The Poem

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IThere was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove broods;
The Jay makes answer as the Magpie chatters;
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.
5
IIAll things that love the sun are out of doors;
The sky rejoices in the morning's birth;
The grass is bright with rain-drops;—on the moors
The hare is running races in her mirth;
And with her feet she from the plashy earth
Raises a mist; that, glittering in the sun,
Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run.
[1]

10
IIII was a Traveller then upon the moor;
I saw the hare that raced about with joy;
I heard the woods and distant waters roar;
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy:
The pleasant season did my heart employ:
My old remembrances went from me wholly;
And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy.		15
20
IVBut, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might
Of joy in minds that can no further go,
As high as we have mounted in delight
In our dejection do we sink as low;
To me that morning did it happen so;
And fears and fancies thick upon me came;
Dim sadness—and blind thoughts, I knew not, nor could name.
25
VI heard the sky-lark warbling in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful hare:
Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
But there may come another day to me—
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 		[2]
[3]

30
35
VIMy whole life I have lived in pleasant thought,
As if life's business were a summer mood;
As if all needful things would come unsought
To genial faith, still rich in genial good;
But how can He expect that others should
Build for him, sow for him, and at his call
Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
[4]

[A]

40
VIII thought of Chatterton, the marvellous Boy,
The sleepless Soul that perished in his pride;
Of Him who walked in glory and in joy
Following his plough, along the mountain-side:
By our own spirits are we deified:
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness;
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.
[5]
[6]
[7]
45
VIIINow, whether it were by peculiar grace,
A leading from above, a something given,
Yet it befel, that, in this lonely place,
When I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven
I saw a Man before me unawares:
The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
[12]		[8]
[9]
[10]
[11]
[12]		50
55
IXAs a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie
Couched on the bald top of an eminence;
Wonder to all who do the same espy,
By what means it could thither come, and whence;
So that it seems a thing endued with sense:
Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf
Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself;
[13]
[14]

60
XSuch seemed this Man, not all alive nor dead,
Nor all asleep—in his extreme old age:
His body was bent double, feet and head
Coming together in life's pilgrimage;
As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage
Of sickness felt by him in times long past,
A more than human weight upon his frame had cast.
[15]
[16]
65
70
XIHimself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face,
Upon a long grey staff of shaven wood:
And, still as I drew near with gentle pace,
Upon the margin of that moorish flood
Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood,
That heareth not the loud winds when they call;
And moveth all together, if it move at all. 		[17]
[18]
[19]
[20]
75
XIIAt length, himself unsettling, he the pond
Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look
Upon the muddy water, which he conned,
As if he had been reading in a book:
And now a stranger's privilege I took;
And, drawing to his side, to him did say,
"This morning gives us promise of a glorious day."
[21]

80
XIIIA gentle answer did the old Man make,
In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew:
And him with further words I thus bespake,
"What occupation do you there pursue?
This is a lonesome place for one like you."
Ere he replied, a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes.
[22]
[23]
[24]
[B]		85
90
XIVHis words came feebly, from a feeble chest,
But each in solemn order followed each,
With something of a lofty utterance drest—
Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach
Of ordinary men; a stately speech;
Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,
Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.
[25]
[26]
[27]

95
XVHe told, that to these waters he had come
To gather leeches, being old and poor:
Employment hazardous and wearisome!
And he had many hardships to endure:
From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor;
Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance;
And in this way he gained an honest maintenance.		[28]
[29]

100
105
XVIThe old Man still stood talking by my side;
But now his voice to me was like a stream
Scarce heard; nor word from word could I divide;
And the whole body of the Man did seem
Like one whom I had met with in a dream;
Or like a man from some far region sent,
To give me human strength, by apt admonishment.
[30]
[31]
110
XVIIMy former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;
And hope that is unwilling to be fed;
Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;
And mighty Poets in their misery dead.
—Perplexed, and longing to be comforted,
My question eagerly did I renew,
"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?"
[32]
[33]
[34]
115
XVIIIHe with a smile did then his words repeat;
And said, that, gathering leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the pools where they abide.
"Once I could meet with them on every side;
But they have dwindled long by slow decay;
Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may."
[35]
[36]		120
125
XIXWhile he was talking thus, the lonely place,
The old Man's shape, and speech—all troubled me:
In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace
About the weary moors continually,
Wandering about alone and silently.
While I these thoughts within myself pursued,
He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.
130
XXAnd soon with this he other matter blended,
Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind,
But stately in the main; and when he ended,
I could have laughed myself to scorn to find
In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.
"God," said I, "be my help and stay secure;
I'll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!"
[Note]
[Contents 1802]
[Main Contents]		[37]
[38]

135
140

[Variant 1:]

1827
... which, ... 1807

... which, ...

