(An Agriculturist)
COMPOSED WHILE WE WERE LABOURING[A] TOGETHER IN HIS PLEASURE-GROUND
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[This person was Thomas Wilkinson, a Quaker by religious profession; by natural constitution of mind—or, shall I venture to say, by God's grace? he was something better. He had inherited a small estate, and built a house upon it, near Yanwath, upon the banks of the Emont. I have heard him say that his heart used to beat, in his boyhood, when he heard the sound of a drum and fife. Nevertheless the spirit of adventure in him confined itself in tilling his ground, and conquering such obstacles as stood in the way of its fertility. Persons of his religious persuasion do now, in a far greater degree than formerly, attach themselves to trade and commerce. He kept the old track. As represented in this poem, he employed his leisure hours in shaping pleasant walks by the side of his beloved river, where he also built something between a hermitage and a summer house, attaching to it inscriptions after the manner of Shenstone at his Leasowes. He used to travel from time to time, partly from love of Nature, and partly with religious friends, in the service of humanity. His admiration of genius in every department did him much honour. Through his connection with the family in which Edmund Burke was educated, he became acquainted with that great man, who used to receive him with great kindness and condescension; and many times I have heard Wilkinson speak of those interesting interviews. He was honoured also by the friendship of Elizabeth Smith, and of Thomas Clarkson and his excellent wife, and was much esteemed by Lord and Lady Lonsdale, and every member of that family. Among his verses (he wrote many) are some worthy of preservation; one little poem in particular, upon disturbing, by prying curiosity, a bird while hatching her young in his garden. The latter part of this innocent and good man's life was melancholy. He became blind, and also poor, by becoming surety for some of his relations. He was a bachelor. He bore, as I have often witnessed, his calamities with unfailing resignation. I will only add, that while working in one of his fields, he unearthed a stone of considerable size, then another, then two more; observing that they had been placed in order, as if forming the segment of a circle, he proceeded carefully to uncover the soil, and brought into view a beautiful Druid's temple, of perfect, though small dimensions. In order to make his farm more compact, he exchanged this field for another, and, I am sorry to add, the new proprietor destroyed this interesting relic of remote ages for some vulgar purpose. The fact, so far as concerns Thomas Wilkinson, is mentioned in the note on a sonnet on Long Meg and her Daughters.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
Spade! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands,
And shaped these pleasant walks by Emont's side,
Thou art a tool of honour in my hands;
I press thee, through the yielding soil, with pride.
Rare master has it been thy lot to know; 5
Long hast Thou served a man to reason true;
Whose life combines the best of high and low,
The labouring[1] many and the resting few;
Health, meekness, ardour, quietness secure,[2]
And industry of body and of mind; 10
And elegant enjoyments, that are pure
As nature is;—too pure to be refined.
Here often hast Thou heard the Poet sing
In concord with his river murmuring by;
Or in some silent field, while timid spring 15
Is yet uncheered by other minstrelsy.
Who shall inherit Thee when death has[3] laid
Low in the darksome cell thine own dear lord?
That man will have a trophy, humble Spade!
A trophy nobler than a conqueror's sword.[4] 20
If he be one that feels, with skill to part
False praise from true, or, greater from the less,
Thee will he welcome to his hand and heart,
Thou monument of peaceful happiness!
He will not dread with Thee a toilsome day— 25
Thee his loved servant, his inspiring mate![5]
And, when thou art past service, worn away,
No dull oblivious nook shall hide thy fate.[6]
His thrift thy uselessness[7] will never scorn;
An heir-loom in his cottage wilt thou be:— 30
High will he hang thee up, well pleased to adorn[8]
His rustic chimney with the last of Thee!
Thomas Wilkinson of Yanwath, the friend of Wordsworth and the subject of these verses, deserves more than a passing note.
He was a man
Whom no one could have passed without remark.
One of the old race of Cumbrian "Statesmen"—men who owned, and themselves cultivated, small bits of land (see Wordsworth's letter on The Brothers and Michael, vol. ii. p. 234)—he was Wordsworth's senior by nineteen years, and lived on a patrimonial farm of about forty acres, on the banks of the Emont,—the stream which, flowing out of Ullswater, divides Cumberland from Westmoreland. He was a Friend, and used to travel great distances to attend religious conferences, or engage in philanthropic work,—on one occasion riding on his pony from Yanwath to London, to the yearly meeting of the Friends; and, on another, walking the 300 miles to town, in eight days, for the same purpose. A simple, genuine nature; serene, refined, hospitable, naïve, and humorous withal; a quaint original man, with a true eye for Nature, a keen relish for rural life (especially for gardening) and a happy knack of characterization, whether he undertook descriptions of scenery in the course of his travels, or narrated the incidents which befell him on the way. This is how he writes of his farm, and his work upon it:—"We have at length some traces of spring (6th April 1784); the primrose under the hedge begins to open her modest flower, the buds begin to swell, and the birds to build; yet we have still a wide horizon, the mountain tops resign not their snows. The happiest season of the year with me is now commencing—I mean that in which I am at the plough; my horses pace slowly on before, the larks sing above my head, and the furrow falls at my side, and the face of Nature and my own mind seem to wear a sweet and cheerful tranquillity."
The following extract shows the interest which he took in the very implements of his industry, and may serve as an illustration of Wordsworth's stanzas on his "spade." "Eighth month, 16th, 1789. Yesterday I parted without regret from an old acquaintance—I set by my scythe for this year. I have often this season seen the dark blue mountains before the sun and his rising embroider them with gold. I have had many a good sleep in the shade among fragrant grass and refreshing breezes, and though closely engaged in what may be thought heavy work, I was sensible of the enjoyments of life with uninterrupted health." In the closing years of the last century, when the spirit of patriotic ardour was so thoroughly roused in England by the restlessness of France and the ambition of Napoleon, he lived on at his pastoral farm, "busy with his husbandry." In London, he made the acquaintance of Edmund Burke; and Thomas Clarkson, the philanthropist,—whose labours for the abolition of the slave trade are matter of history,—became his intimate friend, and was a frequent visitor at Yanwath. Clarkson afterwards bought an estate near to Wilkinson's home, on the shores of Ullswater, where he built a house, and named it Eusemere, and there the Wordsworths were not infrequent guests. (See the note to the poem beginning "I wandered lonely as a cloud," vol. iii. p. 5.) Wordsworth stayed at Yanwath for two days in 1806. The Tours to the British Mountains, with the Descriptive Poems of Lowther and Emont Vale (London, 1824), have been referred to in the note to The Solitary Reaper, vol. ii. p. 399, one of the poems in the "Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803." It is an interesting volume—the prose much superior to the verse—and might be reprinted with advantage. Wilkinson was urged repeatedly to publish his "Tour through the Highlands," but he always declined, and it was printed at last without his knowledge, by some one to whom he had lent his MS.
Wilkinson's relations to Wordsworth are alluded to in the note to The Solitary Reaper. He is occasionally referred to in Dorothy Wordsworth's Grasmere Journal of January and March 1802, e.g.:—"Monday, 12th March.—The ground covered with snow. Walked to T. Wilkinson's and sent for letters. The woman brought me one from Wm. and Mary. It was a sharp windy night. Thomas Wilkinson came with me to Barton, and questioned me like a catechiser all the way. Every question was like the snapping of a little thread about my heart. I was so full of thought of my half-read letter and other things."
