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a 
 
THE ALDINE EDITION 
 
 OF THE BRITISH 
 
 POETS 
 
 r 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 VOL. vn 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924103996595 
 
THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 EDITED WITH MEMOIR BY 
 EDWARD DOWDEN 
 
 In Seven Volumes 
 
 VOL. VII 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK ST., CO VENT GARDEN 
 NEW YORK: 112, FOURTH AVENUE 
 
 1893 
 
 K 
 
K'Si^xt 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS :— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT 
 CHANCERY LANE. 
 
 CM 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vol. VII. 
 
 The Prelude. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Advertisement ....... 3 
 
 Book I. Introduction — Childhood and School- 
 time ...... 
 
 II. School-time. — (Continued) . 
 
 III. Residence at Cambridge 
 
 IV. Summer Vacation . 
 V. Books .... 
 
 VI. Cambridge and the Alps 
 
 VII. Residence in London 
 
 VIII. Retrospect. — Love of Nature leading to 
 
 love of Man .... 
 
 IX. Residence in France 
 
 X. Residence in France. — (Continued) 
 
 XI. France. — (Concluded) . 
 
 XII. Imagination and Taste, how impaired 
 
 and restored 
 
 XIII. Imagination and Taste, how impaired 
 
 and restored. — (Concluded) 
 
 XIV. Conclusion .... 
 Editor's Notes 
 
 7 
 27 
 42 
 62 
 77 
 97 
 122 
 
 147 
 169 
 
 187 
 206 
 
 221 
 
 232 
 244 
 259 
 
 Appendices :— 
 
 An Evening Walk (reprinted from the 
 
 quarto of 1793) . . . . . .265 
 
 Descriptive Sketches (reprinted from the 
 
 quarto of 1793) 279 
 
 Bibliography 307 
 
 Chronological Table ..... 329 
 
 Additions and Corrections .... 359 
 
 Index of Titles 363 
 
 Index of First Lines 375 
 
THE PRELUDE, 
 
 OR 
 
 GKOWTH OF A POET'S MIND; 
 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL POEM. 
 
 VII. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 [By the Editor of 1850.] 
 
 The following Poem was commenced in the 
 beginning of the year 1799, and completed in 
 the summer of 1805. 
 
 The design and occasion of the work are 
 described by the Author in his Preface to the 
 " Excursion," first published in 1814, where he 
 thus speaks : — 
 
 " Several years ago, when the Author retired 
 to his native mountains with the hope of being 
 enabled to construct a literary work that might 
 live, it was a reasonable thing that he should 
 take a review of his own mind, and examine 
 how far Nature and Education had qualified 
 him for such an employment. 
 
 " As subsidiary to this preparation, he under- 
 took to record, in verse, the origin and progress 
 of his own powers, as far as he was acquainted 
 with them. 
 
 " That work, addressed to a dear friend, most 
 distinguished for his knowledge and genius, and 
 to whom the Author's intellect is deeply in- 
 debted, has been long finished ; and the result 
 of the investigation which gave rise to it, was 
 a determination to compose a philosophical 
 Poem, containing views of Man, Nature, and 
 
4 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Society, and to be entitled the " Kecluse ; " as 
 having for its principal subject the sensations 
 and opinions of a poet living in retirement. 
 
 " The preparatory poem is biographical, and 
 conducts the history of the Author's mind to 
 the point when he was emboldened to hope 
 that his faculties were sufficiently matured for 
 entering upon the arduous labour which he 
 had proposed to himself ; and the two works 
 have the same kind of relation to each other, 
 if he may so express himself, as the Ante- 
 chapel has to the body of a Gothic Church. 
 Continuing this allusion, he may be permitted 
 to add, that his minor pieces, which have been 
 long before the public, when they shall be 
 properly arranged, will be found by the attentive 
 reader to have such connection with the main 
 work as may give them claim to be likened to 
 the little cells, oratories and sepulchral recesses, 
 ordinarily included in those edifices." 
 
 Such was the Author's language in the year 
 1814. 
 
 It will thence be seen, that the present 
 Poem was intended to be introductory to the 
 " Eecluse," and that the "Recluse," if com- 
 pleted, would have consisted of Three Parts. 
 Of these, the Second Part alone, viz., the 
 " Excursion," was finished, and given to the 
 world by the Author. 
 
 The First Book of the First Part of the 
 "Eecluse" still [1850] remains in manuscript; 
 but the Third Part was only planned. The 
 materials of which it would have been formed 
 have, however, been incorporated, for the most 
 part, in the Author's other Publications, 
 written subsequently to the " Excursion." 
 
 The Friend, to whom the present Poem is 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 5 
 
 addressed, was the late Samtjel Taylor 
 Coleridge, who was resident in Malta, for 
 the restoration of his health, when the greater 
 part of it was composed. 
 
 Mr. Coleridge read a considerable portion of 
 the Poeni while he was abroad ; and his feel- 
 ings, on hearing it recited by the Author (after 
 his return to his own country) are recorded in 
 his Yerses, addressed to Mr. Wordsworth, 
 which will be found in the " Sibylline Leaves," 
 p. 197, ed. 1817, or " Poetical Works, by S. T. 
 Coleridge," vol. i., p. 206. 
 
 Rydal Mount, 
 
 July 13th, 1850. 
 
BOOK FIRST. 
 
 INTRODUCTION— CHILDHOOD AND 
 SCHOOL-TIME. 
 
 there is blessing in this gentle breeze, 
 A visitant that while it fans my cheek 
 Doth seem half -conscious of the joy it brings 
 From the green fields, and from yon azure sky. 
 Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come 
 To none more grateful than to me ; escaped 6 
 From the vast city, where I long had pined 
 
 A discontented sojourner : now free, 
 
 Free as a bird to settle where I will. 
 
 What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale 10 
 
 Shall be my harbour ? underneath what grove 
 
 Shall I take up my home ? and what clear 
 
 stream 
 Shall with its murmur lull me into rest ? 
 The earth is all before me. With a heart 
 Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty, 1 5 
 
 1 look about ; and should the chosen guide 
 Be nothing better than a wandering cloud, 
 I cannot miss my way. I breathe again ! 
 Trances of thought and mountings of the mind 
 Come fast upon me : it is shaken on 2 , 20 
 That burthen of my own unnatural self, 
 
 The heavy weight of many a weary day 
 
 Not mine, and such as were not made for me. 
 
8 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Long months of peace (if such bold word 
 
 accord 
 With any promises of human life), 25 
 
 Long months of ease and undisturbed delight 
 Are mine in prospect; whither shall I turn,. 
 By road or pathway, or through trackless field, 
 Up hill or down, or shall some floating thing 
 Upon the river point me out my course ? 30 
 
 Dear Liberty ! Yet what would it avail 
 But for a gift that consecrates the joy ? 
 For I, methought, while the sweet breath of 
 
 heaven 
 Was blowing on my body, felt within 
 A correspondent breeze, that gently moved 35 
 With quickening virtue, but is now become 
 A tempest, a redundant energy, 
 .Vexing its own creation. Thanks to both, 
 And their congenial powers, that, while they 
 
 join 
 In breaking up a long- continued frost, 40 
 
 Bring with them vernal promises, the hope 
 Of active days urged on by flying hours, — 
 Days of sweet leisure, taxed with patient 
 
 thought 
 Abstruse, nor wanting punctual service high, 
 Matins and vespers of harmonious verse ! 45 
 
 Thus far, O Friend ! did I, not used to make 
 A present joy the matter of a song, 
 Pour forth that day my soul in measured 
 
 strains 
 That would not be forgotten, and are here 
 Recorded : to the open fields I told 50 
 
 A prophecy : poetic numbers came 
 Spontaneously to clothe in priestly robe 
 A renovated spirit singled out, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 Such hope was mine, for holy services. 
 My own voice cheered me, and, far more, the 
 mind's 55 
 
 Internal echo of the imperfect sound ; 
 To both I listened, drawing from them both 
 A cheerful confidence in things to come. 
 
 Content and not unwilling now to give 
 A respite to this passion, I paced on 60 
 
 With brisk and eager steps ; and came, at 
 
 length, 
 To a green shady place, where down I sate 
 Beneath a tree, slackening my thoughts by 
 
 choice, 
 And settling into gentler happiness. 
 'Twas autumn, and a clear and placid day, 65 
 With warmth, as much as needed, from a sun 
 Two hours declined towards the west ; a day 
 With silver clouds, and sunshine on the grass, 
 And in the sheltered and the sheltering grove 
 A perfect stillness. Many were the thoughts 
 Encouraged and dismissed, till choice was 
 
 made 7 1 
 
 Of a known Vale, whither my feet should 
 
 turn, 
 Nor rest till they had reached the very door 
 Of the one cottage which methought I saw. 
 No picture of mere memory ever looked 75 
 
 So fair ; and while upon the fancied scene 
 I gazed with growing love, a higher power 
 Than Fancy gave assurance of some work 
 Of glory there forthwith to be begun, 
 Perhaps too there performed. Thus long I 
 
 mused, 80 
 
 Nor e'er lost sight of what I mused upon, 
 Save when, amid the stately grove of oaks, 
 Now here, now there, an acorn, from its cup 
 
10 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Dislodged, through sere leaves rustled, or at 
 
 once 
 To the bare earth dropped with a startling 
 
 sound. 85 
 
 From that soft couch I rose not, till the sun 
 Had almost touched the horizon ; casting then 
 A backward glance upon the curling cloud 
 Of city smoke, by distance ruralised ; 
 Keen as a Truant or a Fugitive, 90 
 
 But as a Pilgrim resolute, I took, 
 Even with the chance equipment of that hour, 
 The road that pointed toward the chosen Yale. 
 It was a splendid evening, and my soul 
 Once more made trial of her strength, nor 
 
 lacked 95 
 
 jEolian visitations ; but the harp 
 Was soon defrauded, and the banded host 
 Of harmony dispersed in straggling sounds, 
 And lastly utter silence ! " Be it so ; 
 Why think of anything but present good ? " 100 
 So, like a home- bound labourer I pursued 
 My way beneath the mellowing sun, that shed 
 Mild influence ; nor left in me one wish 
 Again to bend the Sabbath of that time 104 
 To a servile yoke. What need of many words ? 
 A pleasant loitering journey, through three days 
 Continued, brought me to my hermitage. 
 I spare to tell of what ensued, the life 
 In common things — the endless store of things, 
 Rare, or at least so seeming, every day no 
 
 Found all about me in one neighbourhood — 
 The self-congratulation, and, from morn 
 To night, unbroken cheerfulness serene. 
 But speedily an earnest longing rose 
 To brace myself to some determined aim, 115 
 Reading or thinking ; either to lay up 
 New stores, or rescue from decay the old 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 By timely interference : and therewith 
 Came hopes still higher, that with outward life 
 I might endue some airy phantasies 120 
 
 That had been floating loose about for years, 
 And to such beings temperately deal forth 
 The many feelings that oppressed my heart. 
 That hope hath been discouraged ; welcome 
 
 light 
 Dawns from the east, but dawns to disappear 125 
 And mock me with a sky that ripens not 
 Into a steady morning : if my mind, 
 Remembering the bold promise of the past, 
 Would gladly grapple with some noble theme, 
 Vain is her wish ; where'er she turns she finds 
 Impediments from day to day renewed. 131 
 
 And now it would content me to yield up 
 Those lofty hopes awhile, for present gifts 
 Of humbler industry. But, oh, dear Friend ! 
 The Poet, gentle creature as he is, 135 
 
 Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times ; 
 His fits when he is neither sick nor well, 
 Though no distress be near him but his own 
 Unmanageable thoughts : his mind, best pleased 
 While she as duteous as the mother dove 140 
 Sits brooding, lives not always to that end, 
 But like the innocent bird, hath goadings on 
 That drive her as in trouble through the groves ; 
 With me is now such passion, to be blamed 
 No otherwise than as it lasts too long. 145 
 
 When, as becomes a man who would prepare 
 For such an arduous work, I through myself 
 Make rigorous inquisition, the report 
 Is often cheering ; for I neither seem 
 To lack that first great gift, the vital soul, 1 50 
 Nor general Truths, which are themselves a sort 
 
12 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of Elements and Agents, Under-powers, 
 Subordinate helpers of the living mind : 
 Nor am I naked of external things, 
 Forms, images, nor numerous other aids 155 
 Of less regard, though won perhaps with toil 
 And needful to build up a Poet's praise. 
 Time, place, and manners do I seek, and these 
 Are found in plenteous store, but nowhere such 
 As may be singled out with steady choice ; 160 
 No little band of yet remembered names 
 Whom I, in perfect confidence, might hope 
 To summon back from lonesome banishment, 
 And make them dwellers in the hearts of men 
 Now living, or to live in future years. 165 
 
 Sometimes the ambitious Power of choice, 
 
 mistaking 
 Proud spring-tide swellings for a regular sea, 
 Will settle on some British theme, some old 
 Romantic tale by Milton left unsung ; 
 More often turning to some gentle place 170 
 Within the groves of Chivalry, I pipe 
 To shepherd swains, or seated harp in hand, 
 Amid reposing knights by a river side 
 Or fountain, listen to the grave reports 
 Of dire enchantments faced and overcome 175 
 By the strong mind, and tales of warlike feats, 
 Where spear encountered spear, and sword with 
 
 sword 
 Fought, as if conscious of the blazonry 
 That the shield bore, so glorious was the strife ; 
 Whence inspiration for a song that winds 180 
 Through ever-changing scenes of votive quest 
 Wrongs to redress, harmonious tribute paid 
 To patient courage and unblemished truth, 
 To firm devotion, zeal unquenchable, 184 
 
 And Christian meekness hallo wing faithful loves. 
 Sometimes, more sternly moved, I would relate 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 How vanquished Mithridates northward passed, 
 And, hidden in the cloud of years, became 
 Odin, the Father of a race by whom 
 Perished the Roman Empire : how the friends 
 And followers of Sertorius, out of Spain 191 
 Flying, found shelter in the Fortunate Isles, 
 And left their usages, their arts and laws, 
 To disappear by a slow gradual death, 
 To dwindle and to perish one by one, 195 
 
 Starved in those narrow bounds : but not the 
 
 soul 
 Of Liberty, which fifteen hundred years 
 Survived, and, when the European came 
 With skill and power that might not be with- 
 stood, 
 Did, like a pestilence, maintain its hold 200 
 And wasted down by glorious death that race 
 Of natural heroes : or I would record 
 How, in tyrannic times, some high-souled man, 
 Unnamed among the chronicles of kings, 
 Suffered in silence for Truth's sake ; or tell, 205 
 How that one Frenchman, through continued 
 
 force 
 Of meditation on the inhuman deeds 
 Of those who conquered first the Indian Isles, 
 Went single in his ministry across 
 The Ocean ; not to comfort the oppressed, 210 
 But, like a thirsty wind, to roam about 
 Withering the Oppressor: how Gustavus sought 
 Help at his need in Dalecarlia's mines : 
 How Wallace fought for Scotland ; left the 
 
 name 
 Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower, 215 
 All over his dear Country ; left the deeds 
 Of Wallace, like a family of Ghosts, 
 To people the steep rocks and river banks, 
 Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul 
 
14 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Of independence and stern liberty. 22 ° 
 
 Sometimes it suits me better to invent 
 A tale from my own heart, more near akin 
 To my own passions and habitual thoughts ; 
 Some variegated story, in the main 
 Lofty, but the unsubstantial structure melts 225 
 Before the very sun that brightens it, 
 Mist into air dissolving ! Then a wish, 
 My last and favourite aspiration, mounts 
 With yearning toward some philosophic song 
 Of Truth that cherishes our daily life ; 230 
 
 With meditations passionate from deep 
 Recesses in man's heart, immortal verse 
 Thoughtfully fitted to the Orphean lyre ; 
 But from this awful burthen I full soon 
 Take refuge and beguile myself with trust 235 
 That mellower years will bring a riper mind 
 And clearer insight. Thus my days are past 
 In contradiction ; with no skill to part 
 Vague longing, haply bred by want of power, 
 From paramount impulse not to be withstood, 
 A timorous capacity from prudence, 241 
 
 From circumspection, infinite delay. 
 Humility and modest awe themselves 
 Betray me, serving often for a cloak 
 To a more subtle selfishness ; that now 245 
 Locks every function up in blank reserve, 
 Now dupes me, trusting to an anxious eye 
 That with intrusive restlessness beats off 
 Simplicity and self -presented truth. 
 Ah ! better far than this, to stray about 250 
 Voluptuously through fields and rural walks, 
 And ask no record of the hours, resigned 
 To vacant musing, unreproved neglect 
 Of all things, and deliberate holiday. 
 Far better never to have heard the name 255 
 Of zeal and just ambition, than to live 
 
CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME. 15 
 
 Baffled and plagued by a mind that every hour 
 Turns recreant to her task ; takes heart again, 
 Then feels immediately some hollow thought 
 Hang like an interdict upon her hopes. 260 
 
 This is my lot ; for either still I find 
 Some imperfection in the chosen theme, 
 Or see of absolute accomplishment 
 Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself, 
 That I recoil and droop, and seek repose 265 
 In listlessness from vain perplexity, 
 Unprofitably travelling toward the grave, 
 Like a false steward who hath much received 
 And renders nothing back. 
 
 Was it for this 
 That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved 270 
 To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song, 
 And, from his alder shades and rocky falls, 
 And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice 
 That flowed along my dreams ? For this, didst 
 
 thou, 
 O Derwent ! winding among grassy holms 275 
 Where I was looking on, a babe in arms, 
 Make ceaseless music that composed my 
 
 thoughts 
 To more than infant softness, giving me 
 Amid the fretful dwellings of mankind 
 A foretaste, a dim earnest, of the calm 280 
 
 That Nature breathes among the hills and 
 
 groves. 
 When he had left the mountains and received 
 On his smooth breast the shadow of those towers 
 That yet survive, a shattered monument 
 Of feudal sway, the bright blue river passed 285 
 Along the margin of our terrace walk ; 
 A tempting playmate whom we dearly loved. 
 Oh, many a time have I, a five years' child, 
 In a small mill-race severed from his stream, 
 
16 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Made one long bathing of a summer's day ; 290 
 Basked in the sun, and plunged and basked 
 
 again 
 Alternate, all a summer's day, or scoured 
 The sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves 
 Of yellow ragwort ; or when rock and hill, 
 The woods, and distant Skiddaw's lofty height, 
 Were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood 
 
 alone 296 
 
 Beneath the sky, as if I had been born 
 On Indian plains, and from my mother's hut 
 Had run abroad in wantonness, to sport 
 A naked savage, in the thunder shower. 300 
 
 Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up 
 Fostered alike by beauty and by fear : 
 Much favoured in my birth-place, and no less 
 In that beloved Vale to which erelong 304 
 
 We were transplanted — there were we let loose 
 For sports of wider range. Ere I had told 
 Ten birth-days, when among the mountain 
 
 slopes 
 Frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had 
 
 snapped 
 The last autumnal crocus, 'twas my joy 
 With store of springes o'er my shoulder hung 
 To range the open heights where woodcocks 
 
 run 311 
 
 Among the smooth green turf. Through half 
 
 the night, 
 Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied 
 That anxious visitation ; — moon and stars 
 Were shining o'er my head. I was alone, 315 
 And seemed to be a trouble to the peace 
 That dwelt among them. Sometimes it befell 
 In those night wanderings, that a strong desire 
 O'erpowered my better reason, and the bird 
 
CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME. 17 
 
 Which was the captive of another's toil 320 
 
 Became my prey ; and when the deed was done 
 
 I heard among the solitary hills 
 
 Low breathings coming after me, and sounds 
 
 Of undistinguishable motion, steps 
 
 Almost as silent as the turf they trod. 325 
 
 Nor less when spring had warmed the 
 
 cultured Vale, 
 Moved we as plunderers where the mother- bird 
 Had in high places built her lodge ; though 
 
 mean 
 Our object and inglorious, yet the end 
 Was not ignoble. Oh! when I have hung 330 
 Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass 
 And half -inch fissures in the slippery rock 
 But ill sustained, and almost (so it seemed) 
 Suspended by the blast that blew amain, 
 Shouldering the naked crag, oh, at that time 
 While on the perilous ridge I hung alone, 336 
 With what strange utterance did the loud dry 
 
 wind 
 Blow through my ear ! the sky seemed not a sky 
 Of earth — and with what motion moved the 
 
 clouds ! 
 
 Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows 340 K 
 
 Like harmony in music ; there is a dark 
 Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles 
 Discordant elements, makes them cling together 
 In one society. How strange that all 
 The terrors, pains, and early miseries, 345 
 
 Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused 
 Within my mind, should e'er have borne a part. 
 And that a needful part, in making up 
 The calm existence that is mine when I 
 Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end ! 350 
 
 VII. c 
 
18 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Thanks to the means which Nature deigned to 
 
 employ ; 
 Whether her fearless visitings, or those 
 That came with soft alarm, like hurtless light 
 Opening the peaceful clouds ; or she may use 
 Severer interventions, ministry 355 
 
 More palpable, as best might suit her aim. 
 
 One summer evening (led by her) I found 
 A little boat tied to a willow tree 
 Within a rocky cave, its usual home. 359 
 
 Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in 
 Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth 
 And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice 
 Of mountain -echoes did my boat move on ; 
 Leaving behind her still, on either side, 
 Small circles glittering idly in the moon, 365 
 Until they melted all into one track 
 Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows, 
 Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point 
 With an unswerving line, I fixed my view 
 Upon the summit of a craggy ridge, 370 
 
 The horizon's utmost boundary; far above 
 Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky. 
 She was an elfin pinnace ; lustily 
 I dipped my oars into the silent Take> 
 And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat 375 
 Went heaving through the water like a swan ; 
 When, from behind that craggy steep till then 
 The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and 
 
 huge, 
 As if with voluntary power instinct 
 Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, 
 And growing still in stature the grim shape 381 
 Towered up between me and the stars, and still, 
 For so it seemed, with purpose of its own 
 And measured motion like a living thing, 
 
CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME. 19 
 
 Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned, 
 And through the silent water stole my way 386 
 Back to the covert of the willow tree ; 
 There in her mooring-place I left my bark, — 
 And through the meadows homeward went, in 
 
 grave 
 And serious mood ; but after I had seen 390 
 That spectacle, for many days, my brain 
 Worked with a dim and undetermined sense 
 Of unknown modes of being ; o'er my thoughts 
 There hung a darkness, call it solitude 
 Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes 395 
 Remained, no pleasant images of trees, 
 Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields ; 
 But huge and mighty forms, that do not live 
 Like living men, moved slowly through the mind 
 By day, and were a trouble to my dreams. 400 
 
 r Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! 
 Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought, 
 That givest to forms and images a breath 
 And everlasting motion, not in vain 404 
 
 By day or star-light thus from my first dawn 
 Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me 
 The passions that build up our human soul ; 
 Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, 
 But with high objects, with enduring things — 
 With life and nature — purifying thus 410 
 
 The elements of feeling and of thought, 
 And sanctifying, by such discipline, 
 Both pain and fear, until we recognise 
 A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 
 Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 415 
 With stinted kindness. In November days, 
 When vapours rolling down the valley made 
 A lonely scene more lonesome, among woods, 
 At noon and 'mid the calm of summer nights, 
 
20 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 When, by the margin of the trembling lake, 420 
 Beneath the gloomy hills homeward I went 
 In solitude, such intercourse was mine ; 
 Mine was it in the fields both day and night, 
 And by the waters, all the summer long. 
 
