The Poem
| text | variant | footnote | line number |
|
When, to the attractions of the busy world, Preferring studious leisure, I had chosen A habitation in this peaceful Vale, Sharp season followed of continual storm In deepest winter; and, from week to week, Pathway, and lane, and public road, were clogged With frequent showers of snow. Upon a hill At a short distance from my cottage, stands A stately Fir-grove, whither I was wont To hasten, for I found, beneath the roof Of that perennial shade, a cloistral place Of refuge, with an unincumbered floor. Here, in safe covert, on the shallow snow, And, sometimes, on a speck of visible earth, The redbreast near me hopped; nor was I loth To sympathise with vulgar coppice birds That, for protection from the nipping blast, Hither repaired.—A single beech-tree grew Within this grove of firs! and, on the fork Of that one beech, appeared a thrush's nest; A last year's nest, conspicuously built At such small elevation from the ground As gave sure sign that they, who in that house Of nature and of love had made their home Amid the fir-trees, all the summer long Dwelt in a tranquil spot. And oftentimes, A few sheep, stragglers from some mountain-flock, Would watch my motions with suspicious stare, From the remotest outskirts of the grove,— Some nook where they had made their final stand, Huddling together from two fears—the fear Of me and of the storm. Full many an hour Here did I lose. But in this grove the trees Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven In such perplexed and intricate array; That vainly did I seek, beneath their stems A length of open space, where to and fro My feet might move without concern or care; And, baffled thus, though earth from day to day Was fettered, and the air by storm disturbed, I ceased the shelter to frequent,—and prized, Less than I wished to prize, that calm recess. The snows dissolved, and genial Spring returned To clothe the fields with verdure. Other haunts Meanwhile were mine; till, one bright April day, By chance retiring from the glare of noon To this forsaken covert, there I found A hoary pathway traced between the trees, And winding on with such an easy line Along a natural opening, that I stood Much wondering how I could have sought in vain For what was now so obvious. To abide, For an allotted interval of ease, Under my cottage-roof, had gladly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; And with the sight of this same path—begun, Begun and ended, in the shady grove, Pleasant conviction flashed upon my mind That, to this opportune recess allured, He had surveyed it with a finer eye, A heart more wakeful; and had worn the track By pacing here, unwearied and alone, In that habitual restlessness of foot That haunts the Sailor measuring o'er and o'er His short domain upon the vessel's deck, While she pursues her course through the dreary sea. When thou hadst quitted Esthwaite's pleasant shore, And taken thy first leave of those green hills And rocks that were the play-ground of thy youth, Year followed year, my Brother! and we two, Conversing not, knew little in what mould Each other's mind was fashioned; and at length When once again we met in Grasmere Vale, Between us there was little other bond Than common feelings of fraternal love. But thou, a School-boy, to the sea hadst carried Undying recollections; Nature there Was with thee; she, who loved us both, she still Was with thee; and even so didst thou become A silent Poet; from the solitude Of the vast sea didst bring a watchful heart Still couchant, an inevitable ear, And an eye practised like a blind man's touch. —Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone; Nor from this vestige of thy musing hours Could I withhold thy honoured name,—and now I love the fir-grove with a perfect love. Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong; And there I sit at evening, when the steep Of Silver-how, and Grasmere's peaceful lake, And one green island, gleam between the stems Of the dark firs, a visionary scene! And, while I gaze upon the spectacle Of clouded splendour, on this dream-like sight Of solemn loveliness, I think on thee, My Brother, and on all which thou hast lost. Nor seldom, if I rightly guess, while Thou, Muttering the verses which I muttered first Among the mountains, through the midnight watch Art pacing thoughtfully the vessel's deck In some far region, here, while o'er my head, At every impulse of the moving breeze, The fir-grove murmurs with a sea-like sound, Alone I tread this path;—for aught I know, Timing my steps to thine; and, with a store Of undistinguishable sympathies, Mingling most earnest wishes for the day When we, and others whom we love, shall meet A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale. [Note] [Contents 1805] [Main Contents] | [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] | [A] [B] | 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 |
| 1836 | |
| ... between ... | 1815 |
... between ...
| 1836 | |
|
And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed, I ceased that Shelter to frequent,— | 1815 |
| ... the shelter ... | 1827 |
And, baffled thus, before the storm relaxed,
I ceased that Shelter to frequent,—
... the shelter ...