The following are extracts from letters of Wilkinson to Miss Mary Leadbeater of Ballintore:—"Yanwath, 15. 2. 1801.—I had lately a young Poet seeing me that sprang originally from the next village. He has left the College, turned his back on all preferment, and settled down contentedly among our Lakes, with his Sister and his Muse. He ... writes in what he conceives to be the language of Nature in opposition to the finery of our present poetry. He has published two volumes of Poems, mostly of the same character. His name is William Wordsworth." In a letter, dated 29. 1. 1809, the following occurs:—"Thou hast wished to have W. Wordsworth's Lines on my Spade, which I shall transcribe thee. I had promised Lord Lonsdale to take him to Lowther, when he came to see me, but when we arrived he was gone to shoot moor-game with Judge Sutton. William and I then returned, and wrought together at a walk I was then forming, which gave birth to his Verses." The expression "sprang from the next village" might not be intended to mean that he was born there; or, if it did, the fact that Wordsworth's mother was a native of Penrith, and his own visits to that town, might account for the mistake of one who had made no minute enquiry as to the poet's birthplace. He was born at Cockermouth. Compare an interesting account of Thomas Wilkinson, by Mary Carr, reprinted from the Friends' Quarterly Examiner, 1882.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1837.
... toiling ... 1807.
[2] 1827.
Health, quiet, meekness, ardour, hope secure, 1807.
[3] 1815.
... hath ... 1807.
[4] 1815.
More noble than the noblest Warrior's sword. 1807.
[5] 1837.
With Thee he will not dread a toilsome day,
His powerful Servant, his inspiring Mate! 1807.
[6] 1837.
Thee a surviving soul shall consecrate. 1807.
[7] 1815.
... usefulness ... 1807.
The text of 1832 resumes that of 1807, but the edition of 1837 returns to the final text of 1815.
[8] 1837.
... and will adorn 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] In a letter to Wilkinson, accompanying a copy of these verses, which Wordsworth sent from Coleorton, in November 1806, he wrote: "They are supposed to have been composed that afternoon when you and I were labouring together in your pleasure-ground." I think that Professor Dowden is right in supposing that they were written in 1806.—Ed.
CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[The course of the great war with the French naturally fixed one's attention upon the military character, and, to the honour of our country, there were many illustrious instances of the qualities that constitute its highest excellence. Lord Nelson carried most of the virtues that the trials he was exposed to in his department of the service necessarily call forth and sustain, if they do not produce the contrary vices. But his public life was stained with one great crime, so that though many passages of these lines were suggested by what was generally known as excellent in his conduct, I have not been able to connect his name with the poem as I could wish, or even to think of him with satisfaction in reference to the idea of what a warrior ought to be. For the sake of such of my friends as may happen to read this note, I will add that many elements of the character here pourtrayed were found in my brother John, who perished by shipwreck, as mentioned elsewhere. His messmates used to call him the Philosopher, from which it must be inferred that the qualities and dispositions I allude to had not escaped their notice. He often expressed his regret, after the war had continued some time, that he had not chosen the Naval, instead of the East India Company's, service, to which his family connection had led him. He greatly valued moral and religious instruction for youth, as tending to make good sailors. The best, he used to say, came from Scotland; the next to them, from the North of England, especially from Westmoreland and Cumberland, where, thanks to the piety and local attachments of our ancestors, endowed, or, as they are commonly called, free, schools abound.—I. F.]
Classed among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
That[1] every man in arms should wish to be?
—It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish[2] thought: 5
Whose high endeavours are an inward light
That makes[3] the path before him always bright:
Who, with a natural instinct to discern
What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, 10
But makes his moral being his prime care;
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train!
Turns his necessity to glorious gain;
In face of these doth exercise a power 15
Which is our human nature's highest dower;
Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
Of their bad influence, and their good receives:
By objects, which might force the soul to abate
Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; 20
Is placable—because occasions rise
So often that demand such sacrifice;
More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
As tempted more; more able to endure,
As more exposed to suffering and distress; 25
Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.
—'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
Upon that law as on the best of friends;
Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
To evil for a guard against worse ill, 30
And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He labours good on good to fix,[4] and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows:
—Who, if he rise to station of command, 35
Rises by open means; and there will stand
On honourable terms, or else retire,
And in himself possess his own desire;
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; 40
And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
Like showers of manna, if they come at all:[A]
Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,
Or mild concerns of ordinary life, 46
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for human kind, 50
Is happy as a Lover; and attired
With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;
And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
Or if an unexpected call succeed, 55
Come when it will, is equal to the need:
—He who, though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,
Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; 60
Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be,
Are at his heart; and such fidelity
It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath much to love:—
'Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high, 65
Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,
Or left unthought-of in obscurity,—
Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not—
Plays, in the many games of life, that one 70
Where what he most doth value must be won:
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last, 75
From well to better, daily self-surpast:[B]
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,[5]
And leave a dead unprofitable name— 80
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause:
This is the happy Warrior; this is He
That[6] every Man in arms should wish to be. 85
The following note was appended by Wordsworth in the edition of 1807. "The above Verses were written soon after tidings had been received of the Death of Lord Nelson, which event directed the Author's thoughts to the subject. His respect for the memory of his great fellow-countryman induces him to mention this; though he is well aware that the Verses must suffer from any connection in the Reader's mind with a Name so illustrious."
This note would seem to warrant our removing the date of the composition of the poem from 1806 to 1805; since Lord Nelson died at the battle of Trafalgar, on the 21st of October 1805. On the other hand, Wordsworth himself gave the date 1806; and the "soon after" of the above note may perhaps be stretched to include two months and a half. In writing to Sir George Beaumont on the 11th of February 1806, and enclosing a copy of these verses, he says, "they were written several weeks ago." Southey, writing to Sir Walter Scott, from Keswick, on the 4th of February 1806, says, "Wordsworth was with me last week; he has of late been more employed in correcting his poems than in writing others; but one piece he has written, upon the ideal character of a soldier, than which I have never seen anything more full of meaning and sound thought. The subject was suggested by Nelson's most glorious death, though having no reference to it. He had some thoughts of sending it to The Courier, in which case you will easily recognise his hand." (The Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey, vol. iii. p. 19.) As it is impossible to decide with accuracy, in the absence of more definite data, I follow the poet's own statement, and assign it to the year 1806.
Wordsworth tells us that features in the character, both of Lord Nelson and of his own brother John, are delineated in this poem. Mr. William Davies writes to me, "He might very well have set the name of Cuthbert, Lord Collingwood, Nelson's contemporary, at the head of the poem, as embodying its spirit and lofty rule of life."—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1820.
Whom ... 1807.
[2] 1845.
... childish ... 1807.
[3] 1832.
... make ... 1807.
[4] 1837.
He fixes good on good alone, ... 1807.
[5] C. and 1840.
Or He must go to dust without his fame, 1807.
Or he must fall and sleep without his fame, 1837.
[6] 1845.
Whom ... 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare Pope's Temple of Fame (ll. 513, 514)—
Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favours call;
She comes unlook'd for, if she comes at all.
And Carew's Epistle to the Countess of Anglesie (ll. 57, 58)—
He chose not in the active stream to swim,
Nor hunted Honour, which yet hunted him.Ed.
[B] In the edition of 1807, the following note was added to these lines:—
For Knightes ever should be persevering,
To seeke honour without feintise or slouth,
Fro wele to better in all manner thinge.