 And in the frosty season, when the sun 425 
 Was set, and visible for many a mile 
 The cottage windows blazed through twilight 
 
 gloom, 
 I heeded not their summons : happy time 
 It was indeed for all of us — for me 
 It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud 430 
 The village clock tolled six, — I wheeled about, 
 Proud and exulting like an untired horse 
 That cares not for his home. All shod with 
 
 steel, 
 We hissed along the polished ice in games 
 Confederate, imitative of the chase 435 
 
 And woodland pleasures, — the resounding horn, 
 The pack loud chiming, and the hunted hare. 
 So through the darkness and the cold we flew, 
 And not a voice was idle ; with the din 
 Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ; 440 
 
 The leafless trees and every icy crag 
 Tinkled like iron ; while far distant hills 
 Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
 Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars 
 Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west 
 The orange sky of evening died away. 446 
 
 Not seldom from the uproar I retired 
 Into a silent bay, or sportively 
 G-lanced side way, leaving the tumultuous throng, 
 To cut across the reflex of a star 450 
 
 That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed 
 Upon the glassy plain ; and oftentimes, 
 When we had given our bodies to the wind, 
 
CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME. 21 
 
 And all the shadowy banks on either side 
 Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning 
 still 455 
 
 The rapid line of motion, then at once 
 Have I, reclining back upon my heels, 
 Stopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs 
 Wheeled by me — even as if the earth had rolled 
 With visible motion her diurnal round ! 460 
 Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, 
 Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched 
 Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep. 
 
 Ye Presences of Nature in the sky 
 And on the earth ! ye Visions of the hills ! 465 
 And Souls of lonely places ! can I think 
 A vulgar hope was yours when ye employed 
 Such ministry, when ye through many a year 
 Haunting me thus among my boyish sports, 
 On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills, 
 Impressed upon all forms the characters 471 
 Of danger or desire ; and thus did make 
 The surface of the universal earth 
 With triumph and delight, with hope and fear, 
 Work like a sea ? 
 
 Not uselessly employed, 475 
 Might I pursue this theme through every change 
 Of exercise and play, to which the year 
 Did summon us in his delightful round. 
 
 We were a noisy crew ; the sun in heaven 
 Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours ; 480 
 Nor saw a band in happiness and joy 
 Richer, or worthier of the ground they trod. 
 I could record with no reluctant voice 
 The woods of autumn, and their hazel bowers 
 With milk-white clusters hung ; the rod and 
 line, 4 8 5 
 
22 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 True symbol of hope's foolishness, whose strong 
 And unreproved enchantment led us on 
 By rocks and pools shut out from every star, 
 All the green summer, to forlorn cascades 
 Among the windings hid of mountain brooks. 
 — Unfading recollections ! at this hour 491 
 The heart is almost mine with which I felt, 
 From some hill-top on sunny afternoons, 
 The paper kite high among fleecy clouds 
 Pull at her rein like an impetuous courser ; 495 
 Or, from the meadows sent on gusty days, 
 Beheld her breast the wind, then suddenly 
 Dashed headlong, and rejected by the storm. 
 
 Ye lowly cottages wherein we dwelt, 
 A ministration of your own was yours ; 500 
 Can I forget you, being as you were 
 So beautiful among the pleasant fields 
 In which ye stood ? or can I here forget 
 The plain and seemly countenance with which 
 Ye dealt out your plain comforts ? Yet had ye 
 Delights and exultations of your own. 506 
 
 Eager and never weary we pursued 
 Our home-amusements by the warm peat-fire 
 At evening, when with pencil, and smooth slate 
 In square divisions parcelled out and all 510 
 With crosses and with cyphers scribbled o'er, 
 We schemed and puzzled, head opposed to head 
 In strife too humble to be named in verse : 
 Or round the naked table, snow-white deal, 
 Cherry or maple, sate in close array, 5 1 5 
 
 And to the combat, Loo or Whist, led on 
 A thick-ribbed army ; not, as in the world, 
 Neglected and ungratefully thrown by 
 Even for the very service they had wrought, 
 But husbanded through many a long campaign. 
 Uncouth assemblage was it, where no few 521 
 
CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME. 23 
 
 Had changed their functions ; some, plebeian 
 
 cards 
 Which Fate, beyond the promise of their birth, 
 Had dignified, and called to represent 
 The persons of departed potentates. 525 
 
 Oh, with what echoes on the board they fell ! 
 Ironic diamonds, — clubs, hearts, diamonds, 
 
 spades, 
 A congregation piteously akin ! 
 Cheap matter offered they to boyish wit, 
 Those sooty knaves, precipitated down 530 
 
 With scoffs and taunts, like Yulcan out of 
 
 heaven : 
 The paramount ace, a moon in her eclipse, 
 Queens gleaming through their splendour's last 
 
 decay, 
 And monarchs surly at the wrongs sustained 
 By royal visages. Meanwhile abroad 535 
 
 Incessant rain was falling, or the frost 
 Eaged bitterly, with keen and silent tooth ; 
 And, interrupting oft that eager game, 
 From under Esthwaite's splitting fields of ice 
 The pent-up air, struggling to free itself, 540 
 Gave out to meadow grounds and hills a loud 
 Protracted yelling, like the noise of wolves 
 Howling in troops along the Bothuic Main. 
 
 Nor, sedulous as I have been to trace 
 How Nature by extrinsic passion first 545 
 
 Peopled the mind with forms sublime or fair, 
 And made me love them, may I here omit 
 How other pleasures have been mine, and joys 
 Of subtler origin ; how I have felt, 
 Not seldom even in that tempestuous time, 550 
 Those hallowed and pure motions of the sense 
 Which seem, in their simplicity, to own 
 An intellectual charm ; that calm delight 
 
24 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Which, if I err not, surely must belong 
 
 To those first-born affinities that fit 555 
 
 Our new existence to existing things, 
 
 And, in our dawn of being, constitute 
 
 The bond of union between life and joy. 
 
 Yes, I remember when the changeful earth, 
 And twice five summers on my mind had 
 stamped 560 
 
 The faces of the moving year, even then 
 ^I_held unconscious, intercourse with beauty 
 Old as creation, drinking in a pure 
 Organic pleasure from the silver wreaths 
 Of curling mist, or from the level plain 565 
 Of waters coloured by impending clouds. 
 
 The sands of Westmoreland, the creeks and 
 
 bays 
 Of Cumbria's rocky limits, they can tell 
 How, when the/f3ea\threw off his evening shade, 
 And to the shepherd's hut on distant hills 570 
 Sent welcome notice of the rising moon, 
 How I have stood, to fancies such as these 
 A stranger, linking with the spectacle 
 No conscious memory of a kindred sight, 
 And bringing with me no peculiar sense 575 
 Of quietness or peace ; yet have I stood, 
 Even while mine eye hath moved o'er many a 
 
 league 
 Of shining water, gathering as it seemed 
 Through every hair-breadth in that field of light 
 New pleasure like a bee among the flowers. 580 
 
 Thus oft amid those fits of vulgar joy 
 Which, through all seasons, on a child's pursuits 
 Are prompt attendants, 'mid that giddy bliss 
 
CHILDHOOD AND SCHOOL-TIME, 25 
 
 Which, like a tempest, works along the blood 
 And is forgotten ; even then I felt 585 
 
 Gleams like the flashing of a shield ; — the earth 
 And common face of Nature spake to me 
 Rememberable things ; sometimes, 'tis true, 
 "Bychance collisions and quaint accidents 
 (Like those ill-sorted unions, work supposed 590 
 Of evil-minded fairies), vet not vain 
 Norjprofitless, if haply they impressed 
 Collateral objects and appearances, 
 Albeit lifeless then, and doomed to sleep 
 Until maturer seasons called them forth 595 
 To impregnate and to elevate the mind. 
 — And if the vulgar joy by its own weight 
 Wearied itself out of the memory, 
 The scenes which were a witness of that joy 
 Remained in their substantial lineaments 600 
 Depicted on the brain, and to the eye 
 Were visible, a daily sight ; and thus 
 By the impressive discipline of fear, 
 By pleasure and repeated happiness, 
 So frequently repeated, and by force 605 
 
 Of obscure feelings representative 
 Of things forgotten, these same scenes so bright, 
 So beautiful, so majestic in themselves, 
 Though yet the day was distant, did become 
 Habitually dear, and all their forms 610 
 
 And changeful colours by invisible links 
 Were fastened to the affections. 
 
 I began 
 My story early — not misled, I trust, 
 By an infirmity of love for days 614 
 
 Disowned by memory — ere the breath of spring 
 Planting my snowdrops among winter snows : 
 Nor will it seem to thee, Friend ! so prompt 
 In sympathy, that I have lengthened out 
 With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale. 
 
26 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Meanwhile, my hope has been, that I might 
 fetch 620 
 
 Invigorating thoughts from former years ; 
 Might fix the wavering balance of my mind, 
 And haply meet reproaches too, whose power 
 May spur me on, in manhood now mature, 
 To honourable toil. Yet should these hopes 625 
 Prove vain, and thus should neither I be taught 
 To understand myself, nor thou to know 
 With better knowledge how the heart was 
 
 framed 
 Of him thou lovest ; need I dread from thee 
 Harsh judgments, if the song be loth to quit 630 
 Those recollected hours that have the charm 
 Of visionary things, those lovely forms 
 And sweet sensations that throw back our life, 
 And almost make remotest infancy 
 A visible scene, on which the sun is shining? 635 
 
 One end at least hath been attained ; my mind 
 Hath been revived, and if this genial mood 
 Desert me not, forthwith shall be brought down 
 Through later years the story of my life. 
 The road lies plain before me ; — 'tis a theme 640 
 Single and of determined bounds ; and hence 
 I choose it rather at this time, than work 
 Of ampler or more varied argument, 
 Where I might be discomfited and lost : 
 And certain hopes are with me, that to thee 645 
 This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend ! 
 
BOOK SECOND. 
 
 SCHOOL-TIME.— (Continued.) 
 
 Thus far, O Friend ! have we, though leaving 
 
 much 
 Unvisited, endeavoured to retrace 
 The simple ways in which my childhood walked ; 
 Those chiefly that first led me to the love 
 Of rivers, woods, and fields. The passion yet 5 
 Was in its birth, sustained as might befall 
 By nourishment that came unsought ; for still 
 From week to week, from month to month, we 
 
 lived 
 A round of tumult. Duly were our games 9 
 Prolonged in summer till the day-light failed : 
 No chair remained before the doors ; the bench 
 And threshold steps were empty ; fast asleep 
 The labourer, and the old man who had sate 
 A later lingerer ; yet the revelry 
 Continued and the loud uproar : at last, 15 
 When all the ground was dark, and twinkling 
 
 stars 
 Edged the black clouds, home and to bed we 
 
 went, 
 Feverish with weary joints and beating minds. 
 Ah ! is there one who ever has been young, 
 Nor needs a warning voice to tame the pride 20 
 Of intellect and virtue's self-esteem ? 
 One is there, though the wisest and the best 
 
28 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Of all mankind, who covets not at times 
 Union that cannot be ; — who would not give, 
 If so he might, to duty and to truth 25 
 
 The eagerness of infantine desire ? 
 A tranquillising spirit presses now 
 On my corporeal frame, so wide appears 
 The vacancy between me and those days 29 
 Which yet have such self- presence in my mind, 
 That, musing on them, often do I seem 
 Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself 
 And of some other Being. A rude mass 
 Of native rock, left midway in the square 
 Of our small market village, was the goal 35 
 Or centre of these sports ; and when, returned 
 After long absence, thither I repaired, 
 G-one was the old grey stone, and in its place 
 A smart Assembly-room usurped the ground 
 That had been ours. There let the fiddle 
 
 scream, 40 
 
 And be ye happy ! Yet, my Friends ! I know 
 That more than one of you will think with me 
 Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame 
 From whom the stone was named, who there 
 
 had sate, 44 
 
 And watched her table with its huckster's wares 
 Assiduous, through the length of sixty years. 
 
 We ran a boisterous course ; the year span 
 round 
 With giddy motion. But the time approached 
 That brought with it a regular desire 49 
 
 For calmer pleasures, when the winning forms 
 Of Nature were collaterally attached 
 To every scheme of holiday delight 
 And every boyish sport, less grateful else 
 And languidly pursued. 
 
 When summer came, 
 
SCHOOL-TIME. 29 
 
 Our pastime was, on bright half -holidays, 55 
 
 To sweep along the plain of Windermere 
 
 With rival oars ; and the selected bourne 
 
 Was now an Island musical with birds 
 
 That sang and ceased not ; now a Sister Isle 
 
 Beneath the oaks' umbrageous covert, sown 60 
 
 With lilies of the valley like a field ; 
 
 And now a third small Island, where survived 
 
 In solitude the ruins of a shrine 
 
 Once to Our Lady dedicate, and served 
 
 Daily with chaunted rites. In such a race 65 
 
 So ended, disappointment could be none, 
 
 Uneasiness, or pain, or jealousy : 
 
 We rested in the shade, all pleased alike, 
 
 Conquered and conqueror. Thus the pride of 
 
 strength, 
 And the vain-glory of superior skill, 70 
 
 Were tempered ; thus was gradually produced 
 A quiet independence of the heart ; 
 And to my Friend who knows me I may add, 
 Fearless of blame, that hence for future days 
 Ensued a diffidence and modesty, 75 
 
 And I was taught to feel, perhaps too much, 
 The self-sufficing power of Solitude. 
 
 Our daily meals were frugal, Sabine fare ! 
 More than we wished we knew the blessing then 
 Of vigorous hunger — hence corporeal strength 
 Unsapped by delicate viands ; for, exclude 8 1 
 A little weekly stipend, and we lived 
 Through three divisions of the quartered year 
 In penniless poverty. But now to school 
 From the half-yearly holidays returned, 85 
 
 We came with weightier purses, that sufficed 
 To furnish treats more costly than the Dame 
 Of the old grey stone, from her scant board, 
 supplied. 
 
30 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Hence rustic dinners on the cool green ground, 
 Or in the woods, or by a river side 90 
 
 Or shady fountains, while among the leaves 
 Soft airs were stirring, and the mid-day sun 
 Unfelt shone brightly round us in our joy. 
 Nor is my aim neglected if I tell 
 How sometimes, in the length of those half- 
 years, 95 
 We from our funds drew largely ; — proud to 
 
 curb, 
 And eager to spur on, the galloping steed ; 
 And with the courteous inn-keeper, whose stud 
 Supplied our want, we haply might employ 
 Sly subterfuge, if the adventure's bound 100 
 Were distant: some famed temple where of 
 
 yore 
 The Druids worshipped, or the antique walls 
 Of that large abbey, where within the Vale 
 Of Nightshade, to St. Mary's honour built, 
 Stands yet a mouldering pile with fractured 
 arch, 105 
 
 Belfry, and images, and living trees ; 
 A holy scene ! — Along the smooth green turf 
 Our horses grazed. To more than inland peace, 
 Left by the west wind sweeping overhead 
 From a tumultuous ocean, trees and towers no 
 In that sequestered valley may be seen, 
 Both silent and both motionless alike ; 
 Such the deep shelter that is there, and such 
 The safeguard for repose and quietness. 
 
 Our steeds remounted and the summons 
 given, 115 
 
 With whip and spur we through the chauntry 
 flew 
 
 In uncouth race, and left the cross-legged 
 knight, 
 
SCHOOL-TIME. 31 
 
 And the stone-abbot, and that single wren 
 Which one day sang so sweetly in the nave 
 Of the old church, that — though from recent 
 
 showers 120 
 
 The earth was comfortless, and, touched by 
 
 faint 
 Internal breezes, sobbings of the place 
 And respirations, from the roofless walls 
 The shuddering ivy dripped large drops — yet 
 
 still 
 So sweetly 'mid the gloom the invisible bird 125 
 Sang to herself, that there I could have made 
 My dwelling-place, and lived for ever there 
 To hear such music. Through the walls we 
 
 flew 
 And down the valley, and, a circuit made 
 In wantonness of heart, through rough and 
 
 smooth 130 
 
 We scampered homewards. Oh, ye rocks and 
 
 stream Sj 
 And that still spirit shed from evening air ! 
 Even in this joyous time I sometimes felt 
 Your presence, when with slackened step we 
 
 breathed 
 Along the sides of the steep hills, or when 135 
 Lighted by gleams of moonlight from the sea 
 We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand. 
 
 Midway on long Winander's eastern shore, 
 Within the crescent of a pleasant bay, 
 A tavern stood ; no homely-featured house, 140 
 Primeval like its neighbouring cottages, 
 But 'twas a splendid place, the door beset 
 With chaises, grooms, and liveries, and within 
 Decanters, glasses, and the blood-red wine. 
 In ancient times, and ere the Hall was built 14.5 
 On the large island, had this dwelling been 
 
32 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 More worthy of a poet's love, a hut, 
 
 Proud of its own bright fire and sycamore 
 
 shade. 
 But— though the rhymes were gone that once 
 
 inscribed 
 The threshold, and large golden characters, 150 
 Spread o'er the spangled sign-board, had dis- 
 lodged 
 The old Lion and usurped his place, in slight 
 And mockery of the rustic painter's hand — . 
 Yet, to this hour, the spot to me is dear 
 With all its foolish pomp. The garden lay 155 
 Upon a slope surmounted by a plain 
 Of a small bowling-green ; beneath us stood 
 A grove, with gleams of water through the 
 
 trees 
 And over the tree-tops ; nor did we want 
 Refreshment, strawberries and mellow cream. 
 There, while through half an afternoon we 
 played 161 
 
 On the smooth platform, whether skill pre- 
 vailed 
 Or happy blunder triumphed, bursts of glee 
 Made all the mountains ring. But, ere night- 
 fall, 
 When in our pinnace we returned at leisure 165 
 Over the shadowy lake, and to the beach 
 Of some small island steered our course with 
 
 one, 
 The Minstrel of the Troop, and left him there, 
 And rowed off gently, while he blew his flute 
 Alone upon the rock — oh, then, the calm 170 
 And dead still water lay upon my mind 
 Even with a weight of pleasure, and the sky, 
 Never before so beautiful, sank down 
 Into my heart, and held me like a dream ! 
 Thus were my sympathies enlarged, and thus 
 
SCHOOL-TIME. 33 
 
 Daily *the common range of visible things 176 
 Grew dear to me : already I began 
 To love the sun ; a boy I loved the sun, 
 Not as I since have loved him, as a pledge 
 And surety of our earthly life, a light 180 
 
 Which we behold and feel we are alive ; 
 Nor for his bounty to so many worlds — 
 But for this cause, that I had seen him lay 
 Bis beauty on the morning hills, had seen 
 The western mountain touch his setting orb, 185 
 In many a thoughtless hour, when, from excess 
 Of happiness, my blood appeared to flow 
 For its own pleasure, and I breathed with joy. 
 And, from like feelings, humble though intense, 
 To patriotic and domestic love 190 
 
 Analogous, the moon to me was dear ; 
 For I could dream away my purposes, 
 Standing to gaze upon her while she hung 
 Midway between the hills, as if she knew 
 No other region, but belonged to thee, 195 
 
 Yea, appertained by a peculiar right 
 To thee and thy grey huts, thou one dear Yalejx 
 
 Those incidental charms which first attached 
 My heart to rural objects, day by day 
 Grew weaker, and I hasten on to tell 200 
 
 How Nature, intervenient till this time 
 And secondary, now at length was sought 
 For her own sake. But who shall parcel out 
 His intellect by geometric rules, 
 Split like a province into round and square? 205 
 Who knows the individual hour in which 
 His habits were first sown, even as a seed? 
 Who that shall point as with a wand and say 
 " This portion of the river of my mind 
 Came from yon fountain ? " Thou, my Friend ! 
 art one 210 
 
 VII. D 
 
34 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 More deeply read in thy own thoughts ; to thee 
 
 Science appears but what in truth she is, 
 
 Not as our glory and our absolute boast, 
 
 But as a succedaneum, and a prop 
 
 To our infirmity. No officious slave 215 
 
 Art thou of that false secondary power 
 
 By which we multiply distinctions, then 
 
 Deem that our puny boundaries are things 
 
 That we perceive, and not that we have made. 
 
 To thee, unblinded by these formal arts, 220 
 
 The unity of all hath been revealed, 
 
 And thou wilt doubt, with me less aptly skilled 
 
 Than many are to range the faculties 
 
 In scale and order, class the cabinet 
 
 Of their sensations, and in voluble phrase 225 
 
 Run through the history and birth of each 
 
 As of a single independent thing. 
 
 Hard task, vain hope, to analyse the mind, 
 
 If each most obvious and particular thought, 
 
 Not in a mystical and idle sense, 230 
 
 But in the words of Reason deeply weighed, 
 
 Hath no beginning. 
 
 Blest the infant Babe, 
 (For with my best conjecture I would trace 
 Our Being's earthly progress,) blest the Babe, 
 Nursed in his Mother's arms, who sinks to 
 
 sleep, 235 
 
 Rocked on his Mother's breast ! who with his 
 
 soul 
 Drinks in the feelings of his Mother's eye ! 
 For him, in one dear Presence, there exists 
 A virtue which irradiates and exalts 
 Objects through widest intercourse of sense. 240 
 No outcast he, bewildered and depressed : 
 Along his infant veins are interfused 
 The gravitation and the filial bond 
 Of nature that connect him with the world. 
 
SCHOOL-TIME. 35 
 
 Is there a flower, to which he points with hand 
 
 Too weak to gather it, already love 246 
 
 Drawn from love's purest earthly fount for him 
 
 Hath beautified that flower ; already shades 
 
 Of pity cast from inward tenderness 
 
 Do fall around him upon aught that bears 250 
 
 Unsightly marks of violence or harm. 
 
 Emphatically such a Being lives, 
 
 Frail creature as he is, helpless as frail, 
 
 An inmate of this active universe : 
 
 For feeling has to him imparted power 255 
 
 That through the growing faculties of sense 
 
 Doth like an agent of the one great Mind 
 
 Create, creator and receiver both, 
 
 Working but in alliance with the works 
 
 Which it beholds. — Such, verily, is the first 260 
 
 Poetic spirit of our human life, 
 
 By uniform control of after years, 
 
 In most, abated or suppressed ; in some, 
 
 Through every change of growth and of decay, 
 
 Pre-eminent till death. 
 
 From early days, 265 
 Beginning not long after that first time 
 In which, a Babe, by intercourse of touch 
 I held mute dialogues with my Mother's heart, 
 I have endeavoured to display the means 
 Whereby this infant sensibility, 270 
 
 Great birthright of our being, was in me 
 Augmented and sustained. Yet is a path 
 More difficult before me ; and I fear 
 That in its broken windings we shall need 
 The chamois' sinews, and the eagle's wing: 275 
 For now a trouble came into my mind 
 From unknown causes. I was left alone 
 Seeking the visible world, nor knowing why. 
 The props of my affections were removed, 
 And yet the building stood, as if sustained 280 
 
36 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 By its own spirit ! All that I beheld 
 
 Was dear, and hence to finer influxes 
 
 The mind lay open, to a more exact 
 
 And close communion. Many are our joys 
 
 In youth, but oh ! what happiness to live 285 
 
 When every hour brings palpable access 
 
 Of knowledge, when all knowledge is delight, 
 
 And sorrow is not there! The seasons came, 
 
 And every season wheresoe'er I moved 
 
 Unfolded transitory qualities, 290 
 
 Which, but for this most watchful power of 
 
 love, 
 Had been neglected ; left a register 
 Of permanent relations, else unknown. 
 Hence life, and change, and beauty, solitude 
 More active even than " best society" — 295 
 Society made sweet as solitude 
 By silent inobtrusive sympathies, 
 And gentle agitations of the mind 
 From manifold distinctions, difference 
 Perceived in things, where, to the unwatchful 
 
 eye, 300 
 
 No difference is, and hence, from the same 
 
 source, 
 Sublimer joy ; for I would walk alone, 
 Under the quiet stars, ancLat that time 
 Have felt whate'er there is of power in sound 
 To breathe an elevated mood, by form 305 
 
 Or image unprofaned ; and I would stand, 
 If the night blackened with a coming storm, 
 Beneath some rock, listening to notes that are 
 The ghostly language of the ancient earth, 
 Or make their dim abode in distant winds. 31c 
 Thence did I drink the visionary power ; 
 And deem not profitless those fleeting moods 
 Of shadowy exultation : not for this, 
 That they are kindred to our purer mind 
 
SCHOOL-TIME. 37 
 
 And intellectual life ; but that the soul, 315 
 Remembering how she felt, but what she felt 
 Remembering not, retains an obscure sense 
 Of possible sublimity, whereto 
 With growing faculties she doth aspire, 
 With faculties still growing, feeling still 320 
 That whatsoever point they gain, they yet 
 Have something to pursue. 
 
