No More Learning

of Robinson's have been re-examined with care; and the reader who
compares the three volumes of the 'Diary', etc. --edited by Dr.
Sadler--with the extracts now printed from the original MS. , will see
where sentences omitted by the original editor have been included.

As this edition proceeds, my debt to many--who have been so kind as to
put their Wordsworth MSS. and memoranda at my disposal--will be
apparent.

It is difficult to acknowledge duly my obligation to collectors of
autograph Letters--Mr. Morrison, the late Mr. Locker Lampson, the late
Mr. Mackay, of the Grange, Trowbridge, and a score of others--but, I
may say in general, that the kindness of those who possess Wordsworth
MSS. in allowing me to examine them, has been a very genuine evidence of
their interest in the Poet, and his work.

My special thanks are due to Mr. Gordon Wordsworth, who has, in the
kindest manner and for many years, placed everything at my disposal,
which could further my labour on his grandfather's Works.

Finally, I wish to express the great debt I owe to the late Mr. J. Dykes
Campbell, for many suggestions, and for his unwearied interest in this
work,--which I think was second only to his interest in Coleridge--and
also to Mr. W. B. Kinghorn for his valuable assistance in the revision
of proof sheets.

If there are any desiderata, in reference to Wordsworth--in addition to
a new Life, a critical Essay, and such a Bibliography of Criticism as
will be adequate for posterity--a 'Concordance' to his works is one of
them. A correspondent once offered to prepare this for me, if I found a
publisher: and another has undertaken to compile a volume of 'parallel
passages' from the earlier poets of England, and of the world. A
Concordance might very well form part of a volume of 'Wordsworthiana',
and be a real service to future students of the poet.

William Knight.



[Footnote 1: In addition to my own detection of errors in the text and
notes to the editions 1882-9, I acknowledge special obligation to the
late Vice-Chancellor of the Victoria University, Principal Greenwood,
who went over every volume with laborious care, and sent me the result.
To the late Mr. J. Dykes Campbell, to Mr. J. R. Tutin, to the Rev.
Thomas Hutchinson of Kimbolton, and to many others, I am similarly
indebted. ]


[Footnote 2: See 'Memoirs of William Wordsworth', ii. pp. 113, 114. ]


[Footnote 3: It is however different with the fragments which were
published in all the editions issued in the poet's lifetime, and
afterwards in 'The Prelude', such as the lines on "the immortal boy" of
Windermere. These are printed in their chronological place, and also in
the posthumous poem. ]


[Footnote 4: 'Poems of Wordsworth selected and arranged by Matthew
Arnold'. London: Macmillan and Co. ]


[Footnote 5: See the 'Life of Sir W. Rowan Hamilton', vol. ii. pp, 132,
135. ]


[Footnote 6: See the Preface to the American edition of 1837. ]


[Footnote 7: It need hardly be explained that, in the case of a modern
poet, these various readings are not like the conjectural guesses of
critics and commentators as to what the original text was (as in the
case of the Greek Poets, or of Dante, or even of Shakespeare). They are
the actual alterations, introduced deliberately as improvements, by the
hand of the poet himself. ]


[Footnote 8: The collection in the British Museum, and those in all the
University Libraries of the country, are incomplete. ]


[Footnote 9: The publication of this edition was superintended by Mr.
Carter, who acted as Wordsworth's secretary for thirty-seven years, and
was appointed one of his literary executors. ]


[Footnote 10: Let the indiscriminate admirer of "first editions" turn to
this quarto, and perhaps even he may wonder why it has been rescued from
oblivion. I am only aware of the existence of five copies of the edition
of 1793; and although it has a certain autobiographic value, I do not
think that many who read it once will return to it again, except as a
literary curiosity. Here--and not in "Lyrical Ballads" or 'The
Excursion'--was the quarry where Jeffrey or Gifford might have found
abundant material for criticism. ]


[Footnote 11: It is unfortunate that the 'Memoirs' do not tell us to
what poem the remark applies, or to whom the letter containing it was
addressed. ]


[Footnote 12: It is important to note that the printed text in several
of the editions is occasionally cancelled in the list of 'errata', at
the beginning or the end of the volume: also that many copies of the
early editions (notably those of 1800), were bound up without the full
'errata' list. In this edition there were two such lists, one of them
very brief. But the cancelled words in these 'errata' lists, must be
taken into account, in determining the text of each edition. ]


[Footnote 13: I. F. note. See vol. i. p. 5. ]


[Footnote 14: I. F. note. See vol. i. p. 32. ]


[Footnote 15: Advertisement. See vol. i. p. 78. ]


[Footnote 16: How much of this poem was Wordsworth's own has not been
definitely ascertained. I am of opinion that very little, if any of it,
was his. It has been said that his nephew, the late Bishop of Lincoln,
wrote most of it; but more recent evidence tends to show that it was the
work of his son-in-law, Edward Quillinan. ]