Chaucer—The Floure and the Leafe.—Ed.
THE HORN OF EGREMONT CASTLE
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[A Tradition transferred from the ancient mansion of Hutton John, the seat of the Huddlestones, to Egremont Castle.—I. F.]
In 1815 this poem was placed among those "of the Imagination"; in 1845 it was transferred to the class of "Miscellaneous Poems."—Ed.
Ere the Brothers through the gateway
Issued forth with old and young,
To the Horn Sir Eustace pointed
Which for ages there had hung.[1]
Horn it was which none could sound, 5
No one upon living ground,
Save He who came as rightful Heir
To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair.
Heirs from times of earliest record[2]
Had the House of Lucie born, 10
Who of right had held the Lordship
Claimed by proof upon the Horn:[3]
Each at the appointed hour
Tried the Horn,—it owned his power;
He was acknowledged: and the blast, 15
Which good Sir Eustace sounded, was the last.
With his lance Sir Eustace pointed,
And to Hubert thus said he,
"What I speak this Horn shall witness
For thy better memory. 20
Hear, then, and neglect me not!
At this time, and on this spot,
The words are uttered from my heart,
As my last earnest prayer ere we depart.
"On good service we are going 25
Life to risk by sea and land,
In which course if Christ our Saviour
Do my sinful soul demand,
Hither come thou back straightway,
Hubert, if alive that day; 30
Return, and sound the Horn, that we
May have a living House still left in thee!"
"Fear not," quickly answered Hubert;
"As I am thy Father's son,
What thou askest, noble Brother, 35
With God's favour shall be done."
So were both right well content:
Forth they from the Castle went,[4]
And at the head of their Array
To Palestine the Brothers took their way. 40
Side by side they fought (the Lucies
Were a line for valour famed)
And where'er their strokes alighted,
There the Saracens were tamed.
Whence, then, could it come—the thought— 45
By what evil spirit brought?
Oh! can a brave Man wish to take
His Brother's life, for Lands' and Castle's sake?
"Sir!" the Ruffians said to Hubert,
"Deep he lies in Jordan flood." 50
Stricken by this ill assurance,
Pale and trembling Hubert stood.
"Take your earnings."—Oh! that I
Could have seen[5] my Brother die!
It was a pang that vexed him then; 55
And oft returned, again, and yet again.
Months passed on, and no Sir Eustace!
Nor of him were tidings heard.
Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer
Back again to England steered. 60
To his Castle Hubert sped;
Nothing has he[6] now to dread.
But silent and by stealth he came,
And at an hour which nobody could name.
None could tell if it were night-time, 65
Night or day, at even or morn;
No one's eye had seen him enter,
No one's ear had heard the Horn.[7]
But bold Hubert lives in glee:
Months and years went smilingly; 70
With plenty was his table spread;
And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.
Likewise he had sons and daughters;
And, as good men do, he sate
At his board by these surrounded, 75
Flourishing in fair estate.
And while thus in open day
Once he sate, as old books say,
A blast was uttered from the Horn,
Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn. 80
'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace!
He is come to claim his right:
Ancient castle, woods, and mountains
Hear the challenge with delight.
Hubert! though the blast be blown 85
He is helpless and alone:
Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!
And there he may be lodged, and thou be Lord.
Speak!—astounded Hubert cannot;
And, if power to speak he had, 90
All are daunted, all the household
Smitten to the heart, and sad.
'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be
Living man, it must be he!
Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, 95
And by a postern-gate he slunk away.[8]
Long, and long was he unheard of:
To his Brother then he came,
Made confession, asked forgiveness,
Asked it by a brother's name, 100
And by all the saints in heaven;
And of Eustace was forgiven:
Then in a convent went to hide
His melancholy head, and there he died.
But Sir Eustace, whom good angels 105
Had preserved from murderers' hands,
And from Pagan chains had rescued,
Lived with honour on his lands.
Sons he had, saw sons of theirs:
And through ages, heirs of heirs, 110
A long posterity renowned,
Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.
The following note is appended to this poem in the edition of 1807, and in those of 1836 to 1850:—
"This Story is a Cumberland tradition; I have heard it also related of the Hall of Hutton John, an antient residence of the Huddlestones, in a sequestered Valley upon the River Dacor."
Egremont Castle, to which this Cumberland tradition was transferred, is close to the town of Egremont, an ancient borough on the river Ehen, not far from St. Bees. The castle was founded about the beginning of the twelfth century, by William, brother of Ranulph de Meschines, who bestowed on William the whole of the extensive barony of Copeland. The gateway of the castle is vaulted with semi-circular arches, and defended by a strong tower. Westward from the castle area is an ascent to three narrow gates, standing in a line, and close together. These communicated with the outworks, each being defended by a portcullis. Beyond the gates is an artificial mound, seventy-eight feet above the moat; and on this stood an ancient circular tower. (See a description of the castle in Britton and Brayley's Cumberland.) The river Dacor, or Dacre, referred to in Wordsworth's note, joins the Emont a short way below Ullswater; and the hall of Hutton John, which in the reign of Edward III. belonged to the barony of Graystock, passed in the time of Elizabeth to the Huddlestones. The famous Catholic father, John Huddlestone, chaplain to Charles II. and James II., was of this family.
In the edition of 1815, there is the following footnote to the title of the poem:—"This Poem and the Ballad which follows it" (it was that of Goody Blake and Harry Gill), "as they rather refer to the imagination than are produced by it, would not have been placed here" (i.e. among the "Poems of the Imagination"), "but to avoid a needless multiplication of the Classes."
The text of 1807 underwent no change until 1845. But—as is shown by the notes in the late Lord Coleridge's copy of the edition of 1836—the alterations subsequently adopted in 1845 were made in the interval between these years.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] C. and 1845.
When the Brothers reach'd the gateway,
Eustace pointed with his lance
To the Horn which there was hanging;
Horn of the inheritance. 1807.
When the Brothers reached the gateway,
With their followers old and young,
To the Horn Sir Eustace pointed
That for ages there had hung. C.
[2] C. and 1845.
Heirs from ages without record 1807.
[3] C. and 1845.
Who of right had claim'd the Lordship
By the proof upon the Horn: 1807.
... held ... Claimed by proof ... C.
[4] C. and 1845.
From the Castle forth they went. 1807.
[5] Italics were first used in 1815.
[6] 1845.
He has nothing 1807.
[7] C. and 1845.
For the sound was heard by no one
Of the proclamation-horn. 1807.
[8] 1807.
... slipped away. MS.
A COMPLAINT
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. Suggested by a change in the manner of a friend.—I. F.]
Classed among the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.
There is a change—and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed 5
Of its own bounty, or my need.
What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that[1] consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love, 10
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.
A well of love—it may be deep—
I trust it is,—and never dry:
What matter? if the waters sleep 15
In silence and obscurity.
—Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.
It is highly probable that the friend was S. T. Coleridge. See the Life of Wordsworth (1889), vol. ii. pp. 166, 167.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1836.
... this ... 1807.
STRAY PLEASURES
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[Suggested on the Thames by the sight of one of those floating mills that used to be seen there. This I noticed on the Surrey side between Somerset House and Blackfriars' Bridge. Charles Lamb was with me at the time; and I thought it remarkable that I should have to point out to him, an idolatrous Londoner, a sight so interesting as the happy group dancing on the platform. Mills of this kind used to be, and perhaps still are, not uncommon on the continent. I noticed several upon the river Saone in the year 1799, particularly near the town of Chalons, where my friend Jones and I halted a day when we crossed France; so far on foot; there we embarked, and floated down to Lyons.—I. F.]