 And not alone, 
 'Mid gloom and tumult, but no less 'mid fair 
 And tranquil scenes, that universal power 
 And fitness in the latent qualities 325 
 
 And essences of things, by which the mind 
 Is moved with feelings of delight, to me 
 Came strengthened with a superadded soul, 
 A virtue not its own. My morning walks 
 Were early ; — oft before the hours of school 330 
 I travelled round our little lake, five miles 
 Of pleasant wandering. Happy time! more dear 
 For this, that one was by my side, a Friend, 
 Then passionately loved ; with heart how full 
 Would he peruse these lines ! For many years 335 
 Have since flowed in between us, and, our minds 
 Both silent to each other, at this time 
 We live as if those hours had never been. 
 Nor seldom did I lift our cottage latch 
 Far earlier, ere one smoke-wreath had risen 340 
 Froin human dwelling, or the vernal thrush 
 Was audible ; and sate among the woods 
 Alone upon some jutting eminence, 
 At the first gleam of dawn-light, when the Vale, 
 Yet slumbering, lay in utter solitude. 345 
 
 How shall I seek the origin ? where find 
 "Faith in the marvellous things which then I felt ? 
 Oft in these moments such a holy calm 
 Would overspread my soul, that bodily eyes 
 Were utterly forgotten, and what I saw 350 
 
38 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Appeared like something in myself, a dream ; 
 A prospect in the mind. 
 
 'Twere long to tell 
 What spring and antumn, what the winter 
 
 snows, 
 And what the summer shade, what day and 
 
 night, 
 Evening and morning, sleep and waking, 
 
 thought 355 
 
 From sources inexhaustible, poured forth 
 To feed the spirit of religious love 
 In which I walked with Nature. But let this 
 Be not forgotten, that I still retained 
 My first creative sensibility ; 360 
 
 That by the regular action of the world 
 My soul was unsubdued. A plastic power 
 Abode with me ; a forming hand, at times 
 Rebellious, acting in a devious mood; 
 A local spirit of his own, at war 365 
 
 With general tendency, but, for the most, 
 Subservient strictly to external things 
 With which it communed. An auxiliar light 
 Came from my mind, which on the setting sun 
 Bestowed new splendour ; the melodious 
 
 birds, 370 
 
 The fluttering breezes, fountains that run on 
 Murmuring so sweetly in themselves, obeyed 
 A light dominion, and the midnight storm 
 Grew darker in the presence of my eye : 
 Hence my obeisance, my devotion hence, 373 
 And hence my transport. 
 
 Nor should this, perchance, 
 Pass unrecorded, that I still had loved 
 The exercise and produce of a toil, 
 Than analytic industry to me 
 More pleasing, and whose character I deem 380 
 Is more poetic as resembling more 
 
SCHOOL-TIME. 39 
 
 Creative agency. The song would speak 
 
 Of that interminable building reared 
 
 By observation of affinities 
 
 In objects where no brotherhood exists 385 
 
 To passive minds. My seventeenth year was 
 
 come ; 
 And, whether from this habit rooted now 
 So deeply in my mind, or from excess 
 In the great social principle of life 
 Coercing all things into sympathy, 390 
 
 To unorganic natures were transferred 
 My own enjoyments ; or the power of truth 
 Coming in revelation, did converse 
 With things that really are ; I, at this time, 
 Sawjblessings spread around me like a sea* 395 
 Thus while the days flew by, and years passed on, 
 From Nature and her overflowing soul, 
 1 had received so much, that all my thoughts 
 Were steeped in feeling ; I was only then 
 Contented, when with bliss ineffable 400 
 
 I felt the sentiment of Being spread 
 O'er all that moves and all that seemeth still ; 
 O'er all that, lost beyond the reach of thought 
 And human knowledge, to the human eye 
 Invisible, yet liveth to the heart ; 405 
 
 O'er all that leaps and runs, and shouts and 
 
 sings, 
 Or beats the gladsome air ; o'er all that glides 
 Beneath the wave, yea, in the wave itself, 
 And mighty depth of waters. Wonder not 
 If high the transport, great the joy I felt 410 
 Communing in this sort through earth and 
 
 heaven 
 With every form of creature, as it looked 
 Towards the Uncreated with a countenance 
 Of adoration, with an eye of love. 
 One song they sang, and it was audible, 415 
 
40 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Most audible, then, when the fleshly ear, 
 O'ercome by humblest prelude of that strain, 
 Forgot her functions, and slept undisturbed. 
 
 If this be error, and another faith 
 Find easier access to the pious mind, 420 
 
 Yet were I grossly destitute of all 
 Those human sentiments that make this earth 
 So dear, if I should fail with grateful voice 
 To speak of you, ye mountains, and_ye lakes 
 And sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds 425 
 That dwell among the hills where I was born. 
 If in my youth I have been pure in heart, 
 If, mingling with the world, I am content 
 With my own modest pleasures, anil have lived 
 With Grod and Nature communing, removed 430 
 iFrom little enmities and low desires, 
 The gift is yours ; if in these times of fear, 
 This melancholy waste of hopes o'erthrown, 
 If, 'mid indifference and apathy, 
 And wicked exultation when good men 435 
 On every side fall off, we know not how, 
 To selfishness, disguised in gentle names 
 Of peace and quiet and domestic love, 
 Yet mingled not unwillingly with sneers 
 On visionary minds ; if, in this time 440 
 
 Of dereliction and dismay, I yet 
 Despair not of our nature, but retain 
 A more than Roman confidence, a faith 
 That fails not, in all sorrow my support, 
 The blessing of my life ; the gift is yours, 445 
 Ye winds and sounding cataracts ! ' tis yours, 
 Ye mountains ! thine, O Nature ! Thou hast 
 
 fed 
 My lofty speculations ; and in thee, 
 For this uneasy heart of ours, I find 
 A never-failing principle of joy 45° 
 
SCHOOL-TIME. 41 
 
 And purest passion. 
 
 Thou, my Friend ! wert reared 
 In the great city, 'mid far other scenes ; 
 But we, by different roads, at length have 
 
 gained 
 The self- same bourne. And for this cause to 
 
 thee 
 I speak, unapprehensive of contempt, 455 
 
 The insinuated scoff of coward tongues, 
 And all that silent language which so oft 
 In conversation between man and man 
 Blots from the human countenance all trace 
 Of beauty and of love. For thou hast sought 460 
 The truth in solitude, and, since the days 
 That gave thee liberty, full long desired, 
 Tojserve in Nature's temple, thou hast been 
 Tlie most assiduous of her ministers ; 
 In many things my brother, chiefly here 465 
 In this our deep devotion. 
 
 Fare thee well ! 
 Health and the quiet of a healthful mind 
 Attend thee ! seeking oft the haunts of men, 
 And yet more often living with thyself, 
 And for thyself, so haply shall thy days 470 
 Be many, and a blessing to mankind. 
 
BOOK THIRD. 
 
 RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 It was a dreary morning when the wheels 
 Rolled over a wide plain o'erhung with clouds, 
 And nothing cheered our way till first we saw 
 The long-roofed chapel of King's College lift 
 Turrets and pinnacles in answering files, 5 
 
 Extended high above a dusky grove. 
 
 Advancing, we espied upon the road 
 A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap, 
 Striding along as if o'ertasked by Time, 
 Or covetous of exercise and air ; 10 
 
 He passed — nor was I master of my eyes 
 Till he was left an arrow's flight behind. 
 As near and nearer to the spot we drew, 
 It seemed to suck us in with an eddy's force. 
 Onward we drove beneath the Castle ; caught 1 5 
 While crossing Magdalene Bridge, a glimpse of 
 
 Cam ; 
 .And at the Hoop alighted, famous Inn. 
 
 My spirit was up, my thoughts were full of 
 
 hope; 
 Some friends I had, acquaintances who there 
 Seemed friends, poor simple school-boys, now 
 
 hung round 20 
 
 With honour and importance : in a world 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 43 
 
 Of welcome faces up and down I roved ; 
 Questions, directions, warnings and advice, 
 Flowed in upon me, from all sides ; fresh day 
 Of pride and pleasure ! to myself I seemed 25 
 A man of business and expense, and went 
 From shop to shop about my own affairs, 
 To Tutor or to Tailor, as befell 
 From street to street with loose and careless 
 mind. 
 
 I was the Dreamer, they the Dream ; I 
 roamed 30 
 
 Delighted through the motley spectacle ; 
 Gowns grave, or gaudy, doctors, students, 
 
 streets, 
 Courts, cloisters, flocks of churches, gateways, 
 
 towers : 
 Migration strange for a stripling of the hills, 
 A northern villager. 
 
 As if the change 35 
 
 Had waited on some Fairy's wand, at once 
 Behold me rich in monies, and attired 
 In splendid garb, with hose of silk, and hair 
 Powdered like rimy trees, when frost is keen. 
 My lordly dressing-gown, I pass it by, 4° 
 
 With other signs of manhood that supplied 
 The lack of beard. — The weeks went roundly on, 
 With invitations, suppers, wine and fruit, 
 Smooth housekeeping within, and all without 
 Liberal, and suiting gentleman's array. 45 
 
 The Evangelist St. John my patron was : 
 Three G-othic courts are his, and in the first 
 Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure ; 
 Eight underneath, the College kitchens made 
 A humming sound, less tuneable than bees, 50 
 But hardly less industrious ; with shrill notes 
 
44 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Of sharp command and scolding intermixed. 
 Near me hung Trinity's loquacious clock, 
 Who never let the quarters, night or day, 
 Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours 
 Twice over with a male and female voice. 56 
 Her pealing organ was my neighbour too ; 
 And from my pillow, looking forth by light 
 Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold 
 The antechapel where the statue stood 60 
 
 Of Newton with his prism and silent face, 
 The marble index of a mind for ever 
 Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, 
 alone. 
 
 Of College labours, of the Lecturer's room 
 All studded round, as thick as chairs could 
 stand, 65 
 
 With loyal students faithful to their books, 
 Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants, 
 And honest dunces — of important days, 
 Examinations, when the man was weighed 
 As in a balance 1 of excessive hopes, 70 
 
 Tremblings withal and commendable fears, 
 Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad — 
 Let others that know more speak as they know. 
 Such glory was but little sought by me, 
 And little won. Yet from the first crude days 
 Of settling time in this untried abode, 76 
 
 I was disturbed at times by prudent thoughts, 
 Wishing to hope without a hope, some fears 
 About my future worldly maintenance, 
 And, more than all, a strangeness in the mind, 
 A feeling that I was not for that hour, 81 
 
 Nor for that place. But wherefore be cast 
 
 down ? 
 For (not to speak of Eeason and her pure 
 Reflective acts to fix the moral law 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 45 
 
 Deep in the conscience, nor of Christian Hope, 
 Bowing her head before her sister Faith 86 
 As one far mightier), hither I had come, 
 Bear witness Truth, endowed with holy powers 
 And faculties, whether to work or feel. 
 Oft when the dazzling show no longer new 90 
 Had ceased to dazzle, ofttimes did I quit 
 My comrades, leave the crowd, buildings and 
 
 groves, 
 And as I paced alone the level fields 
 Far from those lovely sights and sounds sublime 
 With which I had been conversant, the mind 95 
 Drooped not ; but there into herself returning, 
 With prompt rebound seemed fresh as hereto- 
 fore. 
 At least I more distinctly recognised 
 Her native instincts : let me dare to speak 
 A higher language, say that now I felt 100 
 
 What independent solaces were mine, 
 To mitigate the injurious sway of place 
 Or circumstance, how far soever changed 
 In youth, or to be changed in after years. 
 As if awakened, summoned, roused, constrained, 
 I looked for universal things ; perused 106 
 
 The common countenance of earth and sky : 
 Earth, nowhere unembellished by some trace 
 Of that first Paradise whence man was driven ; 
 And sky, whose beauty and bounty are ex- 
 pressed no 
 By the proud name she bears — the name of 
 
 Heaven. 
 I called on both to teach me what they might ; 
 Or turning the mind in upon herself 
 Pored, watched, expected, listened, spread my 
 
 thoughts 
 And spread them with a wider creeping ; felt 
 Incumbencies more awful, visitings 116 
 
46 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Of the Upholder of the tranquil soul^ 
 
 That tolerates the indignities of Time, 
 
 And, from the centre of Eternity 
 
 'All finite motions overruling, lives 120 
 
 In glory immutable. But peace ! enough 
 
 Here to record that I was mounting now 
 
 To such community with highest truth — 
 
 A track pursuing, not untrod before, 
 
 From strict analogies by thought supplied 125 
 
 Or consciousnesses not to be subdued. 
 
 To every natural form, rock, fruit, or flower, 
 
 Even the loose stones that cover the high-way, 
 
 I gave a moral life : I saw them feel, 
 
 Or linked them to some feeling : the great mass 
 
 Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all 131 
 
 That I beheld respired with inward meaning. 
 
 Add that whate'er of Terror or of Love 
 
 Or Beauty, Nature's daily face put on 
 
 From transitory passion, unto this 135 
 
 I was as sensitive as waters are 
 
 To the sky's influence in a kindred mood 
 
 Of passion ; was obedient as a lute 
 
 That waits upon the touches of the wind. 
 
 Unknown, unthought of, yet I was most rich — 
 
 I had a world about me — 'twas my own; 141 
 
 I made it, for it only lived to me, 
 
 And to the God who sees into the heart. 
 
 Such sympathies, though rarely, were betrayed 
 
 By outward gestures and by visible looks : 145 
 
 Some called it madness — so indeed it was, 
 
 If child-like fruitfulness in passing joy, 
 
 If steady moods of thoughtfulness matured 
 
 To inspiration, sort with such a name ; 
 
 If prophecy be madness ; if things viewed 150 
 
 By poets in old time, and higher up 
 
 By the first men, earth's first inhabitants, 
 
 May in these tutored days no more be seen 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 47 
 
 With undisordered sight. But leaving this, 
 It was no madness, for the bodily eye 155 
 
 Amid my strongest workings evermore 
 Was searching out the lines of difference 
 As they lie hid in all external forms, 
 Near or remote, minute or vast ; an eye 
 Which, from a tree, a stone, a withered leaf, 160 
 To the broad ocean and the azure heavens 
 Spangled with kindred multitudes of stars, 
 Could find no surface where its power might 
 
 sleep ; 
 Which spake perpetual logic to my soul, 
 And by an unrelenting agency 165 
 
 Did bind my feelings even as in a chain. 
 
 And here, O Friend ! have I retraced my life 
 Up to an eminence, and told a tale 
 Of matters which not falsely may be called 
 The glory of my youth. Of genius, power, 170 
 Creation and divinity itself 
 I have been speaking, for my theme has been 
 What passed within me. Not of outward things 
 Done visibly for other minds, words, signs, 
 Symbols or actions, but of my own heart 175 
 Have I been speaking, and my youthful mind. 
 O HeaveDs ! how awful is the might of souls, 
 And what they do within themselves while yet 
 The yoke of earth is new to them, the world 
 Nothing but a wild field where they were sown. 
 This is, in truth, heroic argument, 181 
 
 This genuine prowess, which I wished to touch 
 With hand however weak, but in the main 
 It lies far hidden from the reach of words. 
 Points have we all of us within our souls 185 
 Where all stand single ; this I feel, and make 
 Breathings for incommunicable powers ; 
 But is not each a memory to himself, 
 
48 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 And, therefore, now that we must quit this 
 
 theme, 
 I am not heartless, for there's not a man 190 
 That lives who hath not known his god-like 
 
 hours, 
 And feels not what an empire we inherit 
 As natural beings in the strength of Nature. 
 
 No more : for now into a populous plain 
 We must descend. A Traveller I am, 195 
 
 Whose tale is only of himself ; even so, 
 So be it, if the pure of heart be prompt 
 To follow, and if thou, my honoured Friend ! 
 Who in these thoughts art ever at my side, 
 Support, as heretofore, my fainting steps. 200 
 
 It hath been told, that when the first delight 
 That flashed upon me from this novel show 
 Had failed, the mind returned into herself ; 
 Yet true it is, that I had made a change 
 In climate, and my nature's outward coat 205 
 Changed also slowly and insensibly. 
 Full oft the quiet and exalted thoughts 
 Of loneliness gave way to empty noise 
 And superficial pastimes ; now and then 
 Forced labour, and more frequently forced 
 hopes ; 210 
 
 And, worst of all, a treasonable growth 
 Of indecisive judgments, that impaired 
 And shook the mind's simplicity. — And yet 
 This was a gladsome time. Could I behold — 
 Who, less insensible than sodden clay 215 
 
 In a sea-river's bed at ebb of tide, 
 Could have beheld, — with undelighted heart, 
 So many happy youths, so wide and fair 
 A congregation in its budding-time 
 Of health, and hope, and beauty, all at once 220 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 49 
 
 So many divers samples from the growth 
 Of life's sweet season — could have seen un- 
 moved 
 That miscellaneous garland of wild flowers 
 Decking the matron temples of a place 
 So famous through the world ? To me, at least, 
 It was a goodly prospect : for, in sooth, 226 
 Though I had learnt betimes to stand unpropped, 
 And independent musings pleased me so 
 That spells seemed on me when I was alone, 
 Yet could I only cleave to solitude 230 
 
 In lonely places ; if a throng was near 
 That way I leaned by nature ; for my heart 
 Was social, and loved idleness and joy. 
 
 Not seeking those who might participate 
 My deeper pleasures (nay, I had not once, 235 
 Though not unused to mutter lonesome songs, 
 Even with myself divided such delight, 
 Or looked that way for aught that might be 
 
 clothed 
 In human language), easily I passed 
 From the remembrances of better things, 240 
 And slipped into the ordinary works 
 Of careless youth, unburdened, unalarmed. 
 Caverns there were within my mind which sun 
 Could never penetrate, yet did there not 
 Want store of leafy arbours where the light 245 
 Might enter in at will. Companionships, 
 Friendships, acquaintances, were welcome all. 
 We sauntered, played, or rioted ; we talked 
 Unprofitable talk at morning hours ; 
 Drifted about along the streets and walks, 250 
 Read lazily in trivial books, went forth 
 To gallop through the country in blind zeal 
 Of senseless horsemanship, or on the breast 
 Of Cam sailed boisterously, and let the stars 
 
 VII. e 
 
50 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Come forth, perhaps without one quiet thought. 
 
 Such was the tenor of the second act 256 
 In this new life. Imagination slept, 
 And yet not utterly. I could not print 
 Ground where the grass had yielded to the steps 
 Of generations of illustrious men, 260 
 
 Unmoved. I could not always lightly pass 
 Through the same gateways, sleep where they 
 
 had slept, 
 Wake where they waked, range that inclosure 
 
 old, 
 That garden of great intellects, undisturbed. 
 Place also by the side of this dark sense 265 
 Of noble feeling, that those spiritual men, 
 Even the great Newton's own ethereal self, 
 Seemed humbled in these precincts thence to be 
 The more endeared. Their several memories 
 
 here 
 (Even like their persons in their portraits 
 
 clothed 270 
 
 With the accustomed garb of daily life) 
 Put on a lowly and a touching grace 
 Of more distinct humanity, that left 
 All genuine admiration unimpaired. 
 
 Beside the pleasant Mill of Trompington 275 
 I laughed with Chaucer in the hawthorn shade ; 
 Heard him, while birds were warbling, tell his 
 
 tales 
 Of amorous passion. And that gentle Bard, 
 Chosen by the Muses for their Page of State — 
 Sweet Spenser, moving through his clouded 
 
 heaven 280 
 
 With the moon's beauty and the moon's soft 
 
 pace, 
 I called him Brother, Englishman, and Friend ! 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 51 
 
 Tea, our blind Poet, who, in his later day, 
 Stood almost single ; uttering odious truth — 
 Darkness before, and danger's voice behind, 283 
 Soul awful — if the earth has ever lodged 
 An awful soul — I seemed to see him here 
 Familiarly, and in his scholar's dress 
 Bounding before me, yet a stripling youth — 
 A boy, no better, with his rosy cheeks 290 
 
 Angelical, keen eye, courageous look, 
 And conscious step of purity and pride. 
 Among the band of my compeers was one 
 Whom chance had stationed in the very room 
 Honoured by Milton's name. O temperate 
 Bard ! 295 
 
 Be it confest that, for the first time, seated 
 Within thy innocent lodge and oratory, 
 One of a festive circle, I poured out 
 Libations, to thy memory drank, till pride 
 And gratitude grew dizzy in a bi-ain 300 
 
 Never excited by the fumes of wine 
 Before that hour, or since. Then, forth I ran 
 From the assembly ; through a length of streets, 
 Ran, ostrich-like, to reach our chapel door 
 In not a desperate or opprobrious time, 305 
 Albeit long after the importunate bell 
 Had stopped, with wearisome Cassandra voice 
 No longer haunting the dark winter night. 
 Call back, O Friend ! a moment to thy mind, 
 The place itself and fashion of the rites. 310 
 With careless ostentation shouldering up 
 My surplice, through the inferior throng I clove 
 Of the plain Burghers, who in audience stood 
 On the last skirts of their permitted ground, 
 Under the pealing organ. Empty thoughts! 315 
 I am ashamed of them : and that great Bard, 
 And thou, O Friend ! who in thy ample mind 
 Hast placed me high above my best deserts, 
 
52 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Ye will forgive the weakness of that hour, 
 
 In some of its unworthy vanities, 320 
 
 Brother to many more. 
 
 In this mixed sort 
 The months passed on, remissly, not given up 
 To wilful alienation from the right, 
 Or walks of open scandal, but in vague 
 And loose indifference, easy likings, aims 325 
 Of a low pitch — duty and zeal dismissed, 
 Yet Nature, or a happy course of things 
 Not doing in their stead the needful work. 
 The memory languidly revolved, the heart 
 Reposed in noontide rest, the inner pulse 330 
 Of contemplation almost failed to beat. 
 Such life might not inaptly be compared 
 To a floating island, an amphibious spot 
 Unsound, of spongy texture, yet withal 
 Not wanting a fair face of water weeds 335 
 
 And pleasant flowers. The thirst of living praise, 
 Fit reverence for the glorious Dead, the sight 
 Of those long vistas, sacred catacombs, 
 Where mighty minds lie visibly entombed, 
 Have often stirred the heart of youth, and bred 
 A fervent love of rigorous discipline. — 341 
 Alas ! such high emotion touched not me. 
 Look was there none within these walls to shame 
 My easy spirits, and discountenance 
 Their light composure, far less to instil 345 
 
 A calm resolve of mind, firmly addressed 
 To puissant efforts. Nor was this the blame 
 Of others but my own ; I should, in truth, 
 As far as doth concern my single self, 
 Misdeem most widely, lodging it elsewhere : 350 
 For I, bred up in Nature's luxuries, 
 Was a spoiled child, and, rambling like the 
 
 ,wind, 
 As I had done in daily intercourse 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 53 
 
 With those crystalline rivers, solemn heights, 
 And mountains, ranging like a fowl of the air, 
 I was ill-tutored for captivity ; 356 
 
 To quit my pleasure, and, from month to month, 
 Take up a station calmly on the perch 
 Of sedentary peace. Those lovely forms 
 Had also left less space within my mind, 360 
 Which, wrought upon instinctively, had found 
 A freshness in those objects of her love, 
 A winning power, beyond all other power. 
 Not that I slighted books, — that were to lack 
 All sense, — but other passions in me ruled, 365 
 Passions more fervent, making me less prompt 
 To in-door study than was wise or well, 
 Or suited to those years. Yet I, though used 
 In magisterial liberty to rove, 369 
 
 Culling such flowers of learning as might tempt 
 A random choice, could shadow forth a place 
 (If now I yield not to a flattering dream) 
 Whose studious aspect should have bent me 
 
 down 
 To instantaneous service ; should at once 
 Have made me pay to science and to arts 375 
 And written lore, acknowledged my liege lord, 
 ~"A~homage frankly offered up, like that 
 Which I had paid to Nature. Toil and pains 
 In this recess, by thoughtful Fancy built, 
 Should spread from heart to heart ; and stately 
 
 groves, 3 8 ° 
 
 Majestic edifices, should not want 
 A corresponding dignity within. 
 The congregating temper that pervades 
 Our unripe years, not wasted, should be taught 
 To minister to works of high attempt — 385 
 Works which the enthusiast would perform with 
 
 love. 
 Youth should be awed, religiously possessed 
 
54 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 With a conviction of the power that waits 
 On knowledge, when sincerely sought and prized 
 For its own sake, on glory and on praise 390 
 If but by labour won, and fit to endure 
 The passing day ; should learn to put aside 
 Her trappings here, should strip them off 
 
 abashed 
 Before antiquity and steadfast truth 
 And strong book-mindedness ; and over all 395 
 A healthy sound simplicity should reign, 
 ^A~seemly plainness, name it what you will, 
 Republican or pious. 
 