[Footnote 17: In a letter to the writer in 1882. ]


[Footnote 18: 'The Poetry of Byron, chosen and arranged by Matthew
Arnold'. London: Macmillan and Co. ]


[Footnote 19: It may not be too trivial a fact to mention that
Wordsworth numbered the lines of his earliest publication, 'An Evening
Walk, in 1793. --Ed. ]


[Footnote 20: Another fact, not too trivial to mention, is that in the
original MS. of the 'Lines composed at Grasmere', etc. , Wordsworth sent
it to the printer "Lines written," but changed it in proof to "Lines
composed. "--Ed. ]





* * * * *





EXTRACT FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM, COMPOSED IN ANTICIPATION OF
LEAVING SCHOOL

Composed 1786. --Published 1815

This poem was placed by Wordsworth among his "Juvenile Pieces. " The
following note was prefixed to that Series, from 1820 to 1832:

"Of the Poems in this class, "THE EVENING WALK" and "DESCRIPTIVE
SKETCHES" were first published in 1793. They are reprinted with some
unimportant alterations that were chiefly made very soon after their
publication. It would have been easy to amend them, in many passages,
both as to sentiment and expression, and I have not been altogether
able to resist the temptation: but attempts of this kind are made at
the risk of injuring those characteristic features, which, after all,
will be regarded as the principal recommendation of juvenile poems. "

In 1836 "unimportant" was erased before "alterations"; and after
"temptation" the following was added, "as will be obvious to the
attentive reader, in some instances: these are few, for I am aware that
attempts of this kind," etc.

"The above, which was written some time ago, scarcely applies to the
Poem, 'Descriptive Sketches', as it now stands. The corrections,
though numerous, are not, however, such as to prevent its retaining
with propriety a place in the class of 'Juvenile Pieces. '"

In the editions of 1845 and 1849, Wordsworth called his "Juvenile
Pieces," "Poems written in Youth. "--Ed.

["Dear native regions," etc. , 1786, Hawkshead. The beautiful image
with which this poem concludes suggested itself to me while I was
resting in a boat along with my companions under the shade of a
magnificent row of sycamores, which then extended their branches from
the shore of the promontory upon which stands the ancient, and at that
time the more picturesque, Hall of Coniston, the Seat of the Le
Flemings from very early times. The Poem of which it was the
conclusion, was of many hundred lines, and contained thoughts and
images, most of which have been dispersed through my other
writings. --I. F. ]

In the editions 1815 to 1832, the title given to this poem was 'Extract
from the conclusion of a Poem, composed upon leaving School'. The row of
sycamores at Hawkshead, referred to in the Fenwick note, no longer
exists.

In the "Autobiographical Memoranda," dictated by Wordsworth at Rydal
Mount in November 1847, he says, " . . . . I wrote, while yet a schoolboy,
a long poem running upon my own adventures, and the scenery of the
county in which I was brought up. The only part of that poem which has
been preserved is the conclusion of it, which stands at the beginning of
my collected Poems. " [A]

In the eighth book of 'The Prelude', (lines 468-475), this fragment is
introduced, and there Wordsworth tells us that once, when boating on
Coniston Lake (Thurston-mere) in his boyhood, he entered under a grove
of trees on its "western marge," and glided "along the line of
low-roofed water," "as in a cloister. " He adds,

while, in that shade
Loitering, I watched the golden beams of light
Flung from the setting sun, as they reposed
In silent beauty on the naked ridge
Of a high eastern hill--thus flowed my thoughts
In a pure stream of words fresh from the heart:

Ed.


* * * * *


THE POEM


Dear native regions, [B] I foretell,
From what I feel at this farewell,
That, wheresoe'er my steps may [1] tend,
And whensoe'er my course shall end,

If in that hour a single tie [2] 5
Survive of local sympathy,
My soul will cast the backward view,
The longing look alone on you.

Thus, while the Sun sinks down to rest
Far in the regions of the west, 10
Though to the vale no parting beam
Be given, not one memorial gleam, [3]
A lingering light he fondly throws [4]
On the dear hills [5] where first he rose.



* * * * *


[Footnote A: See the 'Memoirs of William Wordsworth', by Christopher
Wordsworth (1851), vol. i. pp. 10-31. --ED]


[Footnote B: Compare the 'Ode, composed in January 1816', stanza
v. --Ed. ]


* * * * *


[Variant 1:

1832.

. . . . shall 1815. ]


[Variant 2:

1815.

That, when the close of life draws near,
And I must quit this earthly sphere,
If in that hour a tender tie MS. ]


[Variant 3:

1845.