"——Pleasure is spread through the earth
In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find."
One of the "Poems of the Fancy." The title Stray Pleasures was first given in the edition of 1820. In 1807 and 1815 the poem had no title; but in the original MS. it was called "Dancers."—Ed.
By their floating mill,
That[1] lies dead and still,
Behold yon Prisoners three,
The Miller with two Dames, on the breast of the Thames!
The platform is small, but gives room[2] for them all; 5
And they're dancing merrily.
From the shore come the notes
To their mill where it floats,
To their house and their mill tethered fast:
To the small wooden isle where, their work to beguile, 10
They from morning to even take whatever is given;—
And many a blithe day they have past.[3]
In sight of the spires,
All alive with the fires
Of the sun going down to his rest, 15
In the broad open eye of the solitary sky,
They dance,—there are three, as jocund as free,
While they dance on the calm river's breast.
Man and Maidens wheel,
They themselves make the reel, 20
And their music's a prey which they seize;
It plays not for them,—what matter? 'tis theirs;
And if they had care, it has scattered their cares
While they dance, crying, "Long as ye please!"
They dance not for me,25
Yet mine is their glee!
Thus pleasure is spread through the earth
In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find;
Thus a rich loving-kindness, redundantly kind,
Moves all nature to gladness and mirth. 30
The showers of the spring
Rouse the birds, and they sing;
If the wind do but stir for his proper delight,
Each leaf, that and this, his neighbour will kiss;[A]
Each wave, one and t'other, speeds after his brother; 35
They are happy, for that is their right!
Wordsworth went up to London in April 1806, where he stayed two months. It was, doubtless, on that occasion that these lines were written. The year mentioned in the Fenwick note is incorrect. It was in 1790 that Wordsworth crossed France with his friend Jones.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1827.
Which ... 1807.
[2] 1820.
... but there's room ... 1807.
[3] 1807.
... with whatever be given;—
Full many a blithe day have past. MS.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare Michael Drayton, The Muse's Elysium, nymphal vi. ll. 4-7—
The wind had no more strength than this,
That leisurely it blew,
To make one leaf the next to kiss
That closely by it grew.
Wordsworth frequently confessed his obligation to Dr. Anderson—the editor of the British Poets—for enabling him to acquaint himself with the poetry of Drayton, and other early English writers.—Ed.
POWER OF MUSIC
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[Taken from life.—I. F.]
Classed among the "Poems of the Imagination." The original title in MS. was "A Street Fiddler (in London)."—Ed.
An Orpheus! an Orpheus! yes, Faith may grow bold,
And take to herself all the wonders of old;—
Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet with the same
In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name.
His station is there; and he works on the crowd, 5
He sways them with harmony merry and loud;
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim—
Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?
What an eager assembly! what an empire is this!
The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss; 10
The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest;
And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer opprest.
As the Moon brightens round her the clouds of the night,
So He, where he stands, is a centre of light;
It gleams on the face, there, of dusky-browed[1] Jack, 15
And the pale-visaged Baker's, with basket on back.
That errand-bound 'Prentice was passing in haste—
What matter! he's caught—and his time runs to waste;
The Newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret;
And the half-breathless Lamplighter—he's in the net! 20
The Porter sits down on the weight which he bore;
The Lass with her barrow wheels hither her store;[2]—
If a thief could be here he might pilfer at ease;
She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she sees! 24
He stands, backed by the wall;—he abates not his din;
His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in,
From the old and the young, from the poorest; and there!
The one-pennied Boy has his penny to spare.
O blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand 29
Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a band;
I am glad for him, blind as he is!—all the while
If they speak 'tis to praise, and they praise with a smile.
That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in height,
Not an inch of his body is free from delight;
Can he keep himself still, if he would? oh, not he! 35
The music stirs in him like wind through a tree.
Mark that Cripple[3] who leans on his crutch; like a tower
That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour!—
That Mother,[4] whose spirit in fetters is bound,
While she dandles the Babe in her arms to the sound. 40
Now, coaches and chariots! roar on like a stream;
Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream:
They are deaf to your murmurs—they care not for you,
Nor what ye are flying, nor[5] what ye pursue!
This must be assigned to the same London visit, in the spring of 1806, referred to in the note to the previous poem.
Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth in 1815, "Your Power of Music reminded me of his" (Bourne's) "poem of The Ballad Singer in the Seven Dials."—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1815.
... dusky-faced ... 1807.
[2] 1815.
... for store;— 1807.
[3] 1827.
There's a Cripple ... 1807.
[4] 1827.
A Mother, ... 1807.
[5] 1815.
... or ... 1807.
STAR-GAZERS
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[Observed by me in Leicester-square, as here described.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.
What crowd[1] is this? what have we here! we must not[2] pass it by;
A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky:
Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat,
Some little pleasure skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float.
The Show-man chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square; 5
And is[3] as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair;
Calm, though impatient, is[4] the crowd; each stands ready[5] with the fee,
And envies him that's looking[6];—what an insight must it be!
Yet, Show-man, where can lie[7] the cause? Shall thy Implement have blame,
A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame? 10
Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault?
Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is yon[8] resplendent vault?
Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here?
Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear?
The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of mightiest fame, 15
Doth she betray us when they're seen? or[9] are they but a name?
Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong,
And bounty never yields[10] so much but it seems to do her wrong?
Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had
And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad?[A] 20
Or must we be constrained to think that these Spectators rude,
Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude,
Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie?
No, no, this cannot be;—men thirst for power and majesty![11]
Does, then, a deep and earnest thought[12] the blissful mind employ 25
Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy,
That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign,
Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine!
Whatever be the cause,[13] 'tis sure that they who pry and pore
Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before: 30
One after One they take their turn,[14] nor have I one espied
That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.
Doubtless "observed" during the visit to London in April and May 1806.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1807.
What throng ... MS.
[2] 1807
... we cannot ... MS.
[3] 1827.
And he's ... 1807.
[4] 1807.
... are ...
MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.
[5] 1827.
... Each is ready ... 1807.
[6] 1807.
Impatient till his moment comes— ... 1827.
... come;— ... 1836.
The text of 1840 returns to that of 1807.
[7] 1807.
... be ... MS.
[8] 1832.
... this ... 1807.
And MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.
[9] 1827.
Do they betray us when they're seen? and ... 1807.
And MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.
[10] 1807.
... cannot yield ... MS.
[11] 1807.
Or is it but unwelcome thought! that these Spectators rude,
Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude,
Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie,
Not to be lifted up at once to power and majesty?
MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.
[12] 1807.
Or does some deep and earnest joy ...
MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.
[13] 1807.
Whate'er the cause may be, ...
MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.
[14] 1827.
... turns, ... 1807.
And MS. letter, D. W. to Lady Beaumont, Nov. 15, 1806.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] "Compare Shelley's statement in Julian and Maddalo—where he speaks of material not spiritual voyaging—that coming homeward 'always makes the spirit tame'" (Professor Dowden).
"YES, IT WAS THE MOUNTAIN ECHO"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The echo came from Nab-scar, when I was walking on the opposite side of Rydal Mere. I will here mention, for my dear Sister's sake, that, while she was sitting alone one day high up on this part of Loughrigg Fell, she was so affected by the voice of the Cuckoo heard from the crags at some distance that she could not suppress a wish to have a stone inscribed with her name among the rocks from which the sound proceeded. On my return from my walk I recited these verses to Mrs. Wordsworth.—I. F.]