 If these thoughts 
 Are a gratuitous emblazonry 
 That mocks the recreant age ive live in, then 400 
 Be Folly and False- seeming free to affect 
 Whatever formal gait of discipline 
 Shall rise them highest in their own esteem — 
 Let them parade among the Schools at will, 
 But spare the House of God. Was ever known 
 The witless shepherd who persists to drive 406 
 A flock that thirsts not to a pool disliked ? 
 A weight must surely hang on days began 
 And ended with such mockery. Be wise, 
 Ye Presidents and Deans, and, till the spirit 410 
 Of ancient times revive, and youth be trained 
 At home in pious service, to your bells 
 Give seasonable rest, for 'tis a sound 
 Hollow as ever vexed the tranquil air ; 
 And your officious doings bring disgrace 415 
 On the plain steeples of our English Church, 
 Whose worship, 'mid remotest village trees, 
 Suffers for this. Even Science, too, at hand 
 In daily sight of this irreverence, 
 Is smitten thence with an unnatural taint, 420 
 Loses her just authority, falls beneath 
 Collateral suspicion, else unknown. 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 55 
 
 This truth escaped me not, and I confess, 
 That having 'mid my native hills given loose 
 To a schoolboy's vision, I had raised a pile 425 
 Upon the basis of the coming time, 
 That fell in ruins round me. Oh, what joy 
 To see a sanctuary for our country's youth 
 Informed with such a spirit as might be 
 Its own protection ; a primeval grove, 430 
 
 Where, though the shades with cheerfulness 
 
 were filled, 
 Nor indigent of songs warbled from crowds 
 In under- coverts, yet the countenance 
 Of the whole place should bear a stamp of awe ; 
 A habitation sober and demure 435 
 
 For ruminating creatures ; a domain 
 For quiet things to wander in ; a haunt 
 Tn which the heron should delight to feed 
 T5y the shy rivers, and the pelican 
 Upon the cypress spire in lonely thought 440 
 Might sit and sun himself. — Alas ! alas ! 
 In vain for such solemnity I looked ; 
 Mine eyes were crossed by butterflies, ears vexed 
 By chattering popinjays ; the inner heart 
 Seemed trivial, and the impresses without 445 
 Of a too gaudy region. 
 
 Different sight 
 Those venerable Doctors saw of old, 
 When all who dwelt within these famous walls 
 Led in abstemiousness a studious life ; 
 When, in forlorn and naked chambers cooped 45° 
 And crowded, o'er the ponderous books they 
 
 hung 
 Like caterpillars eating out their way 
 In silence, or with keen devouring noise 
 Not to be tracked or fathered. Princes then 
 At matins froze, and couched at curfew-time, 
 Trained up through piety and zeal to prize 45 6 
 
56 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Spare diet, patient labour, and plain weeds. 
 O seat of Arts ! renowned throughout the world ! 
 Far different service in those homely days 
 The Muses' modest nurslings underwent 460 
 From their first childhood : in that glorious 
 
 time 
 When Learning, like a stranger come from far, 
 Sounding through Christian lands her trumpet, 
 
 roused 
 Peasant and king ; when boys and youths, the 
 
 growth 
 Of ragged villages and crazy huts, 465 
 
 Forsook their homes, and, errant in the quest 
 Of Patron, famous school or friendly nook, 
 Where, pensioned, they in shelter might sit 
 
 down, 
 From town to town and through wide scattered 
 
 realms 469 
 
 Journeyed with ponderous folios in their hands ; 
 And often, starting from some covert place, 
 Saluted the chance comer on the road, 
 Crying, " An obolus, a penny give 
 To a poor scholar ! "- — when illustrious men, 
 Lovers of truth, by penury constrained, 475 
 Bucer, Erasmus, or Melancthon, read 
 Before the doors or windows of their cells 
 By moonshine through mere lack of taper light. 
 
 But peace to vain regrets ! We see but 
 darkly 479 
 
 Even when we look behind us, and best things 
 Are not so pure by nature that they needs 
 Must keep to all, as fondly all believe, 
 Their highest promise. If the mariner, 
 When at reluctant distance he hath passed 484 
 Some tempting island, could but know the ills 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 57 
 
 That must have fallen upon him had he 
 
 brought 
 His bark to land upon the wished-for shore, 
 Good cause would oft be his to thank the surf 
 Whose white belt scared him thence, or wind 
 
 that blew 
 Inexorably adverse : for myself 490 
 
 I grieve not ; happy is the gowned youth, 
 Who only misses what I missed, who falls 
 No lower than I fell. 
 
 I did not love, 
 Judging not ill perhaps, the timid course 494 
 Of our scholastic studies ; could have wished 
 To see the river flow with ampler range 
 And freer pace ; but more, far more, I grieved 
 To see displayed among an eager few, 
 Who in the field of contest persevered, 499 
 
 Passions unworthy of youth's generous heart 
 And mounting spirit, pitiably repaid, 
 When so disturbed, whatever palms are won. 
 From these I turned to travel with the shoal 
 Of more unthinking natures, easy minds 504 
 And pillowy ; yet not wanting love that makes 
 The day pass lightly on, when foresight sleeps, 
 And wisdom and the pledges interchanged 
 With our own inner being are forgot. 
 
 Yet was this deep vacation not given up 
 To'utter waste. Hitherto I had stood 510 
 
 In my own mind remote from social life, 
 (At least from what we commonly so name,) 
 Like a lone shepherd on a promontory 
 Who lacking occupation looks far forth 
 Into the boundless sea, and rather makes 515 
 Than finds what he beholds. And sure it is, 
 That this first transit from the smooth delights 
 And wild outlandish walks of simple youth 
 
58 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 To something that resembles an approach 519 
 
 Towards human business, to a privileged world 
 
 Within a world, a midway residence 
 
 With all its intervenient imagery, 
 
 Did better suit my visionary mind, 
 
 Far better, than to have been bolted forth, 
 
 Thrust out abruptly into Fortune's way 525 
 
 Among the conflicts of substantial life ; 
 
 By a more just gradation did lead on 
 
 To higher things ; more naturally matured, 
 
 For permanent possession, better fruits, 
 
 Whether of truth or virtue, to ensue. 530 
 
 In serious mood, but oftener, I confess, 
 
 With playful zest of fancy, did we note 
 
 (How could we less?) the manners and the 
 
 ways 
 Of those who lived distinguished by the badge 
 Of good or ill report ; or those with whom 535 
 By frame of Academic discipline 
 We were perforce connected, men whose sway 
 And known authority of office served 
 To set our minds on edge, and did no more. 
 Nor wanted we rich pastime of this kind, 540 
 Found everywhere, but chiefly in the ring 
 Of the grave Elders, men unscoured, grotesque 
 In character, tricked out like aged trees 
 Which through the lapse of their infirmity 
 Give ready place to any random seed 545 
 
 That chooses to be reared upon their trunks. 
 
 Here on my view, confronting vividly 
 Those shepherd swains whom I had lately left, 
 Appeared a different aspect of old age ; 
 How different ! yet both distinctly marked, 550 
 Objects embossed to catch the general eye, 
 Or portraitures for special use designed, 
 As some might seem, so aptly do they serve 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 59 
 
 To illustrate Nature's book of rudiments — 
 That book upheld as with maternal care 555 
 When she would enter on her tender scheme 
 Of teaching comprehension with delight, 
 And mingling playful with pathetic thoughts. 
 
 The surfaces of artificial life 559 
 
 And manners finely wrought, the delicate race 
 Of colours, lurking, gleaming up and down 
 Through that state arras woven with silk and 
 
 gold ; 
 This wily interchange of snaky hues, 
 Willingly or unwillingly revealed, 
 I neither knew nor cared for ; and as such 565 
 Were wanting here, I took what might be found 
 Of less elaborate fabric. At this day 
 I smile, in many a mountain solitude 
 Conjuring up scenes as obsolete in freaks 
 Of character, in points of wit as broad, 570 
 
 As aught by wooden images performed 
 For entertainment of the gaping crowd 
 At wake or fair. And oftentimes do flit 
 Remembrances before me of old men — 
 Old humourists, who have been long in their 
 
 graves, 575 
 
 And having almost in my mind put off 
 Their human names, have into phantoms passed 
 Of texture midway between life and books. 
 
 I play the loiterer : 'tis enough to note 579 
 That here in dwarf proportions were expressed 
 The limbs of the great world ; its eager strifes 
 Collaterally pourtrayed, as in mock fight, 
 A tournament of blows, some hardly dealt 
 Though short of mortal combat ; and whate'er 
 Might in this pageant be supposed to hit 585 
 An artless rustic's notice, this way less, 
 
60 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 More that way, was not wasted upon me — 
 And yet the spectacle may well demand 
 A more substantial name, no mimic show, 
 Itself a living part of a live whole, 590 
 
 A creek in the vast sea ; for, all degrees 
 And shapes of spurious fame and short-lived 
 
 praise 
 Here sate in state, and fed with daily alms 
 Retainers won away from solid good ; 
 And here was Labour, his own bond- slave ; 
 
 Hope, _ 5 95 
 
 That never set the pains against the prize ; 
 Idleness halting with his weary clog, 
 And poor misguided Shame, and witless Fear, 
 And simple Pleasure foraging for Death ; 
 Honour misplaced, and Dignity astray ; 600 
 Feuds, factions, flatteries, enmity, and guile 
 Murmuring submission, and bald government, 
 (The idol weak as the idolator), 
 And Decency and Custom starving Truth, 
 And blind Authority beating with his staff 605 
 The child that might have led him ; Emptiness 
 Followed as of good omen, and meek Worth 
 Left to herself unheard of and unknown. 
 
 Of these and other kindred notices 
 I cannot say what portion is in truth 610 
 
 The naked recollection of that time, 
 And what may rather have been called to life 
 By after-meditation. But delight 
 That, in an easy temper lulled asleep, 
 Is still with Innocence its own reward, 615 
 
 This was not wanting. Carelessly I roamed 
 As through a wide museum from whose stores 
 A casual rarity is singled out 
 And has its brief perusal, then gives way 
 To others, all supplanted in their turn ; 620 
 
RESIDENCE AT CAMBRIDGE. 61 
 
 Till 'mid this crowded neighbourhood of things 
 That are by nature most unneighbourly, 
 The head turns round and cannot right itself ; 
 And though an aching and a barren sense 
 Of gay confusion still be uppermost, 625 
 
 With few wise loDgings and but little love, 
 Yet to the memory something cleaves at last, 
 Whence profit may be drawn in times to come. 
 
 Thus in submissive idleness, my Friend ! 
 The labouring time of autumn, winter, spring, 
 Eight months ! rolled pleasingly away ; the 
 ninth 631 
 
 Came and returned me to my native hills. 
 
BOOK FOURTH. 
 
 SUMMER VACATION. 
 
 Bright was the summer's noon when quicken- 
 ing steps 
 Followed each other till a dreary moor 
 Was crossed, a bare ridge clomb, upon whose 
 
 top 
 Standing alone, as from a rampart's edge, 
 I overlooked the bed of Windermere, 5 
 
 Like a vast river, stretching in the sun. 
 With exultation, at my feet I saw 
 Lake, islands, promontories, gleaming bays, 
 A universe of Nature's fairest forms 
 Proudly revealed with instantaneous burst, 10 
 Magnificent, and beautiful, and gay. 
 I bounded down the hill shouting amain 
 For the old Ferryman ; to the shout the rocks 
 Replied, and when the Charon of the flood 
 Had staid his oars, and touched the jutting 
 pier, 15 
 
 I did not step into the well-known boat 
 Without a cordial greeting. Thence with speed 
 Up the familiar hill I took my way 
 Towards that sweet Valley where I had been 
 
 reared ; 
 'Twas but a short hour's walk, ere veering 
 round 20 
 
 I saw the snow-white church upon her hill 
 
SUMMER VACATION. 63 
 
 Sit like a throned Lady, sending out 
 A gracious look all over her domain. 
 Yon azure smoke betrays the lurking town ; 
 With eager footsteps I advance and reach 25 
 The cottage threshold where my journey closed. 
 Glad welcome had I, with some tears, perhaps, 
 From my old Dame, so kind and motherly, 
 While she perused me with a parent's pride. 
 The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew 30 
 Upon thy grave, good creature! While my 
 
 heart 
 Can beat never will I forget thy name. 
 Heaven's blessing be upon thee where thou 
 
 liest 
 After thy innocent and busy stir 
 In narrow cares, thy little daily growth 35 
 
 Of calm enjoyments, after eighty years, 
 And more than eighty, of untroubled life, 
 Childless, yet by the strangers to thy blood 
 Honoured with little less than filial love. 
 What joy was mine to see thee once again, 40 
 Thee and thy dwelling, and a crowd of things 
 About its narrow precincts all beloved, 
 And many of them seeming yet my own ! 
 Why should I speak of what a thousand hearts 
 Have felt, and every man alive can guess ? 45 
 The rooms, the court, the garden were not left 
 Long unsaluted, nor the sunny seat 
 Round the stone table under the dark pine, 
 Friendly to studious or to festive hours ; 
 Nor that unruly child of mountain birth, 50 
 The famous brook, who, soon as he was boxed 
 Within our garden, found himself at once, 
 As if by trick insidious and unkind, 
 Stripped of his voice and left to dimple down 
 (Without an effort and without a will) 55 
 
 A channel paved by man's officious care. 
 
64 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 I looked at him and smiled, and smiled again, 
 And in the press of twenty thousand thoughts, 
 " Ha," quoth I, "pretty prisoner, are vou 
 
 there ! " 
 Well might sarcastic Fancy then have whis- 
 pered, 60 
 " An emblem here behold of thy own life ; 
 In its late course of even days with all 
 Their smooth enthralment ; " but the heart was 
 
 full, 
 Too full for that reproach, My aged Dame 
 Walked proudly at my side : she guided me ; 65 
 I willing, nay — nay, wishing to be led. 
 — The face of every neighbour whom I met 
 Was like a volume to me ; some were hailed 
 Upon the road, some busy at their work, 
 Unceremonious greetings interchanged 70 
 
 With half the length of a long field between. 
 Among my schoolfellows I scattered round 
 Like recognitions, but with some constraint 
 Attended, doubtless, with a little pride, 
 But with more shame, for my habiliments, 75 
 The transformation wrought by gay attire. 
 Not less delighted did I take my place 
 At our domestic table : and, dear Friend ! 
 In this endeavour simply to relate 
 A Poet's history, may I leave untold 80 
 
 The thankfulness with which I laid me down 
 In my accustomed bed, more welcome now 
 Perhaps than if it had been more desired 
 Or been more often thought of with regret ; 
 That lowly bed whence I had heard the wind 8 5 
 Boar, and the rain beat hard ; where I so oft 
 Had lain awake on summer nights to watch 
 The moon in splendour couched among the 
 
 leaves 
 Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood ; 
 
SUMMER VACATION. 65 
 
 Had watched her with fixed eyes while to and 
 fro 9 o 
 
 In the dark summit of the waving tree 
 She rocked with every impulse of the breeze. 
 
 Among the favourites whom it pleased me well 
 To see again, was one by ancient right 
 Our inmate, a rough terrier of the hills ; 95 
 By birth and call of nature pre-ordained 
 To hunt the badger and unearth the fox 
 Among the impervious crags, but having been 
 From youth our own adopted, he had passed 
 Into a gentler service. And when first 100 
 
 The boyish spirit flagged, and day by day 
 Along my veins I kindled with the stir, 
 The fermentation, and the vernal heat 
 Of poesy, affecting private shades 
 Like a sick Lover, then this dog was used 105 
 To watch me, an attendant and a friend, 
 Obsequious to my steps early and late, 
 Though often of such dilatory walk 
 Tired, and uneasy at the halts I made. 
 A hundred times when, roving high and low, 1 10 
 I have been harassed with the toil of verse, 
 Much pains and little progress, and at once 
 Some lovely Image in the song rose up 
 Full-formed, like Venus rising from the sea ; 
 Then have I darted forwards to let loose 1 1 5 
 My hand upon his back with stormy joy, 
 Caressing him again and yet again. 
 And when at evening on the public way 
 I sauntered, like a river murmuring 
 And talking to itself when all things else 120 
 Are still, the creature trotted on before ; 
 Such was his custom ; but whene'er he met 
 A passenger approaching, he would turn 
 To give me timely notice, and straightway, 
 
 VII. f 
 
66 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Grateful for that admonishment, I hushed 125 
 My voice, composed my gait, and, with the air 
 And mien of one whose thoughts are free, 
 
 advanced 
 To give and take a greeting that might save 
 My name from piteous rumours, such as wait 
 On men suspected to be crazed in brain. 130 
 
 Those walks well worthy to be prized and 
 
 loved — 
 Regretted ! — that word, too, was on my tongue, 
 Bat they were richly laden with all good, 
 And cannot be remembered but with thanks 
 And gratitude, and perfect joy of heart — 135 
 Those walks in all their freshness now came 
 
 back 
 Like a returning Spring. When first I made 
 Once more the circuit of our little lake, 
 If ever happiness hath lodged with man, 
 That day consummate happiness was mine, 140 
 Wide- spreading, steady, calm, contemplative. 
 The sun was set, or setting, when I left 
 Our cottage door, and evening soon brought on 
 A sober hour, not winning or serene, 
 For cold and raw the air was, and untuned; 145 
 But as a face we love is sweetest then 
 When sorrow damps it, or, whatever look 
 It chance to wear, is sweetest if the heart 
 Have fulness in herself ; even so with me 
 It fared that evening. Gently did my soul 1 50 
 Put off her veil, and, self -transmuted, stood 
 Naked, as in the presence ofJier jGLod. 
 While on I walked, a comfort seemed to touch 
 A heart that had not been disconsolate : 
 Strength came where weakness was not known 
 
 to be, 155 
 
 At least not felt ; and restoration came 
 
SUMMER VACATION. 67 
 
 Like an intruder knocking at the door 
 Of unacknowledged weariness. I took 
 The balance, and with firm hand weighed 
 
 myself. 
 — Of that external scene which round me lay, 160 
 Little, in this abstraction, did I see ; 
 Eemembered less ; but I had inward hopes 
 And swellings of the spirit, was rapt and 
 
 soothed, 
 Conversed with promises, had glimmering views 
 How life pervades the undecaying mind ; 165 
 How the immortal soul with God-like power 
 Informs, creates, and thaws the deepest sleep 
 That time can lay upon her ; how on earth, 
 Man, if he do but live within the light 
 Of high endeavours, daily spreads abroad 170 
 His being armed with strength that cannot fail. 
 Nor was there want of milder thoughts, of love 
 Of innocence, and holiday repose ; 
 And more than pastoral quiet, 'mid the stir 
 Of boldest projects, and a peaceful end 175 
 
 At last, or glorious, by endurance won. 
 Thus musing, in a wood I sate me down 
 Alone, continuing there to muse : the slopes 
 And heights meanwhile were slowly overspread 
 With darkness, and before a rippling breeze 180 
 The long lake lengthened out its hoary line, 
 And in the sheltered coppice where I sate, 
 Around me from among the hazel leaves, 
 Now here, now there, moved by the straggling 
 
 wind, 
 Came ever and anon a breath-like sound, 185 
 Quick as the pantings of the faithful dog, 
 The off and on companion of my walk ; 
 And such, at times, believing them to be, 
 I turned my head to look if he were there ; 189 
 Then into solemn thought I passed once more. 
 
 •. 
 
68 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 A freshness also found I at this time 
 In human Life, the daily life of those 
 Whose occupations really I loved ; 
 The peaceful scene oft filled me with surprise 
 Changed like a garden in the heat of spring 195 
 After an eight-days' absence. For (to omit 
 The things which were the same and yet appeared 
 Far otherwise) amid this rural solitude, 
 A narrow Vale where each was known to all, 
 'Twas not indifferent to a youthful mind 200 
 To mark some sheltering bower or sunny nook, 
 Where an old man had used to sit alone, 
 Now vacant ; pale-faced babes whom I had left 
 In arms, now rosy prattlers at the feet 204 
 
 Of a pleased grandame tottering up and down ; 
 And growing girls whose beauty, filched away 
 With all its pleasant promises, was gone 
 To deck some slighted playmate's homely cheek. 
 
 Yes, I had something of a subtler sense, 209 
 And often looking round was moved to smiles 
 Such as a delicate work of humour breeds ; 
 I read, without design, the opinions, thoughts, 
 Of those plain-living people now observed 
 With clearer knowledge ; with another eye 
 I saw the quiet woodman in the woods, 215 
 The shepherd roam the hills. With new delight, 
 This chiefly, did I note my grey-haired Dame ; 
 Saw her go forth to church or other work 
 Of state, equipped in monumental trim ; 
 Short velvet cloak, (her bonnet of the like), 220 
 A mantle such as Spanish Cavaliers 
 Wore in old time. Her smooth domestic life, 
 Affectionate without disquietude, 
 Her talk, her business, pleased me ; and no less 
 Her clear though shallow stream of piety 225 
 That ran on Sabbath days a fresher course ; 
 
SUMMER VACATION. 69 
 
 With thoughts unfelt till now I saw her read 
 
 Her Bible on hot Sunday afternoons, 
 
 And loved the book, when she had dropped 
 
 asleep 
 And made of it a pillow for her head. 230 
 
 Nor less do I remember to have felt, 
 Distinctly manifested at this time, 
 A human-heartedness about my love 
 For objects hitherto the absolute wealth 
 Of my own private being and no more ; 235 
 Which I had loved, even as a blessed spirit 
 Or Angel if he were to dwell on earth, 
 Might love in individual happiness. 
 But now there opened on me other thoughts 
 Of change, congratulation or regret, 240 
 
 A pensive feeling ! It spread far and wide ; 
 The trees, the mountains shared it, and the 
 
 brooks, 
 The stars of Heaven, now seen in their old 
 
 haunts — 
 White Sirius glittering o'er the southern crags, 
 Orion with his belt, and those fair Seven, 245 
 Acquaintances of every little child, 
 And Jupiter, my own beloved star ! 
 Whatever shadings of mortality, 
 Whatever imports from the world of death 
 Had come among these objects heretofore, 250 
 Were, in the main, of mood less tender : strong, 
 Deep, gloomy were they, and severe ; the 
 
 scatterings 
 Of awe or tremulous dread, that had given way 
 In later youth to yearnings of a love 
 Enthusiastic, to delight and hope. 255 
 
 As one who hangs down-bending from the 
 side 
 
70 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of a slow-moving boat, upon the breast 
 
 Of a still water, solacing himself 
 
 With such discoveries as his eye can make 
 
 Beneath him in the bottom of the deep, 260 
 
 Sees many beauteous sights — weeds, fishes, 
 
 flowers, 
 Grots, pebbles, roots of trees, and fancies more, 
 Yet often is perplexed and cannot part 
 The shadow from the substance, rocks and 
 
 sky, 
 Mountains and clouds, reflected in the depth 265 
 Of the clear flood, from things which there 
 
 abide 
 In their true dwelling ; now is crossed by gleam 
 Of his own image, by a sun-beam now, 
 And wavering motions sent he knows not 
 whence, 269 
 
 Impediments that make his task more sweet ; 
 Such pleasant office have we long pursued 
 Incumbent o'er the surface of past time 
 With like success, nor often have appeared 
 Shapes fairer or less doubtfully discerned 274 
 Than these to which the Tale, indulgent Friend ! 
 Would now direct thy notice. Yet in spite 
 ( )f pleasure won, and knowledge not withheld, 
 There was an inner falling off — I loved, 
 Loved deeply all that had been loved before, 
 More deeply even than ever : but a swarm 280 
 Of heady schemes jostling each other, gawds, 
 And feast and dance, and public revelry, 
 And sports and games (too grateful in them- 
 selves, 
 Yet in themselves less grateful, I believe, 
 Than as they were a badge glossy and fresh 285 
 Of manliness and freedom) all conspired 
 To lure my mind from firm habitual quest 
 Of feeding pleasures, to depress the zeal 
 
SUMMER VACATION. 71 
 
 And damp those yearnings which had once been 
 
 mine — 
 A wild, unworldly-minded youth, given up 290 
 To his own eager thoughts. It would demand 
 Some skill, and longer time than may be spared, 
 To paint these vanities, and how they wrought 
 In haunts where they, till now, had been 
 
 unknown. 
 It seemed the very garments that I wore 295 
 Preyed on my strength, and stopped the quiet 
 
 stream 
 Of self-forgetfulness. 
 