Thus, when the Sun, prepared for rest,
Hath gained the precincts of the West,
Though his departing radiance fail
To illuminate the hollow Vale, 1815.

Thus, from the precincts of the West,
The Sun, when sinking down to rest, 1832.

. . . while sinking . . . 1836.

Hath reached the precincts . . . MS. ]


[Variant 4:

1815.

A lingering lustre fondly throws 1832.

The edition of 1845 reverts to the reading of 1815. ]


[Variant 5:

1815.

On the dear mountain-tops . . . 1820.

The edition of 1845 returns to the text of 1815. ]





* * * * *





WRITTEN IN VERY EARLY YOUTH


Composed 1786. [A]--Published 1807 [B]


From 1807 to 1843 this was placed by Wordsworth in his group of
"Miscellaneous Sonnets. " In 1845, it was transferred to the class of
"Poems written in Youth. " It is doubtful if it was really written in
"'very' early youth. " Its final form, at any rate, may belong to a later
period. --Ed.


* * * * *


Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
The kine are couched upon the dewy grass;
The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass,
Is cropping audibly [1] his later meal: [C]
Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal 5
O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky.
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony,
Home-felt, and home-created, comes [2] to heal
That grief for which the senses still supply
Fresh food; for only then, when memory 10
Is hushed, am I at rest. My Friends! restrain
Those busy cares that would allay my pain;
Oh! leave me to myself, nor let me feel
The officious touch that makes me droop again.


* * * * *


[Footnote A: The date of the composition of this fragment is quite
unknown. --Ed. ]


[Footnote B: But previously, in 'The Morning Post', Feb. 13, 1802. --Ed. ]


[Footnote C: Canon Ainger calls attention to the fact that there is here
a parallel, possibly a reminiscence, from the 'Nocturnal Reverie' of
the Countess of Winchelsea.

Whose stealing pace and lengthened shade we fear,
Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear.

Ed. ]


* * * * *

[Variant 1:

1827.

Is up, and cropping yet . . . 1807. ]


[Variant 2:

1838.

. . . seems . . . 1807. ]





* * * * *





AN EVENING WALK

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY


Composed 1787-9. [A]--Published 1793


[The young Lady to whom this was addressed was my Sister. It was
composed at School, and during my first two College vacations. There
is not an image in it which I have not observed; and, now in my
seventy-third year, I recollect the time and place, when most of them
were noticed. I will confine myself to one instance:

Waving his hat, the shepherd, from the vale,
Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,--
The dog, loud barking, 'mid the glittering rocks,
Hunts, where his master points, the intercepted flocks.

I was an eye-witness of this for the first time while crossing the
Pass of Dunmail Raise. Upon second thought, I will mention another
image:

And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines
Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines.

This is feebly and imperfectly expressed, but I recollect distinctly
the very spot where this first struck me. It was on the way between
Hawkshead and Ambleside, and gave me extreme pleasure. The moment was
important in my poetical history; for I date from it my consciousness
of the infinite variety of natural appearances which had been
unnoticed by the poets of any age or country, so far as I was
acquainted with them; and I made a resolution to supply in some degree
the deficiency. I could not have been at that time above fourteen
years of age. The description of the swans, that follows, was taken
from the daily opportunities I had of observing their habits, not as
confined to the gentleman's park, but in a state of nature. There were
two pairs of them that divided the lake of Esthwaite, and its
in-and-out flowing streams, between them, never trespassing a single
yard upon each other's separate domain. They were of the old
magnificent species, bearing in beauty and majesty about the same
relation to the Thames swan which that does to the goose. It was from
the remembrance of those noble creatures, I took, thirty years after,
the picture of the swan which I have discarded from the poem of
'Dion'. [B] While I was a schoolboy, the late Mr.
Curwen introduced a
little fleet of these birds, but of the inferior species, to the lake
of Windermere. Their principal home was about his own island; but they
sailed about into remote parts of the lake, and either from real or
imagined injury done to the adjoining fields, they were got rid of at
the request of the farmers and proprietors, but to the great regret of
all who had become attached to them from noticing their beauty and
quiet habits. I will conclude my notice of this poem by observing that
the plan of it has not been confined to a particular walk, or an
individual place; a proof (of which I was unconscious at the time) of
my unwillingness to submit the poetic spirit to the chains of fact and
real circumstance. The country is idealised rather than described in
any one of its local aspects. --I. F. ]

The title of this poem, as first published in 1793, was 'An Evening
Walk. An epistle; in verse. Addressed to a Young Lady, from the Lakes of
the North of England. By W. Wordsworth, B. A. , of St. John's, Cambridge'.
Extracts from it were published in all the collected editions of the
poems under the general title of "Juvenile Pieces," from 1815 to 1843;
and, in 1845 and 1849, of "Poems written in Youth. " The following
prefatory note to the "Juvenile Pieces" occurs in the editions 1820 to
1832.

