears,
To tell us we have found our fatherland ?
Indeed there was much that was tragic, and even fatal, in this
hasty venture of Xenophon. His master, certainly, he never saw again.
The death scene which is immortalized — and without doubt freely
idealized — at the close of Plato's Phædo,' occurred while Xenophon
was leading unruly mercenaries to fruitless battle against Kurdish
and Armenian savages. Even when the survivors of the great retreat
reached the Black Sea, many mishaps awaited them, in a Greek world
rapidly falling apart under Sparta's weak and selfish leadership. The
remnant of the ten thousand adventurers was finally incorporated
in the troops assembling for a campaign of the Spartans against the
treacherous Persian Tissaphernes. Socrates's fears for Xenophon
apparently came true: a passing allusion in the Anabasis) itself tells
us that Xenophon's return from Asia to Hellas was in Agesilaus's
train, when that Spartan king was recalled from Asiatic victories
to save Lacedæmon from the alliance of foes at home against her.
Among those jealous allies was Athens. In Agesilaus's barren vic-
tory at Coroneia (394 B. C. ) Xenophon probably shared, thus fighting
against his own townsmen.
Whether this constituted him a traitor is not so easy to say.
Party spirit ran as high in a classic Greek city as in mediæval Italy.
Xenophon felt that his true city went into exile with the aristocratic
party,- or with himself alone, like Dante!