 Yes, that heartless chase 
 Of trivial pleasures was a poor exchange 
 For books and nature at that early age. 
 'Tis true, some casual knowledge might be 
 
 gained 300 
 
 Of character or life ; but at that time, 
 Of manners put to school I took small note, 
 And all my deeper passions lay elsewhere. 
 Far better had it been to exalt the mind 
 By solitary study, to uphold 305 
 
 Intense desire through meditative peace ; 
 And yet, for chastisement of these regrets, 
 The memory of one particular hour 
 Doth here rise up against me. 'Mid a throng 
 Of maids and youths, old men, and matrons 
 
 staid, 310 
 
 A medley of all tempers, I had passed 
 The night in dancing, gaiety, and mirth, 
 With din of instruments and shuffling feet, 
 And glancing forms, and tapers glittering, 
 And unaimed prattle flying up and down ; 315 
 Spirits upon the stretch, and here and there 
 Slight shocks of young love-liking interspersed, 
 Whose transient pleasure mounted to the head, 
 And tingled through the veins. Ere we retired, 
 
72 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 The cock had crowed, and now the eastern 
 
 sky 320 
 
 Was kindling, not unseen, from humble copse 
 And open field, through which the pathway 
 
 wound, 
 And homeward led my steps. Magnificent 
 The morning rose, in memorable pomp, 
 Grlorious as e'er I had beheld — in front, 325 
 The sea lay laughing at a distance ; near, 
 The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds, 
 Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light ; 
 And in the meadows and the lower grounds 
 Was all the sweetness of a common dawn — 3 30 
 Dews, vapours, and the melody of birds, 
 And labourers going forth to till the fields. 
 Ah ! need I say, dear Friend ! that to the brim 
 My heart was full ; I made no vows, but vows 
 Were then made for me ; bond unknown to 
 
 me 335 
 
 Was given, that I should be, else sinning 
 
 greatly, 
 A dedicated Spirit. On I walked 
 In thankful blessedness, which yet survives. 
 
 Strange rendezvous ! My mind was at that 
 time 
 A parti- coloured show of grave and gay, 340 
 Solid and light, short-sighted and profound ; 
 Of inconsiderate habits and sedate, 
 Consorting in one mansion unreproved. 
 The worth I knew of powers that I possessed, 
 Though slighted and too oft misused. Be- 
 sides, 345 
 That summer, swarming as it did with thoughts 
 Transient and idle, lacked not intervals 
 When Folly from the frown of fleeting Time 
 Shrunk, and the mind experienced in herself 
 
SUMMER VACATION. ?3 
 
 Conformity as just as that of old 350 
 
 To the end and written spirit of God's works, 
 Whether held forth in Nature or in Man, 
 Through pregnant vision, separate or conjoined. 
 
 When from our better selves we have too 
 long 
 Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, 
 Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, 356 
 How gracious, how benign, is Solitude ; 
 How potent a mere image of her sway ; 
 Most potent when impressed upon the mind 
 With an appropriate human centre — hermit, 
 Deep in the bosom of the wilderness ; 361 
 
 Votary (in vast cathedral, where no foot 
 Is treading, where no other face is seen) 
 Kneeling at prayers; or watchman on the top 
 Of lighthouse, beaten by Atlantic waves ; 365 
 Or as the soul of that great Power is met 
 Sometimes embodied on a public road, 
 When, for the night deserted, it assumes 
 A character of quiet more profound 
 Than pathless wastes. 
 
 Once, when those summer months 370 
 Were flown, and autumn brought its annual 
 
 show 
 Of oars with oars contending, sails with sails, 
 Upon Winander's spacious breast, it chanced 
 That — after I had left a flower- decked room 
 (Whose in-door pastime, lighted up, survived 
 To a late hour), and spirits overwrought 376 
 Were making night do penance for a day 
 Spent in a round of strenuous idleness — 
 My homeward course led up a long ascent, 
 Where the road's watery surface, to the top 380 
 Of that sharp rising, glittered to the moon 
 And bore the semblance of another stream 
 
74 \tords worth's poems. 
 
 Stealing with silent lapse to join the brook 
 That murmured in the vale. All else was still ; 
 No living thing appeared in earth or air, 385 
 And, save the flowing water's peaceful voice, 
 Sound there was none — but, lo ! an uncouth 
 
 shape, 
 Shown by a sudden turning of the road, 
 So near that, slipping back into the shade 
 Of a thick hawthorn, I could mark him well, 
 Myself unseen. He was of stature tall, 391 
 A span above man's common measure, tall, 
 Stiff, lank, and upright ; a more meagre man 
 Was never seen before by night or day. 394 
 Long were his arms, pallid his hands ; his mouth 
 Looked ghastly in the moonlight : from behind, 
 A mile- stone propped him ; I could also ken 
 That he was clothed in military garb, 
 Though faded, yet entire. Companionless, 
 No dog attending, by no staff sustained, 400 
 He stood, and in his very dress appeared 
 A desolation, a simplicity, 
 To which the trappings of a gaudy world 
 Make a strange back-ground. From his lips, 
 
 ere long, 
 Issued low muttered sounds, as if of pain 405 
 Or some uneasy thought ; yet still his form 
 Kept the same awful steadiness — at his feet 
 His shadow lay, and moved not. From self- 
 
 blame 
 Not wholly free, I watched him thus; at 
 
 length 
 Subduing my heart's specious cowardice, 410 
 I left the shady nook where I had stood 
 And hailed him . Slowly from his resting-place 
 He rose, and with a lean and wasted arm 
 In measured gesture lifted to his head 
 Returned my salutation ; then resumed 415 
 
SUMMER VACATION. 75 
 
 His station as before ; and when I asked 
 
 His history, the veteran, in reply, 
 
 Was neither slow nor eager ; but, unmoved, 
 
 And with a quiet uncomplaining voice, 
 
 A stately air of mild indifference, 420 
 
 He told in few plain words a soldier's tale — 
 
 That in the Tropic Islands he had served, 
 
 Whence he had landed scarcely three weeks 
 
 past ; 
 That on his landing he had been dismissed, 
 And now was travelling towards his native 
 
 home. 425 
 
 This heard, I said, in pity, " Come with me." 
 He stooped, and straightway from the ground 
 
 took up 
 An oaken staff by me yet unobserved — 
 A staff which must have dropt from his slack 
 
 hand 
 And lay till now neglected in the grass. 430 
 Though weak his step and cautious, he appeared 
 To travel without pain, and I beheld, 
 With an astonishment but ill suppressed, 
 His ghostly figure moving at my side ; 
 Nor could I, while we journeyed thus, forbear 
 To turn from present hardships to the past, 436 
 And speak of war, battle, and pestilence, 
 Sprinkling this talk with questions, better 
 
 spared, 
 On what he might himself have seen or felt. 
 He all the while was in demeanour calm, 440 
 Concise in answer ; solemn and sublime 
 He might have seemed, but that in all he said 
 There was a strange half-absence, as of one 
 Knowing too well the importance of his theme, 
 But feeling it no longer. Our discourse 445 
 Soon ended, and together on we passed 
 In silence through a wood gloomy and still. 
 
7G WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Up-turning, then, along an open field, 
 We reached a cottage. At the door I knocked, 
 And earnestly to charitable care 45° 
 
 Commended him as a poor friendless man, 
 Belated and by sickness overcome. 
 Assured that now the traveller would repose 
 In comfort, I entreated that henceforth 
 He would not linger in the public ways, 455 
 But ask for timely furtherance and help 
 Such as his state required. At this reproof, 
 With the same ghastly mildness in his look, 
 He said, " My trust is in the G-od of Heaven, 
 And in the eye of him who passes me ! " 460 
 
 The cottage door was speedily unbarred, 
 And now the soldier touched his hat once more 
 With his lean hand, and in a faltering voice, 
 Whose tone bespake reviving interests 
 Till then unfelt, he thanked me ; I returned 
 The farewell blessing of the patient man, 466 
 And so we parted. Back I cast a look, 
 And lingered near the door a little space, 
 Then sought with quiet heart my distant 
 home. 
 
BOOK FIFTH. 
 
 BOOKS. 
 
 When Contemplation, like the night-calin felt 
 Through earth and sky, spreads widely, and 
 
 sends deep 
 Into the soul its tranquiilising power, 
 Even then I sometimes grieve for thee, O Man, 
 Earth's paramount Creature ! not so much for 
 
 woes 5 
 
 That thou endurest ; heavy though that weight 
 
 be, 
 Cloud-like it mounts, or touched with light 
 
 divine 
 Doth melt away ; but for those palms achieved, 
 Through length of time, by patient exercise 
 Of study and hard thought ; there, there, it is 
 That sadness finds its fuel. Hitherto, n 
 
 In progress through this Verse, my mind hath 
 
 looked 
 Upon the speaking face of earth and heaven 
 As her prime teacher, intercourse with man 
 Established by the sovereign Intellect, 15 
 
 Who through that bodily image hath diffused, 
 As might appear to the eye of fleeting time, 
 A deathless spirit. Thou also, man! hast 
 
 wrought, 
 For commerce of thy nature with herself, 
 Things that aspire to unconquerable life ; zo 
 
78 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 And yet we feel — we cannot choose but feel — 
 That they must perish. Tremblings of the heart 
 It gives, to think that our immortal being 
 No more shall need such garments ; and yet 
 
 man, 
 As long as he shall be the child of earth, 25 
 Might almost " weep to have " what he may lose, 
 Nor be himself extinguished, but survive, 
 Abject, depressed, forlorn, disconsolate. 
 A thought is with me sometimes, and I say, — 
 Should the whole frame of earth by inward 
 
 throes 30 
 
 Be wrenched, or fire come down from far to 
 
 scorch 
 Her pleasant habitations, and dry up 
 Old Ocean, in his bed left singed and bare, 
 Yet would the living Presence still subsist 
 Victorious, and composure would ensue, 35 
 
 And kindlings like the morning — presage sure 
 Of day returning and of life revived. 
 But all the meditations of mankind, 
 Yea, all the adamantine holds of truth 
 By reason built, or passion, which itself 40 
 
 Is highest reason in a soul sublime ; 
 The consecrated works of Bard and Sage, 
 Sensuous or intellectual, wrought by men, 
 Twin labourers and heirs of the same hopes ; 
 Where would they be ? Oh ! why hath not 
 
 the Mind 45 
 
 Some element to stamp her image on 
 In nature somewhat nearer to her own ? 
 Why, gifted with such powers to send abroad 
 Her spirit, must it lodge in shrines so frail ? 
 
 One day, when from my lips a like complaint 
 Had fallen in presence of a studious friend, 51 
 He with a smile made answer, that in truth 
 
BOOKS. 79 
 
 'Twas going far to seek disquietude ; 
 But on the front of his reproof confessed 
 That he himself had oftentimes given way 55 
 To kindred hauntings. Whereupon I told, 
 That once in the stillness of a summer's noon, 
 While I was seated in a rocky cave 
 By the sea-side, perusing, so it chanced, 
 The famous history of the errant knight 60 
 Recorded by Cervantes, these same thoughts 
 Beset me, and to height unusual rose, 
 While listlessly I sate, and, having closed 
 The book, had turned my eyes toward the wide 
 
 sea. 
 On poetry and geometric truth, 65 
 
 And their high privilege of lasting life, 
 From all internal injury exempt, 
 I mused ; upon these chiefly : and at length, 
 My senses yielding to the sultry air, 
 Sleep seized me, and I passed into a dream. 70 
 I saw before me stretched a boundless plain 
 Of sandy wilderness, all black and void, 
 And as I looked around, distress and fear 
 Came creeping over me, when at my side, 
 Close at my side, an uncouth shape appeared 75 
 Upon a dromedary, mounted high. 
 He seemed an Arab of the Bedouin tribes : 
 A lance he bore, and underneath one arm 
 A stone, and in the opposite hand a shell 
 Of a surpassing brightness. At the sight 80 
 Much I rejoiced, not doubting but a guide 
 Was present, one who with unerring skill 
 Would through the desert lead me ; and while 
 
 yet 
 I looked and looked, self- questioned what this 
 
 freight 
 Which the new-comer carried through the waste 
 Could mean, the Arab told me that the stone 86 
 
80 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 (To give it in the language of the dream) 
 Was " Euclid's Elements ; " and " This," said 
 
 he, 
 " Is something of more worth ; " and at the word 
 Stretched forth the shell, so beautiful in shape, 
 In colour so resplendent, with command 91 
 That I should hold it to my ear. I did so, 
 And heard that instant in an unknown tongue, 
 Which yet I understood, articulate sounds, 
 A loud prophetic blast of harmony ; 95 
 
 An Ode, in passion uttered, which foretold 
 Destruction to the children of the earth 
 By deluge, now at hand. No sooner ceased 
 The song, than the Arab with calm look declared 
 That all would come to pass of which the voice 
 Had given forewarning, and that he himself 10 1 
 Was going then to bury those two books : 
 The one that held acquaintance with the stars, 
 And wedded soul to soul in purest bond 
 Of reason, undisturbed by space or time ; 105 
 The other that was a god, yea many gods, 
 Had voices more than all the winds, with power 
 To exhilarate the spirit, and to soothe, 
 Through every clime, the heart of human kind. 
 While this was uttering, strange as it may seem, 
 I wondered not, although I plainly saw 1 1 1 
 The one to be a stone, the other a shell ; 
 Nor doubted once but that they both were books, 
 Having a perfect faith in all that passed. 
 Far stronger, now, grew the desire I felt 115 
 To cleave unto this man ; but when I prayed 
 To share his enterprise, he hurried on 
 Reckless of me : I followed, not unseen, 
 For oftentimes he casta backward look, 119 
 Grasping his twofold treasure. — Lance in rest, 
 He rode, I keeping pace with him ; and now 
 He, to my fancy, had become the knight 
 
BOOKS. 81 
 
 Whose tale Cervantes tells ; yet not the knight, 
 But was an Arab of the desert too ; 
 Of these was neither, and was both at once. 125 
 His countenance, meanwhile, grew more dis- 
 turbed ; 
 And, looking backwards when he looked, mine 
 
 eyes 
 Saw, over half the wilderness diffused, 
 A bed of glittering light : I asked the cause : 
 " It is," said he, " the waters of the deep 130 
 Gathering upon us ; " quickening then the pace 
 Of the unwieldy creature he bestrode, 
 He left me : I called after him aloud ; 
 He heeded not ; but, with his twofold charge 
 Still in his grasp, before me, full in view, 135 
 Went hurrying o'er the illimitable waste, 
 With the fleet waters of a drowning world 
 In chase of him ; whereat I waked in terror, 
 And saw the sea before me, and the book, 
 In which I had been reading, at my side. 140 
 
 Full often, taking from the world of sleep 
 This Arab phantom, which I thus beheld, 
 This semi-Quixote, I to him have given 
 A substance, fancied him a living man, 
 A gentle dweller in the desert, crazed 145 
 
 By love and feeling, and internal thought 
 Protracted among endless solitudes ; 
 Have shaped him wandering upon this quest ! 
 Nor have I pitied him ; but rather felt 149 
 
 Reverence was due to a being thus employed ; 
 And thought that, in the blind and awful lair 
 Of such a madness, reason did lie couched. 
 Enow there are on earth to take in charge 
 Their wives, their children, and their virgin 
 
 loves, 
 Or whatsoever else the heart holds dear ; 155 
 
 VII. « 
 
82 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Enow to stir for these ; yea, will I say, 
 
 Contemplating in soberness the approach 
 
 Of an event so dire, by signs in earth 
 
 Or heaven made manifest, that I could share 
 
 That maniac's fond anxiety, and go 160 
 
 Upon like errand. Oftentimes at least 
 
 Me hath such strong entrancement overcome, 
 
 When I have held a volume in my hand, 
 
 Poor earthly casket of immortal verse, 
 
 Shakespeare, or Milton, labourers divine ! 165 
 
 Great and benign, indeed, must be the power 
 Of living nature, which could thus so long 
 Detain me from the best of other guides 
 And dearest helpers, left unthanked, unpraised, 
 Even in the time of lisping infancy ; 170 
 
 And later down, in prattling childhood even, 
 While I was travelling back among those days, 
 How could I ever play an ingrate's part ? 
 Once more should I have made those bowers 
 
 resound, 
 By intermingling strains of thankfulness 175 
 With their own thoughtless melodies ; at least 
 It might have well beseemed me to repeat 
 Some simply fashioned tale, to tell again, 
 In slender accents of sweet verse, some tale 
 That did bewitch me then, and soothes me 
 
 now. 180 
 
 Eriend ! O Poet ! brother of my soul, 
 Think not that I could pass along untouched 
 By these remembrances. Yet wherefore speak ? 
 Why call upon a few weak words to say 
 What is already written in the hearts 185 
 
 Of all that breathe ? — what in the path of all 
 Drops daily from the tongue of every child, 
 Wherever man is found ? The trickling tear 
 Upon the cheek of listening Infancy 
 
BOOKS. 83 
 
 Proclaims it, and the insuperable look 190 
 
 That drinks as if it never could be full. 
 
 That portion of my story I shall leave 
 There registered : whatever else of power 
 Or pleasure sown, or fostered thus, may be 
 Peculiar to myself, let that remain 195 
 
 Where still it works, though hidden from all 
 
 search 
 Among the depths of time. Yet is it just 
 That here, in memory of all books which lay 
 Their sure foundations in the heart of man, 
 Whether by native prose, or numerous verse, 
 That in the name of all inspired souls — 201 
 From Homer the great Thunderer, from the 
 
 voice 
 That roars along the bed of Jewish song, 
 And that more varied and elaborate, 
 Those trumpet-tones of harmony that shake 205 
 Our shores in England, — from those loftiest 
 
 notes 
 Down to the low and wren-like warblings, made 
 For cottagers and spinners at the wheel, 
 And sun-burnt travellers resting their tired 
 
 limbs, 
 Stretched under wayside hedge-rows, ballad 
 
 tunes, 210 
 
 Food for the hungry ears of little ones, 
 And of old men who have survived their joys — 
 'Tis just that in behalf of these, the works, 
 And of the men that framed them, whether 
 
 known, 
 Or sleeping nameless in their scattered graves, 
 That I should here assert their rights, attest 216 
 Their honours, and should, once for all, pro- 
 nounce 
 Their benediction ; speak of them as Powers 
 
( 
 
 84 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 For ever to be hallowed ; only less, 
 For what we are and what we may become, 220 
 'Than Nature's self , which is the breath of God, 
 Or His pure Word by miracle revealeaT" 
 
 Rarely and with reluctance would I stoop 
 To transitory themes ; yet I rejoice, 
 And, by these thoughts admonished, will pour 
 
 out 225 
 
 Thanks with uplifted heart, that I was reared 
 Safe from an evil which these days have laid 
 Upon the children of the land, a pest 
 That might have dried me up, body and soul. 
 This verse is dedicate to Nature's self, 230 
 
 And things that teach as Nature teaches : then, 
 Oh ! where had been the Man, the Poet where, 
 Where had we been, we two, beloved Friend ! 
 If in the season of unperilous choice, 234 
 
 In lieu of wandering, as we did, through vales 
 Rich with indigenous produce, open ground 
 Of Fancy, happy pastures ranged at will, 
 We had been followed, hourly watched, and 
 
 noosed, 
 Each in his several melancholy walk 
 Stringed like a poor man's heifer at its feed, 240 
 Led through the lanes in forlorn servitude ; 
 Or rather like a stalled ox debarred 
 From touch of growing grass, that may not 
 
 taste 
 A flower till it have yielded up its sweets 
 A prelibation to the mower's scythe. 245 
 
 Behold the parent hen amid her brood, 
 Though fledged and feathered, and well pleased 
 
 to part 
 And straggle from her presence, still a brood, 
 And she herself from the maternal bond 
 
BOOKS. 85 
 
 Still undischarged ; yet doth she little more 250 
 Than move with them in tenderness and love, 
 A centre to the circle which they make ; 
 And now and then, alike from need of theirs 
 And call of her own natural appetites, 254 
 
 She scratches, ransacks up the earth for food, 
 Which they partake at pleasure. Early died 
 My honoured Mother, she who was the heart 
 And hinge of all our learnings and our loves : 
 She left us destitute, and, as we might, 
 Trooping together. Little suits it me 260 
 
 To break upon the sabbath of her rest 
 With any thought that looks at others' blame ; 
 Nor would I praise her but in perfect love. 
 Hence am I checked : but let me boldly say, 
 In gratitude, and for the sake of truth, 265 
 Unheard by her, that she, not falsely taught, 
 Fetching her goodness rather from times past, 
 Than shaping novelties for times to come, 
 Had no presumption, no such jealousy, 
 Nor did by habit of her thoughts mistrust 270 
 Our nature, but had virtual faith that He 
 Who fills the mother's breast with innocent 
 
 milk, 
 Doth also for our nobler part provide, 
 "Tinder His great correction and control, 
 As innocent instincts, and as innocent food ; 275 
 Or draws for minds that are left free to trust 
 In the simplicities of opening life 
 Sweet honey out of spurned or dreaded weeds. 
 This was her creed, and therefore she was pure 
 From anxious fear of error or mishap, 280 
 
 And evil, overweeningly so called ; 
 Was not puffed up by false unnatural hopes, 
 Nor selfish with unnecessary cares, 
 Nor with impatience from the season asked 
 More than its timely produce ; rather loved 285 
 
86 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 The hours for what they are, than from regard 
 Glanced on their promises in restless pride. 
 Such was she — not from faculties more strong 
 Than others have, but from the times, perhaps, 
 And spot in which she lived, and through a 
 
 grace 290 
 
 Of modest meekness, simple-mindedness, 
 A heart that found benignity and hope, 
 Being itself benign. 
 