"They are reprinted with some unimportant alterations that were
chiefly made very soon after their publication. It would have been
easy to amend them, in many passages, both as to sentiment and
expression, and I have not been altogether able to resist the
temptation: but attempts of this kind are made at the risk of injuring
those characteristic features, which, after all, will be regarded as
the principal recommendation of juvenile poems. "

To this, Wordsworth added, in 1836,

"The above, which was written some time ago, scarcely applies to the
Poem, 'Descriptive Sketches', as it now stands. The corrections,
though numerous, are not, however, such as to prevent its retaining
with propriety a place in the class of 'Juvenile Pieces. '"

In May 1794 Wordsworth wrote to his friend Mathews,

"It was with great reluctance that I sent these two little works into
the world in so imperfect a state. But as I had done nothing at the
University, I thought these little things might show that I _could_ do
something. "

Wordsworth's notes to this poem are printed from the edition of 1793.
Slight variations in the text of these notes in subsequent editions, in
the spelling of proper names, and in punctuation, are not noted. --Ed.

'General Sketch of the Lakes--Author's regret of his Youth which was
passed amongst them--Short description of Noon--Cascade--Noon-tide
Retreat--Precipice and sloping Lights--Face of Nature as the Sun
declines--Mountain-farm, and the
Cock--Slate-quarry--Sunset--Superstition of the Country connected with
that moment--Swans--Female Beggar--Twilight-sounds--Western
Lights--Spirits--Night--Moonlight--Hope--Night-sounds--Conclusion'.


* * * * *

THE POEM


Far from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to rove
Through bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove;
Where Derwent rests, and listens to the roar
That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore; [1]
Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads, 5
To willowy hedge-rows, and to emerald meads;
Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottaged grounds,
Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds;
Where, undisturbed by winds, Winander [C] sleeps [2]
'Mid clustering isles, and holly-sprinkled steeps; 10
Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore,
And memory of departed pleasures, more.

Fair scenes, erewhile, I taught, a happy child,
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild:
The spirit sought not then, in cherished sadness, 15
A cloudy substitute for failing gladness. [3]
In youth's keen [4] eye the livelong day was bright,
The sun at morning, and the stars at night,
Alike, when first the bittern's hollow bill
Was heard, or woodcocks [D] roamed the moonlight hill. [5] 20

In thoughtless gaiety I coursed the plain, [6]
And hope itself was all I knew of pain;
For then, the inexperienced heart would beat [7]
At times, while young Content forsook her seat,
And wild Impatience, pointing upward, showed, 25
Through passes yet unreached, a brighter road. [8]
Alas! the idle tale of man is found
Depicted in the dial's moral round;
Hope with reflection blends her social rays [9]
To gild the total tablet of his days; 30
Yet still, the sport of some malignant power,
He knows but from its shade the present hour.
[10]
But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain?
To show what pleasures yet to me remain, [11]
Say, will my Friend, with unreluctant ear, [12] 35
The history of a poet's evening hear?

When, in the south, the wan noon, brooding still,
Breathed a pale steam around the glaring hill,
And shades of deep-embattled clouds were seen, 40
Spotting the northern cliffs with lights between;
When crowding cattle, checked by rails that make
A fence far stretched into the shallow lake,
Lashed the cool water with their restless tails,
Or from high points of rock looked out for fanning gales;[13] 45
When school-boys stretched their length upon the green;
And round the broad-spread oak, a glimmering scene,
In the rough fern-clad park, the herded deer [14]
Shook the still-twinkling tail and glancing ear;
When horses in the sunburnt intake [E] stood, 50
And vainly eyed below the tempting flood,
Or tracked the passenger, in mute distress,
With forward neck the closing gate to press--[15]
Then, while I wandered where the huddling rill
Brightens with water-breaks the hollow ghyll [F] [16] 55
As by enchantment, an obscure retreat [17]
Opened at once, and stayed my devious feet.
While thick above the rill the branches close,
In rocky basin its wild waves repose,
Inverted shrubs, [G] and moss of gloomy green, 60
Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between;
And its own twilight softens the whole scene, [H]
Save where aloft the subtle sunbeams shine
On withered briars that o'er the crags recline; [18]
Save where, with sparkling foam, a small cascade, 65
Illumines, from within, the leafy shade; [19]
Beyond, along the vista of the brook,
Where antique roots its bustling course [20] o'erlook,
The eye reposes on a secret bridge [J]
Half grey, half shagged with ivy to its ridge; 70
There, bending o'er the stream, the listless swain
Lingers behind his disappearing wain. [21]
--Did Sabine grace adorn my living line,
Blandusia's praise, wild stream, should yield to thine!
Never shall ruthless minister of death 75
'Mid thy soft glooms the glittering steel unsheath;
No goblets shall, for thee, be crowned with flowers,
No kid with piteous outcry thrill thy bowers;
The mystic shapes that by thy margin rove
A more benignant sacrifice approve-- 80
A mind, that, in a calm angelic mood
Of happy wisdom, meditating good,
Beholds, of all from her high powers required,
Much done, and much designed, and more desired,--
Harmonious thoughts, a soul by truth refined, 85
Entire affection for all human kind.