Classed among the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.
Yes, it was the mountain Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,
Answering to the shouting Cuckoo,
Giving to her sound for sound![1]
[2]
Unsolicited reply 5
To a babbling wanderer sent;[3]
Like her ordinary cry,
Like—but oh, how different!
Hears not also mortal Life?
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! 10
Slaves of folly, love, or strife—
Voices of two different natures?
Have not we[4] too?—yes, we have
Answers, and we know not whence;
Echoes from beyond the grave, 15
Recognised intelligence!
Such rebounds our inward ear[A]
Catches sometimes from afar—[5]
Listen, ponder, hold them dear;[6]
For of God,—of God they are. 20
The place where this echo was heard can easily be identified by any one walking along the southern or Loughrigg shore of Rydal. The Fenwick note refers to a wish of Dorothy Wordsworth to have her name inscribed on a stone among the rocks of Loughrigg Fell. It is impossible to know whether it was ever carried out or not. If it was, the place is undiscoverable, like the spot on the banks of the Rotha, where Joanna's name was graven "deep in the living rock," or the place where Wordsworth carved his wife's initials (as recorded in Mrs. Hemans' Memoirs), or where the daisy was found, which suggested the lines beginning
Small service is true service while it lasts;
and it is well that they are undiscoverable. It is so easy for posterity to vulgarise, by idle and unappreciative curiosity, spots that are sacred only to the few who feel them to be shrines. The very grave where Wordsworth rests runs the risk of being thus abused by the unthinking crowd. But, in the hope that no one will desecrate it, as the Rock of Names has been injured, I may mention that there is a stone near Rydal Mere, on the north-eastern slope of Loughrigg, with the initial "M." deeply cut. The exact locality I need not more minutely indicate.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1827.
Yes! full surely 'twas the Echo,
Solitary, clear, profound,
Answering to Thee, shouting Cuckoo!
Giving to thee Sound for Sound. 1807.
Whence the Voice? from air or earth?
This the Cuckoo cannot tell;
But a startling sound had birth,
As the Bird must know full well;
Only in the edition of 1807.
[3] 1815.
Like the voice through earth and sky
By the restless Cuckoo sent; 1807.
[4] Italics were first used in the edition of 1836.
[5] 1836.
Such within ourselves we hear
Oft-times, ours though sent from far; 1807.
Such rebounds our inward ear
Often catches from afar;— 1827.
Often as thy inward ear
Catches such rebounds, beware,— 1832.
[6] 1807.
Giddy Mortals! hold them dear; 1827.
The edition of 1832 returns to the text of 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Writing to Barron Field about this stanza of the poem in 1827, Wordsworth said, "The word 'rebounds' I wish much to introduce here; for the imaginative warning turns upon the echo, which ought to be revived as near the conclusion as possible."—Ed.
"NUNS FRET NOT AT THEIR CONVENT'S NARROW ROOM"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[In the cottage, Town-end, Grasmere, 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 Shakspeare'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." One was never written down; the third, which was, I believe, preserved, I cannot particularise.—I. F.]
From 1807 to 1820 this was named Prefatory Sonnet, as introducing the series of "Miscellaneous Sonnets" in these editions. In 1827 it took its place as the first in that series, following the Dedication To ——.—Ed.
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,5
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is:[A] and hence for me,[1]
In sundry moods,'twas pastime to be bound 10
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,[B]
Should find brief[2] solace there, as I have found.
In Wordsworth's time "Furness-fells" was a generic phrase for all the hills east of the Duddon, south of the Brathay, and west of Windermere; including the Coniston group, Wetherlam, with the Yewdale and Tilberthwaite fells. The district of Furness, like that of Craven in Yorkshire, being originally ecclesiastical, had a wide area, of which the abbey of Furness was the centre.
In the Fenwick note prefixed to this sonnet, Wordsworth refers to his earliest attempt at sonnet writing. He says he wrote an irregular one at school, and the next were three sonnets written one afternoon in Dove Cottage in the year 1801, after his sister had read the sonnets of Milton. This note is not, however, to be trusted. It was not in 1801, but on the 21st of May 1802, that his sister read to him these sonnets of Milton; and he afterwards wrote not one but two sonnets on Buonaparte. What the irregular sonnet written at school was it is impossible to say, unless he refers to the one entitled, in 1807 and subsequent editions, Written in Very Early Youth; and beginning—
Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
But on a copy of An Evening Walk (1793 edition) Wordsworth wrote:—"This is the first of my published poems, with the exception of a sonnet, written when I was a schoolboy, and published in the European Magazine in June or July 1786, and signed Axiologus." Even as to this date his memory was at fault. It was published in 1787, when he was seventeen years of age. Its full title may be given; although, for reasons already stated, it would be unjustifiable to republish the sonnet, except in an appendix to the poems, and mainly for its biographical interest. It was entitled, Sonnet, on seeing Miss Maria Williams weep at a Tale of Distress. But, fully ten years before the date mentioned by Dorothy Wordsworth in her Grasmere Journal—as the day on which she read Milton's sonnets to her brother, and on which he wrote the two on Buonaparte—he had written others, the existence of which he had evidently forgotten. On the 6th of May 1792, his sister wrote thus from Forncett Rectory in Norfolk to her friend, Miss Jane Pollard:—"I promised to transcribe some of William's compositions. As I made the promise, I will give you a little sonnet.... I take the first that offers. It is very valuable to me, because the cause which gave birth to it was the favourite evening walk of William and me.... I have not chosen this sonnet from any particular beauty it has. It was the first I laid my hands upon." From the clause I have italicised, it would almost seem that other sonnets belong to that period, viz. before 1793, when An Evening Walk appeared. She would hardly have spoken of it as she did, if this was the only sonnet her brother had then written. Though very inferior to his later work, this sonnet may be preserved as a specimen of Wordsworth's earlier manner, before he had broken away, by the force of his own imagination, from the trammels of the conventional style, which he inherited. It is printed in the Appendix to volume viii.
It will be seen that Wordsworth's memory cannot be always relied upon, in reference to dates, and similar details, in the Fenwick memoranda.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1849.
... to me, 1807.
[2] 1827.
... short ... 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare in Lovelace's poem, To Althea from Prison—
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage.Ed.
[B] Compare the line in the Ode to Duty vol. iii. p. 40—
Me this unchartered freedom tires.Ed.
PERSONAL TALK
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The last line but two stood, at first, better and more characteristically, thus:—
"By my half-kitchen and half-parlour fire."
My sister and I were in the habit of having the tea-kettle in our little sitting room; and we toasted the bread ourselves, which reminds me of a little circumstance not unworthy to be set down among these minutiæ. Happening both of us to be engaged a few minutes one morning when we had a young prig of a Scotch lawyer to breakfast with us, my dear Sister, with her usual simplicity, put the toasting fork with a slice of bread into the hands of this Edinburgh genius. Our little book-case stood on one side of the fire. To prevent loss of time, he took down a book, and fell to reading, to the neglect of the toast, which was burnt to a cinder. Many a time have we laughed at this circumstance, and other cottage simplicities of that day. By the bye, I have a spite at one of this series of Sonnets (I will leave the reader to discover which) as having been the means of nearly putting off for ever our acquaintance with dear Miss Fenwick, who has always stigmatized one line of it as vulgar, and worthy only of having been composed by a country squire.—I. F.]