And in MS. letter from Coleridge to Sir George Beaumont, 1802

[a]

.

[return]

[Variant 2:]

1820
... singing ... 1807

... singing ...

And MS. 1802.

[return]

[Variant 3:]

1807
... happy ... MS. 1802.

... happy ...

[return]

[Variant 4:]

1807
And they who lived in genial faith found nought
that grew more willingly than genial good;
MS. 1802.

And they who lived in genial faith found nought
that grew more willingly than genial good;

[return]

[Variant 5:]

1815
... who perished in his pride; MS. 1802.
... that perished in its pride;1807

... who perished in his pride;

... that perished in its pride;

[return]

[Variant 6:]

1820
Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:1807

Behind his plough, upon the mountain-side:

And MS. 1802.

[return]

[Variant 7:]

1836
... comes ... 1807

... comes ...

And MS. 1802.

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[Variant 8:]

1807
... was ...MS. 1802.

... was ...

[return]

[Variant 9:]

1807
... that ...MS. 1802.

... that ...

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[Variant 10:]

1820
When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,
1807

When up and down my fancy thus was driven,
And I with these untoward thoughts had striven,

And MS. 1802.

[return]

[Variant 11:]

1807
I spied ... MS. 1802.

I spied ...

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[Variant 12:]

date
My course I stopped as soon as I espied
The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
Close by a Pond, upon the further side,[i]
He stood alone: a minute's space I guess
I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:
To the Pool's further margin then I drew;
He being all the while before me full in view.[ii]





1807

My course I stopped as soon as I espied
The Old Man in that naked wilderness:
Close by a Pond, upon the further side,[i]
He stood alone: a minute's space I guess
I watch'd him, he continuing motionless:
To the Pool's further margin then I drew;
He being all the while before me full in view.[ii]

This stanza, which appeared in the editions of 1807 and 1815, was, on Coleridge's advice, omitted from subsequent ones.

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[Variant 13:]

1807
... that ... MS. 1802.

... that ...

[return]

[Variant 14:]

1820
... which ... 1807

... which ...

And MS. 1802.

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[Variant 15:]

1820
... in their pilgrimageAnd MS. 1802.

... in their pilgrimage

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[Variant 16:]

1807
... his age ... MS. 1802.

... his age ...

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[Variant 17:]

1836
Himself he propp'd, both body, limbs, and face,MS. 1802.
... his body, ... 1807

Himself he propp'd, both body, limbs, and face,

... his body, ...

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[Variant 18:]

1820
Beside the little pond or moorish flood1807

Beside the little pond or moorish flood

And MS. 1802.

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[Variant 19:]

date
... moves ...MS. 1802.

... moves ...

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[Variant 20:]

He wore a Cloak the same as women wear
As one whose blood did needful comfort lack;
His face look'd pale as if it had grown fair;
And, furthermore he had upon his back,
Beneath his cloak, a round and bulky Pack;
A load of wool or raiment as might seem.
That on his shoulders lay as if it clave to him.





This stanza appeared only in MS. 1802.

He wore a Cloak the same as women wear
As one whose blood did needful comfort lack;
His face look'd pale as if it had grown fair;
And, furthermore he had upon his back,
Beneath his cloak, a round and bulky Pack;
A load of wool or raiment as might seem.
That on his shoulders lay as if it clave to him.

[return]

[Variant 21:]

1820
And now such freedom as I could I took;1807

And now such freedom as I could I took;

And MS. 1802.

[return]

[Variant 22:]

1820
"What kind of work is that which you pursue?1807

"What kind of work is that which you pursue?

And MS. 1802.

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[Variant 23:]

1807
... for such as ... MS.

... for such as ...

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[Variant 24:]

1836
He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.
1807 and MS. 1802
He answered, while a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes.
1820

He answer'd me with pleasure and surprize;
And there was, while he spake, a fire about his eyes.

He answered, while a flash of mild surprise
Broke from the sable orbs of his yet-vivid eyes.

[return]

[Variant 25:]

1820
Yet ...1807

Yet ...

And MS. 1802.

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[Variant 26:]

1807
... pompous .... MS. 1802.

... pompous ....

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[Variant 27:]

1807
...words ... MS.
...beyond ... MS. 1802.

...words ...

...beyond ...

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[Variant 28:]

1827
He told me that he to the pond had comeMS. 1802.
... this pond ...1807

He told me that he to the pond had come

... this pond ...

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[Variant 29:]

1807
This was his calling, better far than some,
Though he had ...
MS. 1802.

This was his calling, better far than some,
Though he had ...