 My drift I fear 
 Is scarcely obvious ; but, that common sense 
 May try this modern system by its fruits, 295 
 Leave let me take to place before her sight 
 A specimen pourtrayed with faithful hand. 
 Full early trained to worship seemliness, 
 This model of a child is never known 
 To mix in quarrels ; that were far beneath 300 
 Its dignity ; with gifts he bubbles o'er 
 As generous as a fountain ; selfishness 
 May not come near him, nor the little throng 
 Of flitting pleasures tempt him from his 
 
 path ; 
 The wandering beggars propagate his name, 305 
 Dumb creatures find him tender as a nun, 
 And natural or supernatural fear, 
 Unless it leap upon him in a dream, 
 Touches him not. To enhance the wonder, 
 
 see 
 How arch his notices, how nice his sense 310 
 Of the ridiculous ; not blind is he 
 To the broad follies of the licensed world, 
 Yet innocent himself withal, though shrewd, 
 And can read lectures upon innocence ; 
 A miracle of scientific lore, 315 
 
 Ships he can guide across the pathless sea, 
 And tell you all their cunning ; he can read 
 The inside of the earth, and spell the stars 5 
 
BOOKS. 87 
 
 He knows the policies of foreign lands ; 319 
 
 Can string you names of districts, cities, towns, 
 
 The whole world over, tight as beads of dew 
 
 Upon a gossamer thread ; he sifts, he weighs ; 
 
 All things are put to question ; he must live 
 
 Knowing that he grows wiser every day 
 
 Or else not live at all, and seeing too 325 
 
 Each little drop of wisdom as it falls 
 
 Into the dimpling cistern of his heart : 
 
 For this unnatural growth the trainer blame, 
 
 Pity the tree. — Poor human vanity, 
 
 Wert thou extinguished, little would be left 330 
 
 Which he could truly love ; but how escape? 
 
 For, ever as a thought of purer birth 
 
 Rises to lead him toward a better clime, 
 
 Some intermeddler still is on the watch 
 
 To drive him back, and pound him, like a 
 
 stray, 335 
 
 Within the pinfold of his own conceit. 
 Meanwhile old grandame earth is grieved to 
 
 find 
 The playthings, which her love designed for 
 
 him, 
 Unthought of : in their woodland beds the 
 
 flowers 
 Weep, and the river sides are all forlorn. 340 
 Oh ! give us once again the wishing cap 
 Of Fortunatus, and the invisible coat 
 Of Jack the Griant-killer, Eobin Hood, 
 And Sabra in the forest with St. George ! 
 The child, whose love is here, at least, doth 
 
 reap 345 
 
 One precious gain, that he forgets himself. 
 
 These mighty workmen of our later age, 
 Who, with a broad highway, have overbridged 
 The froward chaos of futurity, 
 
88 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Tamed to their bidding ; they who have the 
 
 skill 350 
 
 To manage books, and things, and make them 
 
 act 
 On infant minds as surely as the sun 
 Deals with a flower ; the keepers of our time, 
 The guides and wardens of our faculties, 
 Sages who in their prescience would control 355 
 All accidents, and to the very road 
 Which they have fashioned would confine us 
 
 down, 
 Like engines; when will their presumption 
 
 learn, 
 That in the unreasoning progress of the world 
 A wiser spirit is at work for us, 360 
 
 A better eye than theirs, most prodigal 
 Of blessings, and most studious of our good, 
 Even in what seem our most unfruitful hours ? 
 
 There was a Boy : ye knew him well, ye cliffs 
 And islands of Winander ! — many a time 365 
 At evening, when the earliest stars began 
 To move along the edges of the hills, 
 Rising or setting, would he stand alone 
 Beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake, 
 And there, with fingers interwoven, both 
 
 hands 370 
 
 Pressed closely palm to palm, and to his mouth 
 Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, 
 Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, 
 That they might answer him ; and they would 
 
 shout 
 Across the watery vale, and shout again, 375 
 Responsive to his call, with quivering peals, 
 And long halloos and screams, and echoes loud, 
 Redoubled and redoubled, concourse wild 
 Of jocund din ; and, when a lengthened pause 
 
BOOKS. 89 
 
 Of silence came and baffled his best skill, 380 
 Then sometimes, in that silence while he hung 
 Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise 
 Has carried far into his heart the voice 
 Of mountain torrents ; or the visible scene 
 Would enter unawares into his mind, 385 
 
 With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, 
 Its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received 
 Into the bosom of the steady lake. 
 
 This Boy was taken from his mates, and died 
 In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old. 
 Fair is the spot, most beautiful the vale 391 
 Where he was born ; the grassy churchyard 
 
 hangs 
 Upon a slope above the village school, 
 And through that churchyard when my way 
 
 has led 
 On summer evenings, I believe that there 395 
 A long half hour together I have stood 
 Mute, looking at the grave in which he lies ! 
 Even now appears before the mind's clear eye 
 That self-same village church ; I see her sit 
 (The throned Lady whom erewhile we hailed) 
 On her green hill, forgetful of this Boy 401 
 Who slumbers at her feet,— forgetful, too, 
 Of all her silent neighbourhood of graves, 
 And listening only to the gladsome sounds 
 That, from the rural school ascending, play 405 
 Beneath her and about her. May she long 
 Behold a race of young ones like to those 
 With whom I herded '.—(easily, indeed, 
 We might have fed upon a fatter soil 
 Of arts and letters— but be that forgiven)— 410 
 A race of real children ; not too wise, 
 Too learned, or too good ; but wanton, fresh, 
 And bandied up and down by love and hate ; 
 
90 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Not unresentful where self -justified ; 414 
 
 Fierce, moody, patient, venturous, modest, shy ; 
 Mad at their sports like withered leaves in 
 
 winds ; 
 Though doing wrong and suffering, and full 
 
 oft 
 Bending beneath our life's mysterious weight 
 Of pain, and doubt, and fear, yet yielding not 
 In happiness to the happiest upon earth. 420 
 Simplicity in habit, truth in speech, 
 Be these the daily strengtheners of their minds ; 
 May books and Nature be their early joy ! 
 And knowledge, rightly honoured with that 
 
 name — 
 Knowledge not purchased by the loss of power ! 
 
 Well do I call to mind the very week 426 
 When I was first intrusted to the care 
 Of that sweet Valley ; when its paths, its 
 
 shores, 
 And brooks were like a dream of novelty 
 To my half-infant thoughts ; that very week, 
 While I was roving up and down alone, 431 
 Seeking I knew not what, I chanced to cross 
 One of those open fields, which, shaped like 
 
 ears, 
 Make green peninsulas on Esthwaite's Lake : 
 Twilight was coming on, yet through the 
 
 loom 
 
 435 
 
 Appeared distinctly on the opposite shore 
 
 A heap of garments, as if left by one 
 
 Who might have there been bathing. Long I 
 
 watched, 
 But no one owned them ; meanwhile the calm 
 
 lake 439 
 
 Grew dark with all the shadows on its breast, 
 And, now and then, r fc a fish up-leaping snapped 
 
BOOKS. 91 
 
 The breathless stillness. The succeeding day, 
 Those unclaimed garments telling a plain tale 
 Drew to the spot an anxious crowd ; some 
 
 looked 
 In passive expectation from the shore, 445 
 
 While from a boat others hung o'er the deep, 
 Sounding with grappling irons and long poles. 
 At last, the dead man, 'mid that beauteous 
 
 scene 
 Of trees and hills and water, bolt upright 
 Rose, with his ghastly face, a spectre shape 450 
 Of terror ; yet no soul- debasing fear, 
 Young as I was, a child not nine years old, 
 Possessed me, for my inner eye had seen 
 Such sights before, among the shining streams 
 Of faery land, the forest of romance. 455 
 
 Their spirit hallowed the sad spectacle 
 With decoration of ideal grace ; 
 A dignity, a smoothness, like the works 
 Of Grecian art, and purest poesy. 
 
 A precious treasure had I long possessed, 460 
 A little yellow, canvas-covered book, 
 A slender abstract of the Arabian tales ; 
 And, from companions in a new abode, 
 When first I learnt, that this dear prize of 
 
 mine 
 Was but a block hewn from a mighty quarry — 
 That there were four large volumes, laden all 466 
 With kindred matter, 'twas to me, in truth, 
 A promise scarcely earthly. Instantly, 
 With one not richer than myself, I made 
 A covenant that each should lay aside 470 
 
 The moneys he possessed, and hoard up more, 
 Till our joint savings had amassed enough 
 To make this book our own. Through several 
 months, 
 
92 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 In spite of all temptation, we preserved 
 Religiously that vow ; but firmness failed, 475 
 Nor were we ever masters of our wish. 
 
 And when thereafter to my father's house 
 The holidays returned me, there to find 
 That golden store of books which I had left, 
 What joy was mine ! How often in the course 480 
 Of those glad respites, though a soft west 
 
 wind 
 Ruffled the waters to the angler's wish, 
 For a whole day together, have I lain 
 Down by thy side, Derwent ! murmuring 
 
 stream, 
 On the hot stones, and in the glaring sun, 485 
 And there have read, devouring as I read, 
 Defrauding the day's glory, desperate ! 
 Till with a sudden bound of smart reproach, 
 Such as an idler deals with in his shame, 
 I to the sport betook myself again. 490 
 
 A gracious spirit o'er this earth presides, 
 And o'er the heart of man : invisibly 
 It comes, to works of unreproved delight, 
 And tendency benign, directing those 
 Who care not, know not, think not what they 
 do. 495 
 
 The tales that charm away the wakeful night 
 In Araby, romances ; legends penned 
 For solace by dim light of monkish lamps ; 
 Fictions, for ladies of their love, devised 
 By youthful squires ; adventures endless, spun 
 By the dismantled warrior in old age, 501 
 
 Out of the bowels of those very schemes 
 In which his youth did first extravagate ; 
 These spread like day, and something in the 
 shape 
 
BOOKS. 93 
 
 Of these will live till man shall be no more. 505 
 Dumb yearnings, hidden appetites, are ours, 
 And they must have their food. Our childhood 
 
 sits, 
 Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne 
 That hath more power than all the elements. 
 I guess not what this tells of Being past, 510 
 Nor what it augurs of the life to come ; 
 But so it is, and, in that dubious hour, 
 That twilight when we first begin to see 
 This dawning earth, to recognise, expect, 
 And, in the long probation that ensues, 515 
 The time of trial, ere we learn to live 
 In reconcilement with our stinted powers ; 
 To endure this state of meagre vassalage, 
 Unwilling to forego, confess, submit, 
 Uneasy and unsettled, yoke-fellows 520 
 
 To custom, mettlesome, and not yet tamed 
 And humbled down; oh! then we feel, we 
 
 feel, 
 We know where we have friends. Ye dreamers, 
 
 then, 
 Forgers of daring tales ! we bless you then, 
 Impostors, drivellers, dotards, as the ape 525 
 Philosophy will call you : then we feel 
 With what, and how great might ye are in 
 
 league, 
 Who make our wish, our power, our thought a 
 
 deed, 
 An empire, a possession, — ye whom time 
 And seasons serve; all Faculties to whom 530 
 Earth crouches, the elements are potter's clay, 
 Space like a heaven filled up with northern 
 
 lights, 
 Here, nowhere, there, and everywhere at once. 
 
 Relinquishing this lofty eminence 
 
94 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 For ground, though humbler, not the less a 
 
 tract 535 
 
 Of the same isthmus, which our spirits cross 
 In progress from their native continent 
 To earth and human life, the Song might dwell 
 On that delightful time of growing youth, 
 When craving for the marvellous gives way 540 
 To strengthening love for things that we have 
 
 seen; 
 When sober truth and steady sympathies, 
 Offered to notice by less daring pens, 
 Take firmer hold of us, and words themselves 
 Move us with conscious pleasure. 
 
 I am sad 545 
 At thought of raptures now for ever flown; 
 Almost to tears I sometimes could be sad 
 To think of, to read over, many a page, 
 Poems withal of name, which at that time 
 Did never fail to entrance me, and are now 550 
 Dead in my eyes, dead as a theatre 
 Fresh emptied of spectators. Twice five years 
 Or less I might have seen, when first my 
 
 mind 
 With conscious pleasure opened to the charm 
 Of words in tuneful order, found them sweet 555 
 For their own sokes, a passion, and a power ; 
 And phrases pleased me chosen for delight, 
 For pomp, or love. Oft, in the public roads 
 Yet unfrequented, while the morning light 
 Was yellowing the hill tops, I went abroad 560 
 With a dear friend, and for the better part 
 Of two delightful hours we strolled along 
 By the still borders of the misty lake, 
 Repeating favourite verses with one voice, 
 Or conning more, as happy as the birds 565 
 That round us chaunted. Well might we be 
 
 glad, 
 
BOOKS. 95 
 
 Lifted above the ground by airy fancies, 
 More bright than madness or the dreams of 
 
 wine ; 
 And, though full oft the objects of our love 
 Were false, and in their splendour overwrought, 
 Yet was there surely then no vulgar power 571 
 Working within us, — nothing less, in truth, 
 Than that most noble attribute of man, 
 Though yet untutored and inordinate, 
 That wish for something loftier, more adorned, 
 Than is the common aspect, daily garb, 576 
 Of human life. What wonder, then, if sounds 
 Of exultation echoed through the groves ! 
 For, images, and sentiments, and words, 
 And everything encountered or pursued 580 
 In that delicious world of poesy, 
 Kept holiday, a never-ending show, 
 With music, incense, festival, and flowers ! 
 
 Here must we pause : this only let me add, 
 From heart -experience, and in humblest sense 
 Of modesty, that he, who in his youth 586 
 
 A daily wanderer among woods and fields 
 With living Nature hath been intimate, 
 Not only in that raw unpractised time 
 Is stirred to extasy, as others are, 590 
 
 By glittering verse ; but further, doth receive, 
 In measure only dealt out to himself, 
 Knowledge and increase of enduring joy 
 From the great Nature that exists in works 
 Of mighty Poets. Visionary power 595 
 
 Attends the motions of the viewless winds, 
 Embodied in the mystery of words : 
 There, darkness makes abode, and all the host 
 Of shadowy things work endless changes, — 
 
 there, 
 As in a mansion like their proper home, 600 
 
96 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Even forms and substances are circumfused 
 By that transparent veil with light divine, 
 And, through the turnings intricate of verse, 
 Present themselves as objects recognised, 
 In flashes, and with glory not their own. 605 
 
BOOK SIXTH. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 
 
 The leaves were fading when to Esthwaite's 
 
 banks 
 And the simplicities of cottage life 
 I bade farewell ; and, one among the youth 
 Who, summoned by that season, reunite 
 As scattered birds troop to the fowler's lure, 5 
 Went back to Granta's cloisters, not so prompt 
 Or eager, though as gay and undepressed 
 In mind, as when I thence had taken flight 
 A few short months before. I turned my face 
 Without repining from the coves and heights 10 
 Clothed in the sunshine of the withering fern ; 
 Quitted, not loth, the mild magnificence 
 Of calmer lakes and louder streams ; and you, 
 Frank-hearted maids of rocky Cumberland, 
 You and your not unwelcome days of mirth, 1 5 
 Relinquished, and your nights of revelry, 
 And in my own unlovely cell sate down 
 In lightsome mood — such privilege has youth 
 That cannot take long leave of pleasant 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 The bonds of indolent society 20 
 
 Relaxing in their hold, henceforth I lived 
 More to myself. Two winters may be passed 
 Without a separate notice : many books 
 
 VII. h 
 
98 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Were skimmed, devoured, or studiously perused, 
 But with no settled plan. I was detached 25 
 Internally from academic cares ; 
 Yet independent study seemed a course 
 Of hardy disobedience towards friends 
 And kindred, proud rebellion and unkind. 
 This spurious virtue, rather let it bear 30 
 
 A name it now deserves, this cowardice, 
 Gave treacherous sanction to that over-love 
 Of freedom which encouraged me to turn 
 From regulations even of my own 
 As from restraints and bonds. Yet who can 
 
 tell— 35 
 
 Who knows what thus may have been gained, 
 
 both then 
 And at a later season, or preserved ; 
 What love of nature, what original strength 
 Of contemplation, what intuitive truths, 
 The deepest and the best, what keen research, 
 Unbiassed, unbewildered, and unawed? 41 
 
 The Poet's soul was with me at that time ; 
 Sweet meditations, the still overflow 
 Of present happiness, while future years 
 Lacked not anticipations, tender dreams, 45 
 No few of which have since been realised ; 
 And some remain, hopes for my future life. 
 Four years and thirty, told this very week, 
 Have I been now a sojourner on earth, 
 By sorrow not un smitten ; yet for me 50 
 
 Life's morning radiance hath not left the hills, 
 Her dew is on the flowers. Those were the 
 
 days 
 Which also first emboldened me to trust 
 With firmness, hitherto but lightly touched 
 By such a daring thought, that I might leave 55 
 Some monument behind me which pure hearts 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 99 
 
 Should reverence. The instinctive humbleness, 
 Maintained even by the very name and thought 
 Of printed books and authorship, began 
 To melt away ; and further, the dread awe 60 
 Of mighty names was softened down and 
 
 seemed 
 Approachable, admitting fellowship 
 Of modest sympathy. Such aspect now, 
 Though not familiarly, my mind put on, 
 Content to observe, to achieve, and to enjoy. 65 
 
 All winter long, whenever free to choose, 
 Did I by night frequent the College groves 
 And tributary walks ; the last, and oft 
 The only one, who had been lingering there 
 Through hours of silence, till the porter's bell, 
 A punctual follower on the stroke of nine, 71 
 Rang with its blunt unceremonious voice, 
 Inexorable summons ! Lofty elms, 
 Inviting shades of opportune recess, 
 Bestowed composure on a neighbourhood 75 
 Unpeaceful in itself. A single tree 
 With sinuous trunk, boughs exquisitely 
 
 wreathed, 
 Grew there ; an ash which Winter for himself 
 Decked as in pride, and with outlandish grace: 
 Up from the ground, and almost to the top, 80 
 The trunk and every master branch were green 
 With clustering ivy, and the lightsome twigs 
 And outer spray profusely tipped with seeds 
 That hung in yellow tassels, while the air 
 Stirred them, not voiceless. Often have I 
 
 stood 8 5 
 
 Foot-bound uplooking at this lovely tree 
 Beneath a frosty moon. The hemisphere 
 Of magic fiction, verse of mine perchance 
 May never tread ; but scarcely Spenser's self 
 
100 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Could have more tranquil visions in his youth, 
 Or could more bright appearances create 91 
 Of human forms with superhuman powers, 
 Than I beheld loitering on calm clear nights 
 Alone, beneath this fairy work of earth. 
 
 On the vague reading of a truant youth 95 
 'Twere idle to descant. My inner judgment 
 Not seldom differed from my taste in books, 
 As if it appertained to another mind, 
 And yet the books which then I valued most 
 Are dearest to me now ; for, having scanned, 100 
 Not heedlessly, the laws, and watched the forms 
 Of Nature, in that knowledge I possessed 
 A standard, often usefully applied, 
 Even when unconsciously, to things removed 
 From a familiar sympathy. — In fine, 105 
 
 I was a better judge of thoughts than words, 
 Misled in estimating words, not only 
 By common inexperience of youth, 
 But by the trade in classic niceties, 
 The dangerous craft of culling term and phrase 
 From languages that want the living voice 1 1 1 
 To carry meaning to the natural heart ; 
 To tell us what is passion, what is truth, 
 What reason, what simplicity and sense. 
 
 Yet may we not entirely overlook 115 
 
 The pleasure gathered from the rudiments 
 Of geometric science. Though advanced 
 In these inquiries, with regret I speak, 
 No farther than the threshold, there I found 
 Both elevation and composed delight : 120 
 
 With Indian awe and wonder, ignorance pleased 
 With its own struggles, did I meditate 
 On the relation those abstractions bear 
 To Nature's laws, and by what process led, 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 101 
 
 Those immaterial agents bowed their heads 125 
 Duly to serve the mind of earth-born man ; 
 From star to star, from kindred sphere to 
 
 sphere, 
 From system on to system without end. 
 
 More frequently from the same source I drew 
 A pleasure quiet and profound, a sense 130 
 Of permanent and universal sway, 
 And paramount belief ; there, recognised 
 A type, for finite natures, of the one 
 Supreme Existence, the surpassing life 
 Which — to the boundaries of space and time, 
 Of melancholy space and doleful time, 136 
 
 Superior, and incapable of change, 
 Nor touched by welterings of passion — is, 
 And hath the name of, God. Transcendent 
 
 peace 
 And silence did await upon these thoughts 140 
 That were a frequent comfort to my youth. 
 
 'Tis told by one whom stormy waters threw, 
 With fellow- sufferers by the shipwreck spared, 
 Upon a desert coast, that having brought 
 To land a single volume, saved by chance, 145 
 A treatise of Geometry, he wont, 
 Although of food and clothing destitute, 
 And beyond common wretchedness depressed, 
 To part from company and take this book 
 (Then first a self-taught pupil in its truths) 150 
 To spots remote, and draw his diagrams 
 With a long staff upon the sand, and thus 
 Did oft beguile his sorrow, and almost 
 Forget his feeling : so (if like effect 
 From the same cause produced, 'mid outward 
 things x 55 
 
 So different, may rightly be compared), 
 
102 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 So was it then with me, and so will be 
 
 With Poets ever. Mighty is the charm 
 
 Of those abstractions to a mind beset 
 
 With images, and hannted by herself, 160 
 
 And specially delightful unto me 
 
 Was that clear synthesis built up aloft 
 
 So gracefully ; even then when it appeared 
 
 Not more than a mere plaything, or a toy 
 
 To sense embodied : not the thing it is 165 
 
 In verity, an independent world, 
 
 Created out of pure intelligence. 
 
 Such dispositions then were mine unearned 
 By aught, I fear, of genuine desert — 
 Mine, through heaven's grace and inborn apti- 
 tudes. 170 
 And not to leave the story of that time 
 Imperfect, with these habits must be joined, 
 Moods melancholy, fits of spleen, that loved 
 A pensive sky, sad days, and piping winds, 
 The twilight more than dawn, autumn than 
 spring; 175 
 A treasured and luxurious gloom of choice 
 And inclination mainly, and the mere 
 Redundancy of youth's contentedness. 
 — To time thus spent, add multitudes of 
 
 hours 
 Pilfered away, by what the Bard who sang 180 
 Of the Enchanter Indolence hath called 
 " Good natured lounging," and behold a map 
 Of my collegiate life — far less intense 
 Than duty called for, or, without regard 
 To duty, might have sprung up of itself 185 
 By change of accidents, or even, to speak 
 Without unkindness, in another place. 
 Yet why take refuge in that plea ? — the fault. 
 This I repeat, was mine ; mine be the blame. 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 103 
 
 In summer, making quest for works of art, 
 Or scenes renowned for beauty, I explored 191 
 That streamlet whose blue current works its way 
 Between romantic Dovedale's spiry rocks ; 
 Pried into Yorkshire dales, or hidden tracts 
 Of my own native region, and was blest 195 
 Between these sundry wanderings with a joy 
 Above all joys, that seemed another morn 
 Risen on mid noon ; blest with the presence, 
 
 Friend ! 
 Of that sole Sister, her who hath been long 
 Dear to thee also, thy true friend and mine, 200 
 Now, after separation desolate, 
 Restored to me — such absence that she seemed 
 A gift then first bestowed. The varied banks 
 Of Emont, hitherto unnamed in song, 
 And that monastic castle, 'mid tall trees, 205 
 Low- standing by the margin of the stream, 
 A mansion visited (as fame reports) 
 By Sidney, where, in sight of our Helvellyn, 
 Or stormy Cross-fell, snatches he might pen 
 Of his Arcadia, by fraternal love 210 
 
 Inspired; — that river and those mouldering 
 
 towers 
 Have seen us side by side, when, having clomb 
 The darksome windings of a broken stair, 
 And crept along a ridge of fractured wall, 
 Not without trembling, we in safety looked 215 
 Forth, through some Gothic window's open 
 
 space, 
 And gathered with one mind a rich reward 
 From the far- stretching landscape, by the light 
 OFniorning beautified, or purple eve; 219 
 
 Or, not less pleased, lay on some turret's head, 
 Catching from tufts of grass and hare-bell 
 
 " flowers 
 
 Their faintest whisper to the passing breeze, 
 
104 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Given out while mid-day heat oppressed the 
 plains. 
 