In 1815, this was classed among the "Poems proceeding from Sentiment and Reflection." From 1820 to 1843, it found a place among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets," and in 1845 was restored to its earlier one among the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."—Ed.
I
I am not One who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk,—
Of[1] friends, who live within an easy walk,
Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight:
And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, 5
Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk,[A]
These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.
Better than such discourse doth silence long,
Long, barren silence, square with my desire; 10
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim,
In the loved presence of my cottage-fire,[2]
And listen to the flapping of the flame,
Or kettle whispering its faint undersong.
II
"Yet life," you say, "is life; we have seen and see, 15
And with a living pleasure we describe;
And fits of sprightly malice do but bribe
The languid mind into activity.
Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee
Are fostered by the comment and the gibe." 20
Even be it so: yet still among your tribe,
Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me!
Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies
More justly balanced; partly at their feet,
And part far from them:—sweetest melodies 25
Are those that are by distance made more sweet;[B]
Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes,
He is a Slave; the meanest we can meet![C]
III
Wings have we,—and as far as we can go
We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood, 30
Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood
Which with the lofty sanctifies the low.
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,
Are a substantial world, both pure and good:
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 36
There find I personal themes, a plenteous store,
Matter wherein right voluble I am,
To which I listen with a ready ear;
Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear,—[3] 40
The gentle Lady married to the Moor;[D]
And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.
IV
Nor can I not believe but that hereby
Great gains are mine; for thus I live remote
From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought, 45
Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie.
Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought:
And thus from day to day my little boat
Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 50
Blessings be with them—and eternal praise,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares—
The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!
Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, 55
Then gladly would I end my mortal days.
The text of the poem was little altered, and was fixed in 1827. It had no title in 1807 and 1815.
The reading of 1807,
my half-kitchen my half-parlour fire,
was a reminiscence of Dove Cottage, which we regret to lose in the later editions.
In the Baptistery of Westminster Abbey, there is a statue of Wordsworth by Frederick Thrupp of great merit, placed there by the late Dean Stanley, beside busts of Keble, Maurice, and Kingsley. Underneath the statue of Wordsworth are the four lines from Personal Talk—
Blessings be with them—and eternal praise,
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares—
The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays!
Dean Stanley found it difficult to select from Wordsworth's poems the lines most appropriate for inscription, and adopted these at the suggestion of his friend, Principal Shairp.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1815.
About ... 1807.
[2] 1815.
By my half-kitchen my half-parlour fire, 1807.
[3] 1827.
There do I find a never-failing store
Of personal themes, and such as I love best;
Matter wherein right voluble I am:
Two will I mention, dearer than the rest; 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] This is the line referred to by Wordsworth in the Fenwick note. Compare Midsummer Night's Dream, act I. scene i. ll. 75-78.—Ed.
[B] Compare Collins, The Passions, l. 60, and An Evening Walk, l. 237 and note (vol. i. p. 22).—Ed.
[C] Compare The Prelude, book xii. l. 151 (vol. iii. p. 349)—
I knew a maid,
A young enthusiast, who escaped these bonds;
Her eye was not the mistress of her heart.Ed.
[D] Wordsworth said on one occasion, as Professor Dowden has reminded us, that he thought Othello, the close of the Phædo, and Walton's Life of George Herbert, the three "most pathetic" writings in the world.—Ed.
ADMONITION
Intended more particularly for the perusal of those who may have happened to be enamoured of some beautiful place of Retreat, in the Country of the Lakes.
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Well may'st thou halt—and gaze with brightening eye![1]
The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook
Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook,
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky![A]
But covet not the Abode;—forbear to sigh,[2] 5
As many do, repining while they look;
Intruders—who would tear[3] from Nature's book
This precious leaf, with harsh impiety.[4]
Think what the Home must[5] be if it were thine,
Even thine, though few thy wants!—Roof, window, door, 10
The very flowers are sacred to the Poor,
The roses to the porch which they entwine:
Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day
On which it should be touched, would melt away.[6]
The cottage at Town-end, Grasmere—where this sonnet was composed—may have suggested it. Some of the details, however, are scarcely applicable to Dove Cottage; the "brook" (referred to elsewhere) is outside the orchard ground, and there is scarcely anything in the garden to warrant the phrase, "its own small pasture." It is unnecessary to localise the allusions.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1837.
Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye! 1807.
[2] 1827.
... oh! do not sigh, 1807.
[3] 1827.
Sighing a wish to tear ... 1807.
[4] 1827.
This blissful leaf, with worst impiety. 1807.
... with harsh impiety. 1815.
[5] 1827.
... would ... 1807.
[6] 1838.
... would melt, and melt away! 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare the lines in Peter Bell, vol. ii. p. 13—
Where deep and low the hamlets lie
Beneath their little patch of sky
And little lot of stars.Ed.
"'BELOVED VALE!' I SAID, 'WHEN I SHALL CON'"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
"Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con
Those many records of my childish years,
Remembrance of myself and of my peers
Will press me down: to think of what is gone
Will be an awful thought, if life have one." 5
But, when into the Vale I came, no fears
Distressed me; from mine eyes escaped no tears;[1]
Deep thought, or dread remembrance, had I none.[2]
By doubts and thousand petty fancies crost[3]
I stood, of simple shame the blushing Thrall;[A] 10
So narrow seemed the brooks, the fields so small![4]
A Juggler's balls old Time about him tossed;
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
Doubtless the "Vale" referred to is that of Hawkshead; the "brooks" may refer to the one that feeds Esthwaite lake, or to Sawrey beck, or (more likely) to the streamlet, "the famous brook within our garden boxed," described in The Prelude, books i. and ii. (vol. iii.) See also The Fountain, vol. ii. p. 92.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1827.
Distress'd me; I look'd round, I shed no tears; 1807.
[2] 1837.
... or awful vision, I had none. 1807.
... had I none. 1827.
[3] 1827.
By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd, 1807.
[4] 1827.
To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall,
Mere dwarfs; the Brooks so narrow, Fields so small. 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare Hart-Leap Well, l. 117 (vol. ii. p. 134).—Ed.
"HOW SWEET IT IS, WHEN MOTHER FANCY ROCKS"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Placed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!
An old place, full of many a lovely brood,
Tall trees, green arbours, and ground-flowers in flocks;
And wild rose tip-toe upon hawthorn stocks, 5
Like a bold Girl, who plays her agile pranks[1]
At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks,—
When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks
The crowd beneath her. Verily I think,
Such place to me is sometimes like a dream 10
Or map of the whole world: thoughts, link by link,
Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam
Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink,
And leap at once from the delicious stream.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1827.
Like to a bonny Lass, who plays her pranks 1807.
"THOSE WORDS WERE UTTERED AS IN PENSIVE MOOD"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
——"they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away."[A]
Placed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Those[1] words were uttered as in pensive mood[2]
We turned, departing from[3] that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to[4] gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood; 5
It is unstable as a dream of night;[5]
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome,[6]
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure, 10
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1838.
These ... 1807.
[2] 1827.
... utter'd in a pensive mood. 1807.
[3] 1827.
Even while mine eyes were on ... 1807.
Mine eyes yet lingering on ... 1815.
[4] 1807.