Dear Brook, [22] farewell! To-morrow's noon again
Shall hide me, wooing long thy wildwood strain;
But now the sun has gained his western road,
And eve's mild hour invites my steps abroad. 90

While, near the midway cliff, the silvered kite
In many a whistling circle wheels her flight;
Slant watery lights, from parting clouds, apace
Travel along the precipice's base;
Cheering its naked waste of scattered stone, 95
By lichens grey, and scanty moss, o'ergrown;
Where scarce the foxglove peeps, or [23] thistle's beard;
And restless [24] stone-chat, all day long, is heard.

How pleasant, as the sun declines, to view [25]
The spacious landscape change in form and hue! 100
Here, vanish, as in mist, before a flood
Of bright obscurity, hill, lawn, and wood;
There, objects, by the searching beams betrayed,
Come forth, and here retire in purple shade;
Even the white stems of birch, the cottage white, 105
Soften their glare before the mellow light;
The skiffs, at anchor where with umbrage wide
Yon chestnuts half the latticed boat-house hide,
Shed from their sides, that face the sun's slant beam,
Strong flakes of radiance on the tremulous stream: 110
Raised by yon travelling flock, a dusty cloud
Mounts from the road, and spreads its moving shroud;
The shepherd, all involved in wreaths of fire,
Now shows a shadowy speck, and now is lost entire.

Into a gradual calm the breezes [26] sink, [27] 115
A blue rim borders all the lake's still brink;
There doth the twinkling aspen's foliage sleep,
And insects clothe, like dust, the glassy deep: [28]
And now, on every side, the surface breaks
Into blue spots, and slowly lengthening streaks; 120
Here, plots of sparkling water tremble bright
With thousand thousand twinkling points of light;
There, waves that, hardly weltering, die away,
Tip their smooth ridges with a softer ray;
And now the whole wide lake in deep repose 125
Is hushed, and like a burnished mirror glows, [29]
Save where, along the shady western marge,
Coasts, with industrious oar, the charcoal barge. [30]

Their panniered train a group of potters goad,
Winding from side to side up the steep road; 130
The peasant, from yon cliff of fearful edge
Shot, down the headlong path darts with his sledge; [31]
Bright beams the lonely mountain-horse illume
Feeding 'mid purple heath, "green rings," [K] and broom;
While the sharp slope the slackened team confounds, 135
Downward [L] the ponderous timber-wain resounds;
[32] In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song,
Dashed o'er [33] the rough rock, lightly leaps along;
From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet,
Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat; 140
Sounds from the water-side the hammered boat;
And 'blasted' quarry thunders, heard remote!

Even here, amid the sweep of endless woods,
Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs and falling floods,
Not undelightful are the simplest charms, 145
Found by the grassy [34] door of mountain-farms.

Sweetly ferocious, [M] round his native walks,
Pride of [35] his sister-wives, the monarch stalks;
Spur-clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread;
A crest of purple tops the warrior's head. [36] 150
Bright sparks his black and rolling [37] eye-ball hurls
Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls;
[38] On tiptoe reared, he strains [39] his clarion throat,
Threatened by faintly-answering farms remote:
Again with his shrill voice the mountain rings, 155
While, flapped with conscious pride, resound his wings! [40]

Where, mixed with graceful birch, the sombrous pine
And yew-tree [41] o'er the silver rocks recline;
I love to mark the quarry's moving trains,
Dwarf panniered steeds, and men, and numerous wains: 160
How busy all [42] the enormous hive within,
While Echo dallies with its [43] various din!
Some (hear you not their chisels' clinking sound? ) [44]
Toil, small as pigmies in the gulf profound;
Some, dim between the lofty [45] cliffs descried, 165
O'erwalk the slender [46] plank from side to side;
These, by the pale-blue rocks that ceaseless ring,
In airy baskets hanging, work and sing. [47]

Just where a cloud above the mountain rears [48]
An [49] edge all flame, the broadening sun appears; 170
A long blue bar its aegis orb divides,
And breaks the spreading of its golden tides;
And now that orb has touched the purple steep
Whose softened image penetrates the deep. [50]