 Another maid there was, who also shed 
 A gladness o'er that season, then to me, 225 
 By her exulting outside look of youth 
 And placid under-countenance, first endeared ; 
 That other spirit, Coleridge ! who is now 
 So near to us, that meek confiding heart, 229 
 So reverenced by us both. O'er paths and fields 
 In all that neighbourhood, through narrow lanes 
 Of eglantine, and through the shady woods, 
 And o'er the Border Beacon, and the waste 
 Of naked pools, and common crags that lay 234 
 Exposed on the bare fell, were scattered love, 
 The spirit of pleasure, and youth's golden gleam. 
 Friend ! we had not seen thee at that time, 
 And yet a power is on me, and a strong 
 Confusion, and I seem to plant thee there. 
 Far art thou wandered now in search of health 
 And milder breezes, — melancholy lot ! 241 
 
 But thou art with us, with us in the past, 
 The present, with us in the times to come. 
 There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair, 
 No langour, no dejection, no dismay, 245 
 
 No absence scarcely can there be, for those 
 Who love as we do. Speed thee well ! divide 
 With us thy pleasure ; thy returning strength, 
 Eeceive it daily as a joy of ours ; 
 Share with us thy fresh spirits, whether gift 
 Of gales Etesian or of tender thoughts. 251 
 
 I, too, have been a wanderer ; but, alas, 
 How different the fate of different men. 
 Though mutually unknown, yea nursed and 
 
 reared 
 As if in several elements, we were framed 255 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 105 
 
 To bend at last to the same discipline, 
 Predestined, if two beings ever were, 
 To seek the same delights, and have one health, 
 One happiness. Throughout this narrative, 
 Else sooner ended, I have borne in mind 260 
 For whom it registers the birth, and marks the 
 
 growth, 
 Of gentleness, simplicity, and truth, 
 And joyous loves, that hallow innocent days 
 Of peace and self-command. Of rivers, fields, 
 And groves I speak to thee, my Friend ! to thee, 
 Who, yet a liveried schoolboy, in the depths 266 
 Of the huge city, on the leaded roof 
 Of that wide edifice, thy school and home, 
 Wert used to lie and gaze upon the clouds 
 Moving in heaven ; or, of that pleasure tired, 
 To shut thine eyes, and by internal light 271 
 See trees, and meadows, and thy native stream, 
 Far distant, thus beheld from year to year 
 Of a long exile. Nor could I forget, 
 In this late portion of my argument, 275 
 
 That scarcely, as my term of pupilage 
 Ceased, had I left those academic bowers 
 When thou wert thither guided. From the 
 
 heart 
 Of London, and from cloisters there, thou 
 
 earnest, 279 
 
 And didst sit down in temperance and peace, 
 A rigorous student. What a stormy course 
 Then followed. Oh ! it is a pang that calls 
 For utterance, to think what easy change 
 Of circumstances might to thee have spared 
 A world of pain, ripened a thousand hopes, 285 
 For ever withered. Through this retrospect 
 Of my collegiate life I still have had 
 Thy after-sojourn in the self-same place 
 Present before my eyes, have played with times 
 
106 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 And accidents as children do with cards, 290 
 
 Or as a man, who, when his house is built, 
 
 A frame locked up in wood and stone, doth 
 
 still, 
 As impotent fancy prompts, by his fireside, 
 Rebuild it to his liking. I have thought 
 Of thee, thy learning, gorgeous eloquence, 295 
 And all the strength and plumage of thy youth, 
 Thy subtle speculations, toils abstruse 
 Among the schoolmen, and Platonic forms 
 Of wild ideal pageantry, shaped out 
 From things well-matched or ill, and words for 
 
 things, 300 
 
 The self-created sustenance of a mind 
 Debarred from Nature's living images, 
 Compelled to be a life unto herself, 
 And unrelentingly possessed by thirst 
 Of greatness, love, and beauty. Not alone, 305 
 Ah ! surely not in singleness of heart 
 Should I have seen the light of evening fade 
 From smooth Cam's silent waters : had we met, 
 Even at that early time, needs must I trust 
 In the belief, that my maturer age, 310 
 
 My calmer habits, and more steady voice, 
 Would with an influence benign have soothed, 
 Or chased away, the airy wretchedness 
 That battened on thy youth. But thou hast 
 
 trod 
 A march of glory, which doth put to shame 3 1 5 
 These vain regrets ; health suffers in thee, else 
 Such grief for thee would be the weakest 
 
 thought 
 That ever harboured in the breast of man. 
 
 A passing word erewhile did lightly touch 
 On wanderings of my own, that now embraced 
 With livelier hope a region wider far. 321 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALf\S. 107 
 
 When the third summer freed us from 
 
 restraint, 
 A youthful friend, he too a mountaineer, 
 Not slow to share my wishes, took his staff, 
 And sallying forth, we journeyed side by side, 
 Bound to the distant Alps. A hardy slight 326 
 Did this unprecedented course imply 
 Of college studies and their set rewards ; 
 Nor had, in truth, the scheme been formed by 
 
 me 
 Without uneasy forethought of the pain, 330 
 The censures, and ill-omening of those 
 To whom my worldly interests were dear. 
 But Nature then was soverign in my mind, 
 And mighty forms, seizing a youthful fancy, 
 Had given a charter to irregular hopes. 335 
 In any age of uneventful calm 
 Among the nations, surely would my heart 
 Have been possessed by similar desire ; 
 But Europe at that time was thrilled with joy, 
 France standing on the top of golden hours, 340 
 And human nature seeming born again. 
 
 Lightly equipped, and but a few brief looks 
 Cast on the white cliffs of our native shore 
 From the receding vessel's deck, we chanced 
 To land at Calais on the very eve 345 
 
 Of that great federal day ; and there we saw, 
 In a mean city, and among a few, 
 How bright a face is worn when joy of one 
 Is joy for tens of millions. Southward thence 
 We held our way, direct through hamlets, towns, 
 Gaudy with reliques of that festival, 351 
 
 Flowers left to wither on triumphal arcs, 
 And window- garlands. On the public roads, 
 And, once, three days successively, through 
 paths 
 
108 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 By which our toilsome journey was abridged, 
 Among sequestered villages we walked 356 
 
 And found benevolence and blessedness 
 Spread like a fragrance everywhere, when spring 
 Hath left no corner of the land untouched : 
 Where elms for many and many a league in 
 
 files 360 
 
 With their thin umbrage, on the stately roads 
 Of that great kingdom, rustled o'er our heads, 
 For ever near us as we paced along : 
 How sweet at such a time, with such delight 
 On every side, in prime of youthful strength, 365 . 
 To feed a Poet's tender melancholy . 
 And fond conceit of sadness, with the sound 
 Of undulations varying as might please 
 The wind that swayed them ; once, and more 
 
 than once, 
 Unhoused beneath the evening star we saw 370 
 Dances of liberty, and, in late hours 
 Of darkness, dances in the open air 
 Deftly prolonged, though grey- haired lookers on 
 Might waste their breath in chiding. 
 
 Under hills — 
 The vine-clad hills and skypes of Burgundy, 375 
 Upon the bosom of the gentle Saone 
 We glided forward with the flowing stream. 
 Swift Khone ! thou wert the wings on which we 
 
 cut 
 A winding passage with majestic ease 
 Between thy lofty rocks. Enchanting show 380 
 Those woods and farms and orchards did 
 
 present, 
 And single cottages and lurking towns, 
 B.each after reach, succession without end 
 Of deep and stately vales ! A lonely pair 
 Of. strangers, till day closed, we sailed along, 385 
 Clustered together with a merry crowd 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 109 
 
 Of those emancipated, a blithe host 
 Of travellers, chiefly delegates returning 
 From the great spousals newly solemnized 
 At their chief city, in the sight of Heaven. 390 
 Like bees they swarmed, gaudy and gay as bees ; 
 Some vapoured in the unruliness of joy, 
 And with their swords flourished as if to fight 
 The saucy air. In this proud company 
 We landed — took with them our evening meal, 
 Ouests welcome almost as the angels were 396 
 To Abraham of old. The supper done, 
 With flowing cups elate and happy thoughts 
 We rose at signal given, and formed a ring 
 And, hand in hand, danced round and round 
 
 the board ; 400 
 
 All hearts were open, every tongue was loud 
 With amity and glee ; we bore a name 
 Honoured in France, the name of Englishmen, 
 And hospitably did they give us hail, 
 As their forerunners in a glorious course ; 405 
 And round and round the board we danced 
 
 again. 
 With these blithe friends our voyage we 
 
 renewed 
 At early dawn. The monastery bells 
 Made a sweet jingling in our youthful ears ; 
 The rapid river flowing without noise, 410 
 
 And each uprising or receding spire 
 Spake with a sense of peace, at intervals 
 Touching the heart amid the boisterous crew 
 By whom we were encompassed. Taking leave 
 Of this glad throng, foot-travellers side by side, 
 Measuring our steps in quiet, we pursued 416 
 Our journey, and ere twice the sun had set 
 Beheld the Convent of Chartreuse, and there 
 Rested within an awful solitude : 
 Yes ; for even then no other than a place 420 
 
110 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of soul-affecting solitude appeared 
 
 That far-famed region, though our eves had 
 
 seen, 
 As toward the sacred mansion we advanced, 
 Arms flashing, and a military glare 
 Of riotous men commissioned to expel 425 
 
 The blameless inmates, and belike subvert 
 That frame of social being, which so long 
 Had bodied forth the ghostliness of things 
 In silence visible and perpetual calm. 
 — " Stay, stay your sacrilegious hands !" — The 
 
 voice 430 
 
 Was Nature's, uttered from her Alpine throne ; 
 I heard it then, and seem to hear it now — 
 " Your impious work forbear, perish what may, 
 Let this one temple last, be this one spot 
 Of earth devoted to eternity ! " 435 
 
 She ceased to speak, but while St. Bruno's pines 
 Waved their dark tops, not silent as they waved, 
 And while below, along their several beds, 
 Murmured the sister streams of Life and Death, 
 Thus by conflicting passions pressed, my heart 
 Responded ; " Honour to the patriot's zeal ! 441 
 Grlory and hope to new-born Liberty ! 
 Hail to the mighty projects of the time ! 
 Discerning sword that Justice wields, do thou 
 Go forth and prosper ; and, ye purging fires, 445 
 Up to the loftiest towers of Pride ascend, 
 Fanned by the breath of angry Providence. 
 But oh ! if Past and Future be the wings 
 On whose support harmoniously conjoined 
 Moves the great spirit of human knowledge, 
 
 spare 450 
 
 These courts of mystery, where a step advanced 
 Between the portals of the shadowy rocks 
 Leaves far behind life's treacherous vanities, 
 For penitential tears and trembling hopes 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. Ill 
 
 Exchanged — to equalise in G-od'spure sight 455 
 Monarch and peasant : be the house redeemed 
 With its unworldly votaries, for the sake 
 Of conquest over sense, hourly achieved 
 Through faith and meditative reason, resting 
 Upon the word of heaven-imparted truth, 460 
 Calmly triumphant ; and for humbler claim 
 Of that imaginative impulse sent 
 From these majestic floods, yon shining cliffs, 
 The untransmuted shapes of many worlds, 
 Cerulean ether's pure inhabitants, 465 
 
 These forests unapproachable by death, 
 That shall endure as long as man endures, 
 To think, to hope, to worship, and to feel, 
 To struggle, to be lost within himself 
 In trepidation, from the blank abyss 470 
 
 To look with bodily eyes, and be consoled." 
 Not seldom since that moment have I wished 
 That thou, O Friend ! the trouble or the calm 
 Hadst shared, when, from profane regards 
 
 apart, 
 In sympathetic reverence we trod 475 
 
 The floors of those dim cloisters, till that hour, 
 From their foundation, strangers to the presence 
 Of unrestricted and unthinking man. 
 Abroad, how cheeringly the sunshine lay 
 Upon the open lawns ! Vallombre's groves 480 
 Entering, we fed the soul with darkness; thence 
 Issued, and with uplifted eyes beheld, 
 In different quarters of the bending sky, 
 The cross of Jesus stand erect, as if 
 Hands of angelic powers had fixed it there, 485 
 Memorial reverenced by a thousand storms ; 
 Yet then, from the undiscriminating sweep 
 And rage of one State -whirlwind, insecure. 
 
 'Tis not my present purpose to retrace 
 
112 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 That variegated journey step by step. 490 
 
 A march it was of military speed, 
 And Earth did change her images and forms 
 Before us, fast as clouds are changed in heaven. 
 Day after day, up early and down late, 494 
 
 From hill to vale we dropped, from vale to hill 
 Mounted — from province on to province swept, 
 Keen hunters in a chase of fourteen weeks, 
 Eager as birds of prey, or as a shi]) 
 Upon the stretch, when winds are blowing fair : 
 Sweet coverts did we cross of pastoral life, 500 
 Enticing valleys, greeted them and left 
 Too soon, while yet the very flash and gleam 
 Of salutation were not passed away. 
 Oh ! sorrow for the youth who could have seen 
 Un chastened, unsubdued, unawed, unraised 505 
 To patriarchal dignity of mind, 
 And pure simplicity of wish and will, 
 Those sanctified abodes of peaceful man, 
 Pleased (though to hardship born, and com- 
 passed round 
 With danger, varying as the seasons chan ge) , 510 
 Pleased with his daily task, or, if not pleased, 
 Contented, from the moment that the dawn 
 (Ah ! surely not without attendant gleams 
 Of soul -illumination) calls him forth 
 To industry, by glistenings flung on rocks, 515 
 Whose evening shadows lead him to repose. 
 
 Well might a stranger look with bounding 
 
 heart 
 Down on a green recess, the first I saw 
 Of those deep haunts, an aboriginal vale, 
 Quiet and lorded over and possessed 520 
 
 By naked huts, wood-built, and sown like 
 
 tents 
 Or Indian cabins over the fresh lawns 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 113 
 
 And by the river side. 
 
 That very day, 
 From a bare ridge we also first beheld 
 Unveiled the summit of Mont Blanc, and 
 grieved 525 
 
 To have a soulless image on the eye 
 That had usurped upon a living thought 
 That never more could be. The wondrous Vale 
 Of Chamouny stretched far below, and soon 
 With its dumb cataracts and streams of ice, 530 
 A motionless array of mighty waves, 
 Five rivers broad and vast, made rich amends, 
 And reconciled us to realities ; 
 There small birds warble from the leafy trees, 
 The eagle soars high in the element, 535 
 
 There doth the reaper bind the yellow sheaf, 
 The maiden spread the haycock in the sun, 
 While Winter like a well-tamed lion walks, 
 Descending from the mountain to make sport 
 Among the cottages by beds of flowers. 540 
 
 Whate'er in this wide circuit we beheld, 
 Or heard, was fitted to our unripe state 
 Of intellect and heart. With such a book 
 Before our eyes, we could not choose but read 
 Lessons of genuine brotherhood, the plain 545 
 And universal reason of mankind, 
 The truths of young and old. Nor, side by 
 
 side 
 Pacing, two social pilgrims, or alone 
 Each with his humour, could we fail to abound 
 In dreams and fictions, pensively composed : 550 
 Dejection taken up for pleasure's sake, 
 And gilded sympathies, the willow wreath, 
 And sober posies of funereal flowers, 
 Gathered among those solitudes sublime 
 From formal gardens of the lady Sorrow, 555 
 
 VII. * 
 
114 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Did sweeten many a meditative hour. 
 
 Yet still in me with those soft luxuries 
 Mixed something of stern mood, an under- 
 
 thirst 
 Of vigour seldom utterly allayed : 
 And from that source how different a sadness 
 Would issue, let one incident make known. 561 
 When from the Yallais we had turned, and 
 
 clomb 
 Along the Simplon's steep and rugged road, 
 Following a band of muleteers, we reached 
 A halting- place, where all together took 565 
 Their noon-tide meal. Hastily rose our guide, 
 Leaving us at the board ; awhile we lingered, 
 Then paced the beaten downward way that led 
 Right to a rough stream's edge, and there 
 
 broke off ; 
 The only track now visible was one 570 
 
 That from the torrent's further brink held 
 
 forth 
 Conspicuous invitation to ascend 
 A lofty mountain. After brief delay 
 Crossing the unbridged stream, that road we 
 
 took, 
 And clomb with eagerness, till anxious fears 575 
 Intruded, for we failed to overtake 
 Our comrades gone before. By fortunate 
 
 chance, 
 While every moment added doubt to doubt, 
 A peasant met us, from whose mouth we 
 
 learned 
 That to the spot which had perplexed us first 
 We must descend, and there should find the 
 
 road, 581 
 
 Which in the stony channel of the stream 
 Lay a few steps, and then along its banks ; 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 115 
 
 And, that our future course, all plain to sight, 
 Was downwards, with the current of that 
 
 stream. 5 8 5 
 
 Loth to believe what we so grieved to hear, 
 For still we had hopes that pointed to the 
 
 clouds, 
 We questioned him again, and yet again ; 
 But every word that from the peasant's lips 
 Came in reply, translated by our feelings, 590 
 Ended in this, — that ive had crossed the Alps. 
 
 Imagination — here the Power so called 
 Through sad incompetence of human speech, 
 That awful Power rose from the mind's abyss 
 Like an unfathered vapour that enwraps, 595 
 At once, some lonely traveller. I was lost ; 
 Halted without an effort to break through ; 
 But to my conscious soul I now can say — 
 " I recognise thy glory : " in such strength 
 Of usurpation, when the light of sense 600 
 
 Goes out, but with a flash that has revealed 
 The invisible world, doth greatness make 
 
 abode, 
 There harbours ; whether we be young or old, 
 Our destiny, our being's heart and home, 
 Is with infinitude, and only there ; 605 
 
 With hope it is, hope that can never die, 
 Effort, and expectation, and desire, 
 And something evermore about to be. 
 Under such banners militant, the soul 609 
 
 Seeks for no trophies, struggles for no spoils 
 That may attest her prowess, blest in thoughts 
 That are their own perfection and reward, 
 Strong in herself and in beatitude 
 That hides her, like the mighty flood of Nile 
 Poured from his fount of Abyssinian clouds 615 
 To fertilise the whole Egyptian plain. 
 
116 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 The melancholy slackening that ensued 
 Upon those tidings by the peasant given 
 Was soon dislodged. Downwards we hurried 
 
 fast, 
 And, with the half- shaped road which we had 
 missed, 620 
 
 Entered a narrow chasm. The brook and road 
 Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy strait, 
 And with them did we journey several hours 
 At a slow pace. The immeasurable height 
 Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, 625 
 The stationary blasts of waterfalls, 
 And in the narrow rent at every turn 
 Winds thwarting winds, bewildered and for- 
 lorn, 
 The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, 
 The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, 630 
 Black drizzling crags that spake by the way- 
 side 
 As if a voice were in them, the sick sight 
 And giddy prospect of the raving stream, 
 The unfettered clouds and region of the 
 
 Heavens, 
 Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light — 
 Were all like workings of one mind, the 
 features 636 
 
 Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree ; 
 Characters of the great Apocalypse, 
 The types and symbols of Eternity, 
 Of first, and last, and midst, and without end. 
 
 That night our lodging was a house that 
 stood 641 
 
 Alone, within the valley, at a point 
 Where, tumbling from aloft, a torrent swelled 
 The rapid stream whose margin we had trod ; 
 A dreary mansion, large beyond all need, 645 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 117 
 
 With high and spacious rooms, deafened and 
 
 stunned 
 By noise of waters, making innocent sleep 
 Lie melancholy among weary bones. 
 
 Uprisen betimes, our journey we renewed, 
 Led by the stream, ere noon- day magnified 650 
 Into a lordly river, broad and deep, 
 Dimpling along in silent majesty, 
 With mountains for its neighbours, and in 
 
 view 
 Of distant mountains and their snowy tops, 
 And thus proceeding to Locarno's Lake, 655 
 Fit resting-place for such a visitant. 
 Locarno ! spreading out in width like Heaven, 
 How dost thou cleave to the poetic heart, 
 Bask in the sunshine of the memory ; 
 And Como ! thou, a treasure whom the earth 
 Keeps to herself, confined as in a depth 661 
 Of Abyssinian privacy. I spake 
 Of thee, thy chestnut woods, and garden plots 
 Of Indian corn tended by dark-eyed maids ; 
 Thy lofty steeps, and pathways roofed with 
 
 vines, 665 
 
 Winding from house to house, from town to 
 
 town, 
 Sole link that binds them to each other ; walks, 
 League after league, and cloistral avenues, 
 Where silence dwells if music be not there : 
 While yet a youth undisciplined in verse, 670 
 Through fond ambition of that hour, I strove 
 To chant your praise ; nor can approach you 
 
 now 
 Ungreeted by a more melodious Song, 
 Where tones of Nature smoothed by learned 
 
 Art 
 May flow in lasting current. Like a breeze 675 
 
118 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Or sunbeam over your domain I passed 
 In motion without pause ; but ye have left 
 Your beauty with me, a serene accord 
 Of forms and colours, passive, yet endowed 
 In their submissiveness with power as sweet 680 
 And gracious, almost might I dare to say, 
 As virtue is, or goodness ; sweet as love, 
 Or the remembrance of a generous deed, 
 Or mildest visitations of pure thought, 
 When God, the giver of all joy, is thanked 685 
 Religiously, in silent blessedness ; 
 Sweet as this last herself, for such it is. 
 
 With those delightful pathways we ad- 
 vanced, 
 For two days' space, in presence of the Lake, 
 That, stretching far among the Alps, assumed 
 A character more stern. The second night, 691 
 From sleep awakened, and misled by sound 
 Of the church clock telling the hours with 
 
 strokes 
 Whose import then we had not learned, we 
 
 rose 
 By moonlight, doubting not that day was 
 nigh, 695 
 
 And that meanwhile, by no uncertain path, 
 Along the winding margin of the lake, 
 Led, as before, we should behold the scene, 
 Hushed in profound repose. We left the 
 
 town 
 Of Gravedona with this hope ; but soon 700 
 Were lost, bewildered among woods immense, 
 And on a rock sate down, to wait for day. 
 An open place it was, and overlooked, 
 From high, the sullen water far beneath, 
 On which a dull red image of the moon 705 
 Lay bedded, changing oftentimes its form 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 119 
 
 Like an uneasy snake. From hour to hour 
 We sate and sate, wondering as if the night 
 Had been ensnared by witchcraft. On the 
 
 rook 709 
 
 At last we stretched our weary limbs for sleep, 
 But could not sleep, tormented by the stings 
 Of insects, which, with noise like that of 
 
 noon, 
 Filled all the woods : the cry of unknown birds ; 
 The mountains more by blackness visible 
 And their own size, than any outward light ; 715 
 The breathless wilderness of clouds ; the clock 
 That told, with unintelligible voice, 
 The widely parted hours ; the noise of streams, 
 And sometimes rustling motions nigh at hand, 
 That did not leave us free from personal fear ; 
 And, lastly, the withdrawing moon, that set 721 
 Before us, while she still was high in heaven ; — 
 These were our food ; and such a summer's 
 
 night 
 Followed that pair of golden days that shed 
 On Como's Lake, and all that round it lay, 725 
 Their fairest, softest, happiest influence. 
 
 But here I must break off, and bid farewell 
 To days, each offering some new sight, or 
 
 fraught 
 With some untried adventure, in a course 
 Prolonged till sprinklings of autumnal snow 730 
 Checked our unwearied steps. Let this alone 
 Be mentioned as a parting word, that not 
 In hollow exultation, dealing out 
 Hyperboles of praise comparative ; 
 Not rich one moment to be poor for ever ; 735 
 Not prostrate, overborne, as if the mind 
 Herself were nothing, a mere pensioner 
 On outward forms — did we in presence stand 
 
120 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of that magnificent region. On the front 
 
 Of this whole Song is written that my heart 740 
 
 Must, in such Temple, needs have offered up 
 
 A different worship. Finally, whate'er 
 
 I saw, or heard, or felt, was but a stream 
 
 That flowed into a kindred stream ; a gale, 
 
 Confederate with the current of the soul, 745 
 
 To speed my voyage ; every sound or sight, 
 
 In its degree of power, administered 
 
 To grandeur or to tenderness, — to the one 
 
 Directly, but to tender thoughts by means 
 
 Less often instantaneous in effect; 750 
 
 Led me to these by paths that, in the main, 
 
 Were more circuitous, but not less sure 
 
 Duly to reach the point marked out by Heaven. 
 