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[Variant 30:]

1807
But soon ...MS. 1802.

But soon ...

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[Variant 31:]

1827
... and strong admonishment.1807
... by strong admonishment.1820

... and strong admonishment.

... by strong admonishment.

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[Variant 32:]

1815
The ...1807

The ...

And MS. 1802.

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[Variant 33:]

1820
And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said, 1807 and MS. 1802
But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said, 1815

And now, not knowing what the Old Man had said,

But now, perplex'd by what the Old Man had said,

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[Variant 34:]

1807
... live? what is it that you do?"MS. 1802.

... live? what is it that you do?"

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[Variant 35:]

1827
And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied
He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet
The waters in the Ponds ...

MS. 1802
And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds ... 		1807

And said, that wheresoe'er they might be spied
He gather'd Leeches, stirring at his feet
The waters in the Ponds ...

And said, that, gathering Leeches, far and wide
He travelled; stirring thus about his feet
The waters of the Ponds ...

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[Variant 36:]

1807
Once he could meet with them on every side;
But fewer they became from day to day,
And so his means of life before him died away.

MS. 1802.

Once he could meet with them on every side;
But fewer they became from day to day,
And so his means of life before him died away.

[return]

[Variant 37:]

1807
And now ...MS. 1802.

And now ...

[return]

[Variant 38:]

1807
Which he delivered with demeanour kind,
Yet stately ...
MS. 1802.

Which he delivered with demeanour kind,
Yet stately ...

[return]

[Sub-Variant i:]

... hither side,MS. 1802.

... hither side,

[return]

[Sub-Variant ii:]

He all the while before me being full in view. MS. 1802.

He all the while before me being full in view.

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[Footnote A:]

Some have thought that Wordsworth had S.T.C. in his mind, in writing this stanza. I cannot agree with this. The value and interest of the poem would be lessened by our imagining that Wordsworth's heart never failed him; and that, when he appears to moralise at his own expense, he was doing so at Coleridge's. Besides, the date of this poem, taken in connection with entries in the Grasmere Journal of Dorothy Wordsworth, makes it all but certain that Coleridge was not referred to.—Ed.

[return to footnote mark]

[Footnote B:]

Compare in The Matron of Jedborough and her Husband, p. 417, ll. 66-69:

'Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye—
A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright!'

Ed.

[return]

[Sub-Footnote a:]

Additional variants obtained from this source are inserted as "MS. 1802."—Ed.

[return to footnote mark]

Note:

The [late] Bishop of Lincoln, in the Memoirs of his uncle (vol. i. pp. 172, 173), quotes from a letter, written by Wordsworth "to some friends, which has much interest as bearing on this poem[C]. The following are extracts from it:

"It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased with this Poem; but it is of the utmost importance that you should have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence, persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's character." Again, "I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in writing that poem.... I describe myself as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of nature; and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects, to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the happiness of nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz. poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled, expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought forward? A lonely place, 'a pond, by which an old man was, far from all house or home:' not stood, nor sat, but was—the figure presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to judge with perfect confidence; but this I can confidently affirm, that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this, the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Every thing is tedious when one does not read with the feelings of the author. The Thorn is tedious to hundreds; and so is The Idiot Boy to hundreds. It is in the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man telling such a tale!"

Ed.

[Footnote C:]

It is unfortunate that in this, as in many other similar occasions in these delightful volumes by the poet's nephew, the reticence as to names—warrantable perhaps in 1851, so soon after the poet's death—has now deprived the world of every means of knowing to whom many of Wordsworth's letters were addressed. Professor Dowden asks about it—and very naturally:

"Was it the letter to Mary and Sara" (Hutchinson) "about The Leech-Gatherer, mentioned in Dorothy's Journal of 14th June 1802?"

Ed.

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[Contents 1802]
[Main Contents]

"I grieved for Buonaparté"

Composed May 21, 1802.—Published 1807[A]

[The Poem]

[In the cottage of Town-end, one afternoon in 1801, my sister read to me the sonnets of Milton. I had long been well acquainted with them, but I was particularly struck on that occasion with the dignified simplicity and majestic harmony that runs through most of them—in character so totally different from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare's fine sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and produced three sonnets the same afternoon, the first I ever wrote, except an irregular one at school. Of these three the only one I distinctly remember is 'I grieved for Buonaparté, etc.'; one of the others was never written down; the third, which was I believe preserved, I cannot particularise.—I. F.]

One of the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty," afterwards called "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty." From the edition of 1815 onwards, it bore the title 1801.—Ed.