'Cross the calm lake's blue shades the cliffs aspire, 175
With towers and woods, a "prospect all on fire"; [N]
While [51] coves and secret hollows, through a ray
Of fainter gold, a purple gleam betray.
Each slip of lawn the broken rocks between
Shines in the light with more than earthly green: [52] 180
Deep yellow beams the scattered stems [53] illume,
Far in the level forest's central gloom:
Waving his hat, the shepherd, from [54] the vale,
Directs his winding dog the cliffs to scale,--
The dog, loud barking, 'mid the glittering rocks, 185
Hunts, where his master points, the intercepted flocks. [55]
Where oaks o'erhang the road the radiance shoots
On tawny earth, wild weeds, and twisted roots;
The druid-stones a brightened ring unfold; [56]
And all the babbling brooks are liquid gold; 190
Sunk to a curve, the day-star lessens still,
Gives one bright glance, and drops [57] behind the hill. [P]

In these secluded vales, if village fame,
Confirmed by hoary hairs, belief may claim;
When up the hills, as now, retired the light, 195
Strange apparitions mocked the shepherd's sight. [58]

The form appears of one that spurs his steed
Midway along the hill with desperate speed; [59]
Unhurt pursues his lengthened flight, while all
Attend, at every stretch, his headlong fall. 200
Anon, appears a brave, a gorgeous show
Of horsemen-shadows moving to and fro; [60]
At intervals imperial banners stream, [61]
And now the van reflects the solar beam; [62]
The rear through iron brown betrays a sullen gleam. 205
While silent stands the admiring crowd below,
Silent the visionary warriors go,
Winding in ordered pomp their upward way [Q]
Till the last banner of their [63] long array
Has disappeared, and every trace is fled 210
Of splendour--save the beacon's spiry head
Tipt with eve's latest gleam of burning red. [64]

Now, while the solemn evening shadows sail,
On slowly-waving pinions, [65] down the vale;
And, fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines 215
Its darkening boughs and leaves, in stronger lines; [66]
'Tis pleasant near the tranquil lake to stray [67]
Where, winding on along some secret bay, [68]
The swan uplifts his chest, and backward flings
His neck, a varying arch, between his towering wings: 220
The eye that marks the gliding creature sees
How graceful, pride can be, and how majestic, ease. [69]

While tender cares and mild domestic loves
With furtive watch pursue her as she moves,
The female with a meeker charm succeeds, 225
And her brown little-ones around her leads,
Nibbling the water lilies as they pass,
Or playing wanton with the floating grass.
She, in a mother's care, her beauty's pride
Forgetting, calls the wearied to her side; [70] 230
Alternately they mount her back, and rest
Close by her mantling wings' embraces prest. [R]

Long may they float upon this flood serene;
Theirs be these holms untrodden, still, and green,
Where leafy shades fence off the blustering gale, 235
And breathes in peace the lily of the vale! [71]
Yon isle, which feels not even the milk-maid's feet,
Yet hears her song, "by distance made more sweet," [72] [S]
Yon isle conceals their home, their hut-like bower;
Green water-rushes overspread the floor; [73] 240
Long grass and willows form the woven wall,
And swings above the roof the poplar tall.
Thence issuing often with unwieldy stalk,
They crush with broad black feet their flowery walk; [74]
Or, from the neighbouring water, hear at morn [75] 245
The hound, the horse's tread, and mellow horn;
Involve their serpent-necks in changeful rings,
Rolled wantonly between their slippery wings,
Or, starting up with noise and rude delight,
Force half upon the wave their cumbrous flight. [76] 250

Fair Swan! by all a mother's joys caressed,
Haply some wretch has eyed, and called thee blessed;
When with her infants, from some shady seat
By the lake's edge, she rose--to face the noontide heat;
Or taught their limbs along the dusty road 255
A few short steps to totter with their load. [77]

I see her now, denied to lay her head,
On cold blue nights, in hut or straw-built shed,
Turn to a silent smile their sleepy cry,
By pointing to the gliding moon [78] on high. 260

--[79] When low-hung clouds each star of summer hide,
And fireless are the valleys far and wide,
Where the brook brawls along the public [80] road
Dark with bat-haunted ashes stretching broad,
[81] Oft has she taught them on her lap to lay 265
The shining glow-worm; or, in heedless play,
Toss it from hand to hand, disquieted;
While others, not unseen, are free to shed
Green unmolested light upon their mossy bed. [82]

Oh! when the sleety showers her path assail, 270
And like a torrent roars the headstrong gale; [83]
No more her breath can thaw their fingers cold,
Their frozen arms her neck no more can fold;
[84] Weak roof a cowering form two babes to shield,
And faint the fire a dying heart can yield! 275
Press the sad kiss, fond mother! vainly fears
Thy flooded cheek to wet them with its tears;
[85] No tears can chill them, and no bosom warms,
Thy breast their death-bed, coffined in thine arms!

Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar, 280
Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star,
Where the duck dabbles 'mid the rustling sedge,
And feeding pike starts from the water's edge,
Or the swan stirs the reeds, his neck and bill
Wetting, that drip upon the water still; 285
And heron, as resounds the trodden shore,
Shoots upward, darting his long neck before.
[86]
Now, with religious awe, the farewell light
Blends with the solemn colouring of night; [87]
'Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's brow, 290
And round the west's proud lodge their shadows throw,
Like Una [T] shining on her gloomy way,
The half-seen form of Twilight roams astray;
Shedding, through paly loop-holes mild and small,
Gleams that upon the lake's still bosom fall; [88] 295
[89] Soft o'er the surface creep those lustres pale
Tracking the motions of the fitful gale. [90]
With restless interchange at once the bright
Wins on the shade, the shade upon the light.
No favoured eye was e'er allowed to gaze 300
On lovelier spectacle in faery days;
When gentle Spirits urged a sportive chase,
Brushing with lucid wands the water's face;
While music, stealing round the glimmering deeps,
Charmed the tall circle of the enchanted steeps. 305
--The lights are vanished from the watery plains:
No wreck of all the pageantry remains.
Unheeded night has overcome the vales:
On the dark earth the wearied vision fails;
The latest lingerer of the forest train, 310
The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain;
Last evening sight, the cottage smoke, no more,
Lost in the thickened darkness, glimmers hoar;
And, towering from the sullen dark-brown mere,
Like a black wall, the mountain-steeps appear. [91] 315

--Now o'er the soothed accordant heart we feel
A sympathetic twilight slowly steal,
And ever, as we fondly muse, we find
The soft gloom deepening on the tranquil mind.
Stay! pensive, sadly-pleasing visions, stay! 320
Ah no! as fades the vale, they fade away:
Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains;
Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains.

The bird, who ceased, with fading light, to thread
Silent the hedge or steamy rivulet's bed, [92] 325
From his grey re-appearing tower shall soon
Salute with gladsome note the rising moon,
While with a hoary light she frosts the ground,
And pours a deeper blue to Aether's bound;
Pleased, as she moves, her pomp of clouds to fold 330
In robes of azure, fleecy-white, and gold. [93]

Above yon eastern hill, [94] where darkness broods
O'er all its vanished dells, and lawns, and woods;
Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace,
Even now she shows, half-veiled, her lovely face: [95] 335
Across [96] the gloomy valley flings her light,
Far to the western slopes with hamlets white;
And gives, where woods the chequered upland strew,
To the green corn of summer, autumn's hue.

Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn 340
Her dawn, far lovelier than the moon's own morn,
'Till higher mounted, strives in vain to cheer
The weary hills, impervious, blackening near;
Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while
On darling spots remote her tempting smile. 345

Even now she decks for me a distant scene,
(For dark and broad the gulf of time between)
Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray,
(Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way; 350
How fair its lawns and sheltering [97] woods appear!
How sweet its streamlet murmurs in mine ear! )
Where we, my Friend, to happy [98] days shall rise,
'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs
(For sighs will ever trouble human breath) 355
Creep hushed into the tranquil breast of death.

But now the clear bright Moon her zenith gains,
And, rimy without speck, extend the plains:
The deepest cleft the mountain's front displays [99]
Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays; 360
From the dark-blue faint silvery threads divide
The hills, while gleams below the azure tide;
Time softly treads; throughout the landscape breathes
A peace enlivened, not disturbed, by wreaths
Of charcoal-smoke, that o'er the fallen wood, 365
Steal down the hill, and spread along the flood. [100]

The song of mountain-streams, unheard by day,
Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way. [U]
Air listens, like the sleeping water, still,
To catch the spiritual music of the hill, [101] 370
Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep,
Or shout that wakes the ferry-man from sleep,
The echoed hoof nearing the distant shore,
The boat's first motion--made with dashing oar; [102]
Sound of closed gate, across the water borne, 375
Hurrying the timid [103] hare through rustling corn;
The sportive outcry of the mocking owl; [104]
And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl;
The distant forge's swinging thump profound;
Or yell, in the deep woods, of lonely hound. 380



* * * * *


VARIANTS ON THE ABOVE POEM:


[Variant 1:

1836.

His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes
Thro' craggs, and forest glooms, and opening lakes,
Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar
That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore:
Where silver rocks the savage prospect chear
Of giant yews that frown on Rydale's mere; 1793.

Where Derwent stops his course to hear the roar
That stuns the tremulous cliffs . . . 1827.

(Omitting two lines of the 1793 text quoted above. )]


[Variant 2:

1836.

Where, bosom'd deep, the shy Winander peeps 1793.