A silent counter part of ... MS.
[5] 1827.
It is unstable, and deserts me quite; ... 1807.
[6] 1827.
The Grove, the sky-built Temple, and the Dome, 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] See the sonnet Composed after a Journey across the Hambleton Hills, Yorkshire, vol. ii. p. 349.—Ed.
"WITH HOW SAD STEPS, O MOON, THOU CLIMB'ST THE SKY"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
In the edition of 1815, this was placed among the "Poems of the Fancy." In 1820 it became one of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky,
"How silently, and with how wan a face!"[A]
Where art thou? Thou so often seen on high[1]
Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race!
Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh 5
Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!
The northern Wind, to call thee to the chase,
Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had I
The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be:
And all the stars, fast as the clouds were riven,[2] 10
Should sally forth, to keep thee company,[3]
Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue heaven;[4]
But, Cynthia! should to thee the palm be given,
Queen both for beauty and for majesty.
The sonnet of Sir Philip Sidney's, from which the two first lines are taken, is No. XXXI. in Astrophel and Stella. In the edition of 1807 these lines were printed, not as a sonnet, but as No. III. in the series of "Poems composed during a Tour, chiefly on foot;" and in 1807 and 1815 the first two lines were placed within quotation marks.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1837.
... Thou whom I have seen on high 1807.
[2] 1837.
And all the Stars, now shrouded up in heaven, 1807.
And the keen Stars, fast as the clouds were riven, 1820.
[3] 1807.
Should sally forth, an emulous Company, 1820.
The text of 1837 returns to that of 1807.
[4] 1840.
What strife would then be yours, fair Creatures, driv'n
Now up, now down, and sparkling in your glee! 1807.
Sparkling, and hurrying through the clear blue heaven; 1820.
All hurrying with thee through the clear blue heaven; 1832.
In that keen sport along the plain, of heaven; 1837.
... in emulous company
Sparkling, and hurrying through the clear blue heaven; 1838 and C.
Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue Heaven. C.
With emulous brightness through the clear blue Heaven. C.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] From a sonnet of Sir Philip Sydney.—W. W. 1807.
"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US; LATE AND SOON"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
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!
This[1] Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; 5
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 10
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,[A]
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising[2] from the sea;[B]
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.[C]
The "pleasant lea" referred to in this sonnet is unknown. It may have been on the Cumbrian coast, or in the Isle of Man.
I am indebted to the Rev. Canon Ainger for suggesting an (unconscious) reminiscence of Spenser in the last line of the sonnet. Compare Dr. Arnold's commentary (Miscellaneous Works of Thomas Arnold, p. 311), and that of Sir Henry Taylor in his Notes from Books.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1807.
The ... MS.
[2] 1827.
... coming ... 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] See Spenser's Colin Clout's come Home againe, l. 283—
"A goodly pleasant lea."Ed.
[B] Compare Paradise Lost, book iii. l. 603.
[C] See Colin Clout's come Home againe, ll. 244-5—
Of them the shepheard which hath charge in chief,
Is Triton, blowing loud his wreathèd horne.Ed.
"WITH SHIPS THE SEA WAS SPRINKLED FAR AND NIGH"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Placed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,[A]
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Some lying fast at anchor in the road,
Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly Vessel did I then espy 5
Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.[B]
This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look; 10
This Ship to all the rest did I prefer:
When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where She comes the winds must stir:
On went She, and due north her journey took.[C]
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare The Excursion, book iv. l. 1197—
... sea with ships
Sprinkled ...Ed.
[B] In the editions of 1815 to 1832 (but not in 1807) this line was printed within inverted commas. The quotation marks were dropped, however, in subsequent editions (as in the quotation from Spenser, in the poem Beggars). In a note at the end of the volumes of 1807, Wordsworth says, "From a passage in Skelton, which I cannot here insert, not having the Book at hand."
The passage is as follows—
Her takelynge ryche, and of hye apparayle.
Skelton's Bowge of Courte, stanza vi.—Ed.
[C] See Professor H. Reed's note to the American edition of Memoirs of Wordsworth, vol. i. p. 335; and Wordsworth's comment on Mrs. Fermor's criticism of this sonnet in his letter to Lady Beaumont, May 21, 1807.—Ed.
"WHERE LIES THE LAND TO WHICH YON SHIP MUST GO?"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?
Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,
Festively she puts forth in trim array;[1]
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
What boots the inquiry?—Neither friend nor foe 5
She cares for; let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way
Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were rare, 10
(From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,
Of the old Sea some reverential fear,
Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!
VARIANTS:
[1] 1837.
Festively she puts forth in trim array;
As vigorous as a Lark at break of day: 1807.
TO SLEEP
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Placed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
O gentle sleep! do they belong to thee,
These twinklings of oblivion? Thou dost love
To sit in meekness, like the brooding Dove,
A captive never wishing to be free.
This tiresome night, O Sleep! thou art to me 5
A Fly, that up and down himself doth shove
Upon a fretful rivulet, now above
Now on the water vexed with mockery.
I have no pain that calls for patience, no;[A]
Hence am I[1] cross and peevish as a child: 10
Am[2] pleased by fits to have thee for my foe,
Yet ever willing to be reconciled:
O gentle Creature! do not use me so,
But once and deeply let me be beguiled.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1807.
I am ... 1815.
The text of 1827 returns to that of 1807.
[2] 1807.
And ... 1815.
The text of 1827 returns to that of 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare—"Et c'est encore ce qui me fâche, de n'etre pas même en droit de ... fâcher."—Rousseau, La Nouvelle Héloïse.
"Vixque tenet lacrymas; quia nil lacrymabile cernit."
Ovid, Metamorphoses, lib. ii. l. 796.—Ed.
TO SLEEP
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;
The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames,[1]
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!
Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep 5
In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames
All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims
Takest away, and into souls dost creep,
Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone,
I surely not a man ungently made, 10
Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?
Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown,
Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed,
Still last to come where thou art wanted most!
VARIANTS:
[1] 1837.
The very sweetest words that fancy frames 1807.
TO SLEEP
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie[1] 5
Sleepless[A]! and soon the small birds' melodies
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees;
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay,
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: 10
So do not let me wear to-night away:
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth?
Come, blessed barrier between[2] day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
Compare Ovid, Metamorphoses, book xi. l. 623; Macbeth, act II. scene ii. l. 39; King Henry IV., Part II., act III. scene i. l. 5; Midsummer Night's Dream, act III. scene ii. l. 435.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1845.
I've thought of all by turns; and still I lie 1807.
By turns have all been thought of; yet I lie 1827.
I thought of all by turns, and yet I lie 1837.
I have thought ... 1838.
[2]1832.
... betwixt ... 1807.
... between night and day, MS.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Compare The Faërie Queene, book I. canto i. stanza 41—
And more to lulle him in his slumber soft,
A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe,
And ever-drizling raine upon the loft,
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne
Of swarming Bees, did cast him in a swowne.Ed.
TO THE MEMORY OF RAISLEY CALVERT
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[This young man, Raisley Calvert, to whom I was so much indebted, died at Penrith, 1795.—I. F.]
Classed among the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Calvert! it must not be unheard by them
Who may respect my name, that I to thee
Owed many years of early liberty.
This care was thine when sickness did condemn
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem— 5
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray
Where'er I liked; and finally array
My temples with the Muse's diadem.