| 1827 | |
|
Much wondering at my own simplicity How I could e'er have made a fruitless search | 1815 |
Much wondering at my own simplicity
How I could e'er have made a fruitless search
| date | |
|
... At the sight Conviction also flashed upon my mind That this same path (within the shady grove Begun and ended) by my Brother's steps Had been impressed.— ... | These additional lines appeared only in 1815 and 1820. |
... At the sight
Conviction also flashed upon my mind
That this same path (within the shady grove
Begun and ended) by my Brother's steps
Had been impressed.— ...
| 1845 | |
|
... To sojourn a short while Beneath my roof He from the barren seas Had newly come—a cherished Visitant! | 1815 |
|
... To abide, For an allotted interval of ease, Beneath my cottage roof, had newly come From the wild sea a cherished Visitant; | 1827 |
| Beneath my cottage roof, had gladly come | 1840 |
| ... had meanwhile come | C.[a] |
... To sojourn a short while
Beneath my roof He from the barren seas
Had newly come—a cherished Visitant!
... To abide,
For an allotted interval of ease,
Beneath my cottage roof, had newly come
From the wild sea a cherished Visitant;
Beneath my cottage roof, had gladly come
... had meanwhile come
[return]
[Variant 6:] This and the previous line were added in 1827.
[return]
[Variant 7:]
| 1827 | |
| And much did it delight me to perceive | 1815 |
And much did it delight me to perceive
| 1827 | |
|
A heart more wakeful; that, more both to part From place so lovely, he had worn the track | 1815 |
A heart more wakeful; that, more both to part
From place so lovely, he had worn the track
| 1845 | |
| With which the Sailor measures ... | 1815 |
With which the Sailor measures ...
| 1845 | |
| While she is travelling ... | 1815 |
While she is travelling ...
| 1836 | |
| ... minds were fashioned;... | 1815 |
... minds were fashioned;...
| 1827 | |
|
... art gone; And now I call the path-way by thy name, And love the fir-grove | 1815 |
... art gone;
And now I call the path-way by thy name,
And love the fir-grove
| 1827 | |
| ... placid ... | 1815 |
... placid ...
| 1827 | |
| Art pacing to and fro ... | 1815 |
Art pacing to and fro ...
[Footnote A:] Compare Daniel's Hymens Triumph, ii. 4:
'And where no sun could see him, where no eye
Might overlook his lonely privacy;
There in a path of his own making, trod
Rare as a common way, yet led no way
Beyond the turns he made.'
Ed.
[return to footnote mark]
[Footnote B:] Compare the line in Coleridge's Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni:
'Ye pine groves with your soft and soul-like sound,'
Ed.
[return]
[Sub-Footnote a:] In the late Lord Coleridge's copy of the edition of 1836, there is a footnote in Wordsworth's handwriting to the word "meanwhile" which is substituted for "newly." "If newly come, could he have traced a visible path?"—Ed.
[return to footnote mark]
Note: This wish was not granted; the lamented Person, not long after, perished by shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the Honourable East India Company's Vessel, the Earl of Abergavenny.—W. W. 1815.
For the date of this poem in the Chronological Tables given in the editions of 1815 and 1820, Wordsworth assigned the year 1802. But, in the edition of 1836, he assigned it to the year 1805, the date retained by Mr. Carter in the edition of 1857. Captain Wordsworth perished on the 5th of February 1805; and if the poem was written in 1805, it must have been in the month of January of that year. The note to the poem is explicit—"Not long after" he "perished by shipwreck," etc. Thus the poem may have been written in the beginning of 1805; but it is not at all certain that part of it at least does not belong to an earlier year. John Wordsworth lived with his brother and sister at the Town-end Cottage, Grasmere, during part of the winter, and during the whole of the spring, summer, and autumn of 1800, William and John going together on foot into Yorkshire from the 14th of May to the 7th of June. John left Grasmere on Michaelmas day (September 29th) 1800, and never returned to it again. The following is Miss Wordsworth's record of that day in her Journal of 1800:
"On Monday, 29th, John left us. William and I parted with him in sight of Ullswater. It was a fine day, showery, but with sunshine and fine clouds. Poor fellow, my heart was right sad, I could not help thinking we should see him again, because he was only going to Penrith."
In the spring of 1801, John Wordsworth sailed for China in the Abergavenny. He returned from this voyage in safety, and the brothers met once again in London. He went to sea again in 1803, and returned to London in 1804, but could not visit Grasmere; and in the month of February 1805—shortly after he was appointed to the command of the Abergavenny— the ship was lost at the Bill of Portland, and every one on board perished. It is clear that the latter part of the poem, "When, to the attractions of the busy world," was written between John Wordsworth's departure from Grasmere and the loss of the Abergavenny, i. e. between September 1800 and February 1805, as there are references in it both to what his brother did at Grasmere and to his return to sea:
'Back to the joyless Ocean thou art gone.'