Where, deep embosom'd, shy Winander peeps 1827. ]


[Variant 3:

1836.

Fair scenes! with other eyes, than once, I gaze,
The ever-varying charm your round displays,
Than when, ere-while, I taught, "a happy child,"
The echoes of your rocks my carols wild:
Then did no ebb of chearfulness demand
Sad tides of joy from Melancholy's hand; 1793.

Upon the varying charm your round displays, 1820. ]


[Variant 4:

1820.

. . . wild . . . 1793. ]


[Variant 5:

1836.

. . . stars of night,
Alike, when first the vales the bittern fills,
Or the first woodcocks roam'd the moonlight hills. 1793.

Alike, when heard the bittern's hollow bill,
Or the first woodcocks roam'd the moonlight hill. 1820. ]


[Variant 6:

1820.

Return Delights! with whom my road begun,
When Life rear'd laughing up her morning sun;
When Transport kiss'd away my april tear,
"Rocking as in a dream the tedious year";
When link'd with thoughtless Mirth I cours'd the plain, 1793. ]


[Variant 7:

1836.

For then, ev'n then, the little heart would beat 1793. ]


[Variant 8:

1836.

And wild Impatience, panting upward, show'd
Where tipp'd with gold the mountain-summits glow'd. 1793. ]


[Variant 9:

1836.

With Hope Reflexion blends her social rays 1793. ]


[Variant 10:

1820.

While, Memory at my side, I wander here,
Starts at the simplest sight th' unbidden tear,
A form discover'd at the well-known seat,
A spot, that angles at the riv'let's feet,
The ray the cot of morning trav'ling nigh,
And sail that glides the well-known alders by.

Only in the edition of 1793. ]


[Variant 11:

1820.

To shew her yet some joys to me remain, 1793. ]


[Variant 12:

1820.

. . . with soft affection's ear, 1793. ]


[Variant 13:

1836.

. . . with lights between;
Gazing the tempting shades to them deny'd,
When stood the shorten'd herds amid' the tide,
Where, from the barren wall's unshelter'd end,
Long rails into the shallow lake extend; 1793.

When, at the barren wall's unsheltered end,
Where long rails far into the lake extend,
Crowded the shortened herds, and beat the tides
With their quick tails, and lash'd their speckled sides; 1820. ]


[Variant 14:

1836.

And round the humming elm, a glimmering scene!
In the brown park, in flocks, the troubl'd deer 1793.

. . . in herds, . . . 1820. ]


[Variant 15:

1820.

When horses in the wall-girt intake stood,
Unshaded, eying far below, the flood,
Crouded behind the swain, in mute distress,
With forward neck the closing gate to press;
And long, with wistful gaze, his walk survey'd,
'Till dipp'd his pathway in the river shade; 1793. ]


[Variant 16:

1845.

--Then Quiet led me up the huddling rill,
Bright'ning with water-breaks the sombrous gill; 1793.

--Then, while I wandered up the huddling rill
Brightening with water-breaks the sombrous ghyll, 1820.

Then, while I wandered where the huddling rill
Brightens with water-breaks the sombrous ghyll, 1836. ]


[Variant 17:

1820.

To where, while thick above the branches close,
In dark-brown bason its wild waves repose,
Inverted shrubs, and moss of darkest green,
Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between;
Save that, atop, the subtle sunbeams shine,
On wither'd briars that o'er the craggs recline;
Sole light admitted here, a small cascade,
Illumes with sparkling foam the twilight shade.
Beyond, along the visto of the brook,
Where antique roots its bustling path o'erlook,
The eye reposes on a secret bridge
Half grey, half shagg'd with ivy to its ridge.
--Sweet rill, farewel! . . . 1793. ]


[Variant 18:

1845.

But see aloft the subtle sunbeams shine,
On withered briars that o'er the crags recline;
Thus beautiful! as if the sight displayed,
By its own sparkling foam that small cascade;
Inverted shrubs, with moss of gloomy green
Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds between. C.

Inverted shrubs with pale wood weeds between
Cling from the moss-grown rocks, a darksome green,
Save where aloft the subtle sunbeams shine
And its own twilight softens the whole scene.
And sparkling as it foams a small cascade
Illumines from within the impervious shade
Below, right in the vista of the brook,
Where antique roots, etc. MS. ]


[Variant 19:

1845.

Sole light admitted here, a small cascade,
Illumes with sparkling foam the impervious shade; 1820. ]


[Variant 20:

1827.

. . . path . . . 1793. ]


[Variant 21:

1845.

Whence hangs, in the cool shade, the listless swain
Lingering behind his disappearing wain. 1820. ]


[Variant 22:

1845.

--Sweet rill, . . . 1793. ]


[Variant 23:

1820.

. .