Hence, if in freedom I have loved the truth;
If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, 10
In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays
Of higher mood, which now I meditate;—
It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived, Youth!
To think how much of this will be thy praise.
Raisley Calvert was the son of R. Calvert, steward to the Duke of Norfolk. Writing to Sir George Beaumont, on the 20th February 1805, Wordsworth said, "I should have been forced into one of the professions" (the church or law) "by necessity, had not a friend left me £900. This bequest was from a young man with whom, though I call him friend, I had but little connection; and the act was done entirely from a confidence on his part that I had powers and attainments which might be of use to mankind.... Upon the interest of the £900, and £100 legacy to my sister, and £100 more which the 'Lyrical Ballads' have brought me, my sister and I contrived to live seven years, nearly eight." To his friend Matthews he wrote, November 7th, 1794, "My friend" (Calvert) "has every symptom of a confirmed consumption, and I cannot think of quitting him in his present debilitated state." And in January 1795 he wrote to Matthews from Penrith (where Calvert was staying), "I have been here for some time. I am still much engaged with my sick friend; and am sorry to add that he worsens daily ... he is barely alive." In a letter to Dr. Joshua Stanger of Keswick, written in the year 1842, Wordsworth referred thus to Raisley Calvert. Dr. Calvert—a nephew of Raisley, and son of the W. Calvert whom the poet accompanied to the Isle of Wight and Salisbury in 1793—had just died. "His removal (Dr. Calvert's) has naturally thrown my mind back as far as Dr. Calvert's grandfather, his father, and sister (the former of whom was, as you know, among my intimate friends), and his uncle Raisley, whom I have so much cause to remember with gratitude for his testamentary remembrance of me, when the greatest part of my patrimony was kept back from us by injustice. It may be satisfactory to your wife for me to declare that my friend's bequest enabled me to devote myself to literary pursuits, independent of any necessity to look at pecuniary emolument, so that my talents, such as they might be, were free to take their natural course. Your brothers Raisley and William were both so well known to me, and I have so many reasons to respect them, that I cannot forbear saying, that my sympathy with this last bereavement is deepened by the remembrance that they both have been taken from you...." On October 1, 1794, Wordsworth wrote from Keswick to Ensign William Calvert about his brother Raisley. (The year is not given in the letter, but it must have been 1794.) He tells him that Raisley was determined to set out for Lisbon; but that he (Wordsworth) could not brook the idea of his going alone; and that he wished to accompany his friend and stay with him, till his health was re-established. He adds, "Reflecting that his return is uncertain, your brother requests me to inform you that he has drawn out his will, which he means to get executed in London. The purport of his will is to leave you all his property, real and personal, chargeable with a legacy of £600 to me, in case that, on inquiry into the state of our affairs in London, he should think it advisable to do so. It is at my request that this information is communicated to you." Calvert did not live to go south; and he changed the sum left to Wordsworth from £600 to £900. The relationship of the two men suggests the somewhat parallel one between Spinoza and Simon de Vries.—Ed.
"METHOUGHT I SAW THE FOOTSTEPS OF A THRONE"
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
[The latter part of this sonnet was a great favourite with my sister S. H. When I saw her lying in death, I could not resist the impulse to compose the Sonnet that follows it.—I. F.]
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne
Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did shroud—
Nor view of who might sit[1] thereon allowed;
But all the steps and ground about were strown
With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone 5
Ever put on; a miserable crowd,
Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,
"Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan."
Those steps I clomb; the mists before me gave[2]
Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one 10
Sleeping alone within a mossy cave,
With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have
Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;
A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!
"The Sonnet that follows," referred to in the Fenwick note, is one belonging to the year 1836, beginning—
Even so for me a Vision sanctified.
See the note to that sonnet.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1815.
... of him who sate ... 1807.
[2] 1845.
I seem'd to mount those steps; the vapours gave 1807.
Those steps I mounted, as the vapours gave 1837.
... while the vapours gave 1838.
Those steps I clomb; the opening vapours gave C. and 1840.
LINES
Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one Evening, after a stormy day, the Author having just read in a Newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Fox was hourly expected.
Composed September 1806.—Published 1807
This poem was ranked among the "Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces."—Ed.
Loud is the Vale! the Voice is up
With which she speaks when storms are gone,
A mighty unison of streams!
Of all her Voices, One!
Loud is the Vale;—this inland Depth 5
In peace is roaring like the Sea;
Yon star upon the mountain-top
Is listening quietly.
Sad was I, even to pain deprest,
Importunate and heavy load![A] 10
The Comforter hath found me here,
Upon this lonely road;
And many thousands now are sad—
Wait the fulfilment of their fear;
For he must die who is their stay, 15
Their glory disappear.
A Power is passing from the earth
To breathless Nature's dark abyss;
But when the great and good depart[1]
What is it more than this— 20
That Man, who is from God sent forth,
Doth yet again to God return?—
Such ebb and flow must ever be,
Then wherefore should we mourn?
Charles James Fox died September 13, 1806. He was Minister for Foreign Affairs at the time, having assumed office on the 5th February, shortly after the death of William Pitt. Wordsworth's sadness on this occasion, his recognition of Fox as great and good, and as "a Power" that was "passing from the earth," may have been due partly to personal and political sympathy, but also probably to Fox's appreciation of the better side of the French Revolution, and to his welcoming the pacific proposals of Talleyrand, perhaps also to his efforts for the abolition of slavery.
The "lonely road" referred to in these Lines, was, in all likelihood, the path from Town-end towards the Swan Inn past the Hollins, Grasmere. A "mighty unison of streams" may be heard there any autumn evening after a stormy day, and especially after long continued rain, the sound of waters from Easdale, from Greenhead Ghyll, and the slopes of Silver How, blending with that of the Rothay in the valley below. Compare Dorothy Wordsworth's Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland, in 1803, p. 229 (edition 1874).—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1837.
But when the Mighty pass away 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Importuna e grave salma. (Michael Angelo.)—W. W. 1807.
NOVEMBER, 1806
Composed 1806.—Published 1807
Classed among the "Sonnets dedicated to Liberty," re-named in 1845, "Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty."—Ed.
Another year!-another deadly blow!
Another mighty Empire overthrown!
And We are left, or shall be left, alone;
The last that dare[1] to struggle with the Foe.
'Tis well! from this day forward we shall know 5
That in ourselves our safety must be sought;
That by our own right hands it must be wrought;
That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low.
O dastard whom such foretaste[2] doth not cheer!
We shall exult, if they who rule the land 10
Be men who hold its many blessings dear,
Wise, upright, valiant; not a servile[3] band,
Who are to judge of danger which they fear,
And honour which they do not understand.[A]
Napoleon won the battle of Jena on the 14th October 1806, entered Potsdam on the 25th, and Berlin on the 28th; Prince Hohenlohe laid down his arms on the 6th November; Blücher surrendered at Lübeck on the 7th; Magdeburg was taken on the 8th; on the 14th the French occupied Hanover; and on the 21st Napoleon issued his Berlin decree for the blockade of England—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[1] 1827.
... dares ... 1807.
[2] 1807.
... knowledge ... MS.
[3] 1820.
... venal ... 1807.
FOOTNOTES:
Who are to judge of danger which they fear
And honour which they do not understand.
These two lines from Lord Brooke's Life of Sir Philip Sydney—W. W. 1807.
"Danger which they fear, and honour which they understand not." Words in Lord Brooke's Life of Sir P. Sidney.—W. W. 1837.