There are some things in the earlier part of the poem that appear to negative the idea of its having been written in 1800. The opening lines seem to hint at an experience somewhat distant. He speaks of being "wont" to do certain things. But, on the other hand, I find an entry in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, which leads me to believe that the poem may have been begun in 1800, and that the first part, ending (as it did then) with the line:
'While she is travelling through the dreary sea,'
may have been finished before John Wordsworth left Grasmere; the second part being written afterwards, while he was at sea; and that this is the explanation of the date given in the editions of 1815 and 1820, viz. 1802.
Passages occur in Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal to the following effect:
"Monday Morning, 1st September.—We walked in the wood by the lake. William read Joanna and the Firgrove to Coleridge."
A little earlier there is the record,
"Saturday, 22nd August.—William was composing all the morning.... William read us the poem of Joanna beside the Rothay by the roadside."
Then, on Friday, the 25th August, there is the entry,
"We walked over the hill by the Firgrove, I sate upon a rock and observed a flight of swallows gathering together high above my head. We walked through the wood to the stepping stones, the lake of Rydale very beautiful, partly still, I left William to compose an inscription, that about the path...."
Then, next day,
"Saturday morning, 30th August.—William finished his inscription of the Pathway, then walked in the wood, and when John returned he sought him, and they bathed together."
To what poem Dorothy Wordsworth referred under the name of the "Inscription of the Pathway" has puzzled me much. There is no poem amongst his "Inscriptions" (written in or before August 1800) that corresponds to it in the least. But, if my conjecture is right that this "Poem on the Naming of Places," beginning:
'When, to the attractions of the busy world,'
was composed at two different times, it is quite possible that "the Firgrove" which was read—along with Joanna—to Coleridge on September lst, 1800, was the first part of this very poem.
If this supposition is correct, some light is cast both on the "Inscription of the Pathway." and on the date assigned by Wordsworth himself to the poem. There is a certain fitness, however, in this poem being placed—as it now is—in sequence to the [Elegiac Verses] in memory of John Wordsworth, beginning, "The Sheep-boy whistled loud," and near the fourth poem [To the Daisy], beginning, "Sweet Flower! belike one day to have."
The "Fir-grove" still exists. It is between Wishing Gate and White Moss Common, and almost exactly opposite the former. Standing at the gate and looking eastwards, the grove is to the left, not forty yards distant. Some of the firs (Scotch ones) still survive, and several beech trees, not "a single beech-tree," as in the poem. From this, one might infer that the present colony had sprung up since the beginning of the century, and that the special tree, in which was the thrush's nest, had perished; but Dr. Cradock wrote to me that "Wordsworth pointed out the tree to Miss Cookson a few days before Dora Wordsworth's death. The tree is near the upper wall and tells its own tale." The Fir-grove—"John's Grove"— can easily be entered by a gate about a hundred yards beyond the Wishing-gate, as one goes toward Rydal. The view from it, the "visionary scene,"
'the spectacle
Of clouded splendour, ... this dream-like sight
Of solemn loveliness,'
is now much interfered with by the new larch plantations immediately below the firs. It must have been very different in Wordsworth's time, and is constantly referred to in his sister's Journal as a favourite retreat, resorted to
'when cloudless suns
'Shone hot, or wind blew troublesome and strong.'
In the absence of contrary testimony, it might be supposed that "the track" which the brother had "worn,"
'By pacing here, unwearied and alone,'
faced Silver-How and the Grasmere Island, and that the single beech tree was nearer the lower than the upper wall. But Miss Cookson's testimony is explicit. Only a few fir trees survive at this part of the grove, which is now open and desolate, not as it was in those earlier days, when
'the trees
Had been so thickly planted, and had thriven
With such perplexed and intricate array,
That vainly did I seek, beneath their stems
A length of open space ...'
Dr. Cradock remarks,
"As to there being more than one beech, Wordsworth would not have hesitated to sacrifice servile exactness to poetical effect." He had a fancy for "one":
'Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky;'"'One' abode, no more;" Grasmere's "one green island;" "one green field."
'Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky;'
Since the above note was printed, new light has been cast on the "Inscription of the Pathway," for which see volume viii. of this edition.—Ed.
[Contents 1805]
[Main Contents]