I HEARD (ALAS! 'TWAS ONLY IN A DREAM)
Composed 1819.—Published 1819
One of the "Miscellaneous Sonnets."—Ed.
I heard (alas! 'twas only in a dream)
Strains—which, as sage Antiquity believed,
By waking[386] ears have sometimes been received
Wafted adown the wind from lake or stream;
A most melodious requiem, a supreme
And perfect harmony of notes, achieved
By a fair Swan on drowsy billows heaved,
O'er which her pinions shed a silver gleam.
For is she not the votary of Apollo?
And knows she not, singing as he inspires,[387]
That bliss awaits her which the ungenial Hollow[DU]
Of the dull earth partakes not, nor desires?
Mount, tuneful Bird, and join the immortal quires!
She soared—and I awoke, struggling in vain to follow.
Socrates to Simmias.—"Will you not allow that I have as much of the spirit of prophecy in me as the swans? For they, when they perceive that they must die, having sung all their life long, do then sing more than ever, rejoicing in the thought that they are about to go away to the God, whose ministers they are. But men, because they are themselves afraid of death, slanderously affirm of the swans, that they sing a lament at the last, not considering that no bird sings when cold, or hungry, or in pain, not even the nightingale, nor the swallow, nor yet the hoopoe, which are said indeed to tune a lay of sorrow, although I do not believe this to be true of them any more than of the swans. But because they are sacred to Apollo, they have the gift of prophecy, and anticipate the good things of another world; wherefore they sing and rejoice in that day more than ever they did before. And I too, believing myself to be the consecrated servant of the same God, and the fellow-servant of the swans, and thinking that I have received from my master gifts of prophecy which are not inferior to theirs, would not go out of life less merrily than the swans." Phædo, 85 (Jowett's translation, vol. i. p. 462).—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[386] 1819.
ms.
By living . . .
[387] 1819.
ms.
. . . inspired,
FOOTNOTE:
[DU] See the Phædon of Plato, by which this Sonnet was suggested.—W. W. 1819.
THE HAUNTED TREE[DV]
To ——
Composed 1819.—Published 1820
[This tree grew in the park of Rydal, and I have often listened to its creaking as described.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.
Those silver clouds collected round the sun
His mid-day warmth abate not, seeming less
To overshade than multiply his beams
By soft reflection—grateful to the sky,
To rocks, fields, woods. Nor doth our human sense
Ask, for its pleasure, screen or canopy
More ample than the[388] time-dismantled Oak
Spreads o'er this tuft of heath, which now, attired
In the whole fulness of its bloom, affords
Couch beautiful as e'er for earthly use[389]
Was fashioned; whether by the hand of Art,
That eastern Sultan, amid flowers enwrought
On silken tissue, might diffuse his limbs
In languor; or, by Nature, for repose
Of panting Wood-nymph, wearied with the chase.[390]
O Lady! fairer in thy Poet's sight
Than fairest spiritual creature of the groves,
Approach;—and, thus invited, crown with rest
The noontide hour: though truly some there are
Whose footsteps superstitiously avoid
This venerable Tree; for, when the wind
Blows keenly, it sends forth a creaking sound
(Above the general roar of woods and crags)
Distinctly heard from far—a doleful note!
As if (so Grecian shepherds would have deemed)
The Hamadryad, pent within, bewailed
Some bitter wrong.[DW] Nor is it unbelieved,
By ruder fancy, that a troubled ghost
Haunts the old trunk;[391] lamenting deeds of which
The flowery ground is conscious. But no wind
Sweeps now along this elevated ridge;
Not even a zephyr stirs;—the obnoxious Tree
Is mute: and, in his silence, would look down,
O lovely Wanderer of the trackless hills,
On thy[392] reclining form with more delight
Than his coevals in the sheltered vale
Seem to participate, the while they view[393]
Their own far-stretching arms and leafy heads
Vividly pictured in some glassy pool,
That, for a brief space, checks the hurrying stream!
Where this Haunted Tree stood in Rydal Park, or whether it is still standing, cannot be determined. There are several "time-dismantled oaks" in the Park, but none with a heather couch beneath them, so far as I know. I have, however, heard stories of this tree from old residenters. The "Lady," the "lovely wanderer of the trackless hills," may have been the poet's daughter, Dora, to whom (probably) this poem was inscribed.—Ed.
VARIANTS:
[388] 1827.
1820.
. . . that . . .
[389] 1827.
1820.
As beautiful a couch as e'er on earth
[390] 1836.
1820.
. . . weary of the chace.
. . . wearied by the chase.
[391] 1836.
1820.
Haunts this old Trunk; . . .
[392] 1827.
. . . would look down
On thy . . .
[393] 1849.
1820.
. . . whilst they view
FOOTNOTES:
[DV] The title in the first edition of 1820 was "To ——."—Ed.
[DW] The Hamadryads were supposed not only to haunt the trees, but to live in them, and to die with them.—Ed.