 Oh, most beloved Friend ! a glorious time, 
 A happy time that was ; triumphant looks 755 
 Were then the common language of all eyes ; 
 As if awaked from sleep, the Nations hailed 
 Their great expectancy : the fife of war 
 Was then a spirit-stirring sound indeed, 
 A blackbird's whistle in a budding grove. 760 
 We left the Swiss exulting in the fate 
 Of their near neighbours ; and, when shorten- 
 ing fast 
 Our pilgrimage, nor distant far from home, 
 We crossed the Brabant armies on the fret 
 For battle in the cause of Liberty. 765 
 
 A stripling, scarcely of the household then 
 Of social life, I looked upon these things 
 As from a distance ; heard, and saw, and felt, 
 Was touched, but with no intimate concern ; 
 I seemed to move along them, as a bird 770 
 Moves through the air, or as a fish pursues 
 Its sport, or feeds in its proper element ; 
 I wanted not that joy, I did not need 
 
CAMBRIDGE AND THE ALPS. 121 
 
 Such help ; the ever- living universe, 
 Turn where I might, was opening out its glories, 
 And the independent spirit of pure youth 776 
 Called forth, at every season, new delights 
 Spread round my steps like sunshine o'er green 
 fields. 
 
BOOK SEVENTH. 
 
 EESIDENCE IN LONDON. 
 
 Six changeful years have vanished since I first 
 Poured out (saluted by that quickening breeze 
 Which met me issuing from the City's walls) 
 A glad preamble to this Verse : I sang 
 Aloud, with fervour irresistible 5 
 
 Of short-lived transport, like a torrent bursting, 
 From a black thunder- cloud, down Scafell's side 
 To rush and disappear. But soon broke forth 
 (So willed the Muse) a less impetuous stream, 
 That flowed awhile with unabating strength, 10 
 Then stopped for years ; not audible again 
 Before last primrose-time. Beloved Friend ! 
 The assurance which then cheered some heavy 
 
 thoughts 
 On thy departure to a foreign land 14 
 
 Has failed ; too slowly moves the promised work. 
 Through the whole summer have I been at rest, 
 Partly from voluntary holiday, 
 And part through outward hindrance. But I 
 
 heard, 
 After the hour of sunset yester-even, 
 Sitting within doors between light and dark, 20 
 A choir of redbreasts gathered somewhere near 
 My threshold, — minstrels from the distant 
 
 woods 
 Sent in on Winter's service, to announce, 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 123 
 
 With preparation artful and benign, 
 
 That the rough lord had left the surly North 25 
 
 On his accustomed journey. The delight, 
 
 Due to this timely notice, unawares 
 
 Smote me, and, listening, I in whispers said, 
 
 " Ye heartsome Choristers, ye and I will be 
 
 Associates, and, unscared by blustering winds, 
 
 Will chant together." Thereafter, as the 
 
 shades 3 1 
 
 Of twilight deepened, going forth, I spied 
 A glow-worm underneath a dusky plume 
 Or canopy of yet unwithered fern, 
 Clear- shining, like a hermit's taper seen 35 
 Through a thick forest. Silence touched me 
 
 here 
 No less than sound had done before ; the child 
 Of Summer, lingering, shining, by herself, 
 The voiceless worm on the unfrequented hills, 
 Seemed sent on the same errand with the choir 
 Of Winter that had warbled at my door, 41 
 And the whole year breathed tenderness and 
 love. 
 
 The last night's genial feeling overflowed 
 Upon this morning, and my favourite grove, 
 Tossing in sunshine its dark boughs aloft, 45 
 As if to make the strong wind visible, 
 Wakes in me agitations like its own, 
 A spirit friendly to the Poet's task, 
 Which we will now resume with lively hope, 
 Nor checked by aught of tamer argument, 50 
 That lies before us, needful to be told. 
 
 Ee turned from that excursion, soon I bade 
 Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats 
 Of gowned students, quitted hall and bower, 
 And every comfort of that privileged ground, 55 
 
124 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Well, pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among 
 The unfenced regions of society. 
 
 Yet, undetermined to what course of life 
 I should adhere, and seeming to possess 
 A little space of intermediate time 60 
 
 At full command, to London first I turned, 
 In no disturbance of excessive hope, 
 By personal ambition unenslaved, 
 Frugal as there was need, and, though self- 
 willed, 
 From dangerous passions free. Three years 
 had flown 65 
 
 Since I had felt in heart and soul the shock 
 Of the huge town's first presence, and had paced 
 Her endless streets, a transient visitant : 
 Now, fixed amid that concourse of mankind 
 Where Pleasure whirls about incessantly, 70 
 And life and labour seem but one, I filled 
 An idler's place ; an idler well content 
 To have a house (what matter for a home ?) 
 That owned him ; living cheerfully abroad 
 With unchecked fancy ever on the stir, 75 
 
 And all my young affections out of doors. 
 
 There was a time when whatsoe'er is feigned 
 Of airy palaces, and gardens built 
 By Genii of romance ; or hath in grave 
 Authentic history been set forth of Rome, 80 
 Alcairo, Babylon, or Persepolis ; 
 Or given upon report by pilgrim friars, 
 Of golden cities ten months' journey deep 
 Among Tartarian wilds — fell short, far short, 
 Of what my fond simplicity believed 85 
 
 And thought of London — held me by a chain 
 Less strong of wonder and obscure delight. 
 Whether the bolt of childhood's Fancy shot 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 125 
 
 For me beyond its ordinary mark, 
 'Twere vain to ask ; but in our flock of boys 90 
 Was One, a cripple from his birth, whom chance 
 Summoned from school to London ; fortunate 
 And envied traveller ! When the Boy returned, 
 After short absence, curiously I scanned 
 His mien and person, nor was free, in sooth, 9 5 
 From disappointment, not to find some change 
 In look and air, from that new region brought, 
 As if from Fairy-land. Much I questioned him ; 
 And every word he uttered, on my ears 
 Fell flatter than a caged parrot's note, 100 
 
 That answers unexpectedly awry, 
 And mocks the prompter's listening. Marvel- 
 lous things 
 Had vanity (quick Spirit that appears 
 Almost as deeply seated and as strong 
 In a Child's heart as fear itself) conceived 105 
 For my enjoyment. Would that I could now 
 Recall what then I pictured to myself, 
 Of mitred Prelates, Lords in ermine clad, 
 The King, and the King's Palace, and, not last, 
 Nor least, Heaven bless him ! the renowned 
 Lord Mayor: no 
 
 Dreams not unlike to those which once begat 
 A change of purpose in young Whittington, 
 When he, a friendless and a drooping boy, 
 Sate on a stone, and heard the bells speak out 
 Articulate music. Above all, one thought 115 
 Baffled my understanding : how men lived 
 Even next-door neighbours, as we say, yet still 
 Strangers, not knowing each the other's name. 
 
 O, wond'rous power of words, by simple faith 
 Licensed to take the meaning that we love ! 120 
 Vauxhall and Ranelagh ! I then had heard 
 Of your green groves, and wilderness of lamps 
 
126 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Dimming the stars, and fireworks magical, 
 And gorgeous ladies, under splendid domes, 
 Floating in dance, or warbling high in air 125 
 The songs of spirits ! Nor had Fancy fed 
 With less delight upon that other class 
 Of marvels, broad- day wonders permanent : 
 The River proudly bridged ; the dizzy top 
 And Whispering Gallery of St. Paul's ; the 
 tombs 130 
 
 Of Westminster ; the Giants of Guildhall ; 
 Bedlam, and those carved maniacs at the gates, 
 Perpetually recumbent ; Statues — man, 
 And the horse under him — in gilded pomp 134 
 Adorning flowery gardens, 'mid vast squares ; 
 The Monument, and that Chamber of the Tower 
 Where England's sovereigns sit in long array, 
 Their steeds bestriding, — every mimic shape 
 Cased in the gleaming mail the monarch wore, 
 Whether for gorgeous tournament addressed, 
 Or life or death upon the battle-field. 141 
 
 Those bold imaginations in due time 
 Had vanished, leaving others in their stead : 
 And now I looked upon the living scene ; 
 Familiarly perused it ; oftentimes, 145 
 
 In spite of strongest disappointment, pleased 
 Through courteous self-submission, as a tax 
 Paid to the object by prescriptive right. 
 
 Rise up, thou monstrous ant-hill on the plain 
 Of a too busy world ! Before me flow, 150 
 
 Thou endless stream of men and moving things ! 
 Thy every-day appearance, as it strikes — 
 With wonder heightened, or sublimed by awe — 
 On strangers, of all ages ; the quick dance 
 Of colours, lights, and forms; the deafening din; 
 The comers and the goers face to face, 156 
 
 Face after face ; the string of dazzling wares, 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 127 
 
 Shop after shop, with symbols, blazoned names, 
 And all the tradesman's honours overhead : 
 Here, fronts of houses, like a title-page, 160 
 With letters huge inscribed from top to toe, 
 Stationed above the door, like guardian saints ; 
 There, allegoric shapes, female or male, 
 Or physiognomies of real men. 
 Land- warriors, kings, or admirals of the sea, 165 
 Boyle, Shakspeare, Newton, or the attractive 
 
 head 
 Of some quack-doctor, famous in his day. 
 
 Meanwhile the roar continues, till at length, 
 Escaped as from an enemy, we turn 
 Abruptly into some sequestered nook, 170 
 
 Still as a sheltered place when winds blow loud ! 
 At leisure, thence, through tracts of thin resort, 
 And sights and sounds that come at intervals, 
 We take our way. A raree-show is here, 
 With children gathered round ; another street 
 Presents a company of dancing dogs, 176 
 
 Or dromedary, with an antic pair 
 Of monkeys on his back ; a minstrel band 
 Of Savoyards ; or, single and alone, 
 An English ballad-singer. Private courts, 180 
 Gloomy as coffins, and unsightly lanes 
 Thrilled by some female vendor's scream, 
 
 belike 
 The very shrillest of all London cries, 
 May then entangle our impatient steps ; 
 Conducted through those labyrinths, unawares, 
 To privileged regions and inviolate, 186 
 
 Where from their airy lodges studious lawyers 
 Look out on waters, walks, and gardens green. 
 
 Thence back into the throng, until we reach, 
 Following the tide that slackens by degrees, 
 
128 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Some half-frequented scene, where wider 
 streets 191 
 
 Bring straggling breezes of suburban air. 
 Here files of ballads dangle from dead walls ; 
 Advertisements, of giant-size, from high 
 Press forward, in all colours, on the sight ; 195 
 These, bold in conscious merit, lower down ; 
 That, fronted with a most imposing word, 
 Is, peradventure, one in masquerade. 
 As on the broadening causeway we advance, 
 Behold, turned upwards, a face hard and 
 strong 200 
 
 In lineaments, and red with over-toil. 
 "Pis one encountered here and everywhere ; 
 A travelling cripple, by the trunk cut short, 
 And stumping on his arms. In sailor's garb 
 Another lies at length, beside a range 205 
 
 Of well-formed characters, with chalk inscribed 
 Upon the smooth flat stones : the Nurse is here, 
 The Bachelor, that loves to sun himself, 
 The military Idler, and the Dame, 
 That field-ward takes her walk with decent 
 steps. 210 
 
 Now homeward through the thickening hub- 
 bub, where 
 See, among less distinguishable shapes, 
 The begging scavenger, with hat in hand ; 
 The Italian, as he thrids his way with care, 
 Steadying, far-seen, a frame of images 215 
 
 Upon his head ; with basket at his breast 
 The Jew ; the stately and slow-moving Turk, 
 With freight of slippers piled beneath his arm ! 
 
 Enough ; — the mighty concourse I surveyed 
 With no unthinking mind, well pleased to note 
 Among the crowd all specimens of man, 221 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 129 
 
 Through all the colours which the sun bestows, 
 And every character of form and face : 
 The Swede, the Russian ; from the genial south, 
 The Frenchman and the Spaniard ; from remote 
 America, the Hunter-Indian ; Moors, 226 
 
 Malays, Lascars, the Tartar, the Chinese, 
 And Negro Ladies in white muslin gowns. 
 
 At leisure, then, I viewed, from day to day, 
 The spectacles within doors, — birds and beast, 
 Of every nature, and strange plants convened 
 From every clime ; and, next, those sights that 
 ape 232 
 
 The absolute presence of reality, 
 Expressing, as in mirror, sea and land, 
 And what earth is, and what she has to show. 
 I do not here allude to subtlest craft, 236 
 
 By means refined attaining purest ends, 
 But imitations, fondly made in plain 
 Confession of man's weakness and his loves. 
 Whether the Painter, whose ambitious skill 
 Submits to nothing less than taking in 241 
 A whole horizon's circuit, do with power, 
 Like that of angels or commissioned spirits, 
 Fix us upon some lofty pinnacle, 
 Or in a ship on waters, with a world 245 
 
 Of life, and life-like mockery beneath, 
 Above, behind, far stretching and before ; 
 Or more mechanic artist represent 
 By scale exact, in model, wood or clay, 
 From blended colours also borrowing help, 250 
 Some miniature of famous spots or things, — 
 St. Peter's Church ; or, more aspiring aim, 
 In microscopic vision, Rome herself ; 
 Or, haply, some choice rural haunt, — the Falls 
 Of Tivoli ; and, high upon that steep, 255 
 
 The Sibyl's mouldering Temple ! every tree, 
 
 VII. K 
 
130 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Villa, or cottage, lurking among rocks 
 Throughout the landscape ; tuft, stone, scratch 
 
 minute — 
 All that the traveller sees when he is there. 
 
 Add to these exhibitions, mute and still, 260 
 Others of wider scope, where living men, 
 Music, and shifting pantomimic scenes, 
 Diversified the allurement. Need I fear 
 To mention by its name, as in degree, 
 Lowest of these and humblest in attempt, 265 
 Yet riohly graced with honours of her own, 
 Half-rural Sadler's Wells? Though at that 
 
 time 
 Intolerant, as is the way of youth 
 Unless itself be pleased, here more than once 
 Taking my seat, I saw (nor blush to add, 270 
 With ample recompense) giants and dwarfs, 
 Clowns, conjurors, posture-masters, harlequins, 
 Amid the uproar of the rabblement, 
 Perform their feats. Nor was it mean delight 
 To watch crude Nature work in untaught minds; 
 To note the laws and progress of belief ; 276 
 Though obstinate on this way, yet on that 
 How willingly we travel, and how far ! 
 To have, for instance, brought upon the scene 
 The champion, Jack the G-iant-killer : Lo ! 280 
 He dons his coat of darkness ; on the stage 
 Walks, and achieves his wonders, from the eye 
 Of living Mortal covert, " as the moon 
 Hid in her vacant interlunar cave." 284 
 
 Delusion bold ! and how can it be wrought ? 
 The garb he wears is black as death, the word 
 " Invisible " flames forth upon his chest. 
 
 Here, too, were " forms and pressures of the 
 time," 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 131 
 
 Rough, bold, as Grecian comedy displayed 
 When Art was young ; dramas of living men, 
 And recent things yet warm with life ; a sea- 
 fight, 291 
 Shipwreck, or some domestic incident 
 Divulged by Truth and magnified by Fame ; 
 Such as the daring brotherhood of late 
 Set forth, too serious theme for that light 
 place — 29 5 
 I mean, O distant Friend ! a story drawn 
 From our own ground, — the Maid of Butter- 
 mere, — 
 And how, unfaithful to a virtuous wife 
 Deserted and deceived, the Spoiler came 
 And wooed the artless daughter of the hills, 300 
 And wedded her, in cruel mockery 
 Of love and marriage bonds. These words to 
 
 thee 
 Must needs bring back the moment when we 
 
 first, 
 Ere the broad world rang with the maiden's 
 
 name, 
 Beheld her serving at the cottage inn ; 305 
 
 Both stricken, as she entered or withdrew, 
 With admiration of her modest mien 
 And carriage, marked by unexampled grace. 
 We since that time not unfamiliarly 
 Have seen her, — her discretion have observed, 
 Her just opinions, delicate reserve, 311 
 
 Her patience, and humility of mind 
 Unspoiled by commendation and the excess 
 Of public notice — an offensive light 
 To a meek spirit suffering inwardly. 315 
 
 From this memorial tribute to my theme 
 I was returning, when, with sundry forms 
 Commingled — shapes which met me in the way 
 
132 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 That we must tread — thy image rose again, 
 Maiden of Buttermere ! She lives in peace 320 
 Upon the spot where she was born and reared ; 
 Without contamination doth she live 
 In quietness, without anxiety : 
 Beside the mountain chapel, sleeps in earth 
 Her new-born infant, fearless as a lamb 325 
 That, thither driven from some unsheltered 
 
 place, 
 Rests underneath the little rock-like pile 
 When storms are raging. Happy are they 
 
 both — 
 Mother and child! — These feelings, in them- 
 selves 
 Trite, do yet scarcely seem so when I think 330 
 On those ingenuous moments of our youth 
 Ere we have learnt by use to slight the crimes 
 And sorrows of the world. Those simple days 
 Are now my theme ; and, foremost of the 
 
 scenes, 
 Which yet survive in memory, appears 335 
 One, at whose centre sate a lovely Boy, 
 A sportive infant, who, for six months' space, 
 Not more, had been of age to deal about 
 Articulate prattle — Child as beautiful 
 As ever clung around a mother's neck, 340 
 
 Or father fondly gazed upon with pride. 
 There, too, conspicuous for stature tall 
 And large dark eyes, beside her infant stood 
 The mother ; but, upon her cheeks diffused, 
 False tints too well accorded with the glare 345 
 From play-house lustres thrown without reserve 
 On every object near. The Boy had been 
 The pride and pleasure of all lookers-on 
 In whatsoever place, but seemed in this 
 A sort of alien scattered from the clouds. 350 
 Of lusty vigour, more than infantine 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 133 
 
 He was in limb, in cheek a summer rose 
 Just three parts blown — a cottage-child — if e'er, 
 By cottage-door on breezy mountain side, 
 Or in some sheltering vale, was seen a babe 355 
 By Nature's gift so favoured. Upon a board 
 Decked with refreshments had this child been 
 
 placed, 
 His little stage in the vast theatre, 
 And there he sate surrounded with a throng 
 Of chance spectators, chiefly dissolute men 360 
 And shameless women, treated and caressed ; 
 Ate, drank, and with the fruit and glasses 
 
 played, 
 While oaths and laughter and indecent speech 
 Were rife about him as the songs of birds 
 Contending after showers. The mother now 
 Is fading out of memory, but I see 366 
 
 The lovely Boy as I beheld him then 
 Among the wretched and the falsely gay, 
 Like one of those who walked with hair un- 
 
 singed 
 Amid the fiery furnace. Charms and spells 
 Muttered on black and spiteful instigation 371 
 Have stopped, as some believe, the kindliest 
 
 growths. 
 Ah, with how different spirit might a prayer 
 Have been preferred, that this fair creature, 
 
 checked 
 By special privilege of Nature's love, 375 
 
 Should in his childhood be detained for ever ! 
 But with its universal freight the tide 
 Hath rolled along, and this bright innocent, 
 Mary ! may now have lived till he could look 
 With envy on thy nameless babe that sleeps, 380 
 Beside the mountain chapel, undisturbed. 
 
 Four rapid years had scarcely then been told 
 
134 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Since, travelling southward from our pastoral 
 
 hills, 
 I heard, and for the first time in my life, 
 The voice of woman utter blasphemy — 385 
 Saw woman as she is, to open shame 
 Abandoned, and the pride of public vice ; 
 I shuddered, for a barrier seemed at once 
 Thrown in, that from humanity divorced 
 Humanity, splitting the race of man 390 
 
 In twain, yet leaving the same outward form. 
 Distress of mind ensued upon the sight, 
 And ardent meditation. Later years 
 Brought to such spectacle a milder sadness, 
 Feelings of pure commiseration, grief 395 
 
 For the individual and the overthrow 
 Of her soul's beauty ; farther I was then 
 But seldom led, or wished to go ; in truth 
 The sorrow of the passion stopped me there. 
 
 But let me now, less moved, in order take 400 
 Our argument. Enough is said to show 
 How casual incidents of real life, 
 Observed where pastime only had been sought, 
 Outweighed, or put to flight, the set events 
 And measured passions of the stage, albeit 405 
 By Siddons trod in the fulness of her power. 
 Yet was the theatre my dear delight ; 
 The very gilding, lamps and painted scrolls, 
 And all the mean upholstery of the place, 
 Wanted not animation, when the tide 410 
 
 Of pleasure ebbed but to return as fast 
 With the ever-shifting figures of the scene, 
 Solemn or gay : whether some beauteous dame 
 Advanced in radiance through a deep recess 
 Of thick entangled forest, like the moon 415 
 Opening the clouds ; or sovereign king, an- 
 nounced 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 135 
 
 With flourishing trumpet, came in full-blown 
 
 state 
 Of the world's greatness, winding round with 
 
 train 
 Of courtiers, banners, and a length of guards ; 
 Or captive led in abject weeds, and jingling 420 
 His slender manacles ; or romping girl 
 Bounced, leapt, and pawed the air ; or mumbling 
 
 sire, 
 A scare-crow pattern of old age dressed up 
 In all the tatters of infirmity 
 All loosely put together, hobbled in, 425 
 
 Stumping upon a cane with which he smites, 
 From time to time, the solid boards, and makes 
 
 them 
 Prate somewhat loudly of the whereabout 
 Of one so overloaded with his years. 
 But what of this ! the laugh, the grin, grimace, 
 The antics striving to outstrip each other, 431 
 Were all received, the least of them not lost, 
 With an unmeasured welcome. Through the 
 
 night, 
 Between the show, and many-headed mass 
 Of the spectators, and each several nook 435 
 Filled with its fray or brawl, how eagerly 
 And with what flashes, as it were, the mind 
 Turned this way — that way ! sportive and alert 
 And watchful, as a kitten when at play, 
 While winds are eddying round her, among 
 
 straws 44° 
 
 And rustling leaves. Enchanting age and 
 
 sweet ! 
 Komantic almost, looked at through a space, 
 How small, of intervening years ! For then, 
 Though surely no mean progress had been made 
 In meditations holy and sublime, 445 
 
 Yet something of a girlish child-like gloss 
 
136 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Of novelty survived for scenes like these ; 
 Enjoyment haply handed down from times 
 When at a country-playhouse, some rude barn 
 Tricked out for that proud use, if I perchance 450 
 Caught, on a summer evening through a chink 
 In the old wall, an unexpected glimpse 
 Of daylight, the bare thought of where I was 
 Gladdened me more than if I had been led 
 Into a dazzling cavern of romance, 455 
 
 Crowded with Genii busy among works 
 Not to be looked at by the common sun. 
 
 The matter that detains us now may seem, 
 To many, neither dignified enough 
 Nor arduous, yet will not be scorned by them, 460 
 Who, looking inward, have observed the ties 
 That bind the perishable hours of life 
 Each to the other, and the curious props 
 By which the world of memory and thought 
 Exists and is sustained. More lofty themes, 465 
 Such as at least do wear a prouder face, 
 Solicit our regard ; but when I think 
 Of these, I feel the imaginative power 
 Languish within me ; even then it slept, 
 When, pressed by tragic sufferings, the heart 470 
 Was more than full ; amid my sobs and tears 
 It slept, even in the pregnant season of youth. 
 For though I was most passionately moved 
 And yielded to all changes of the scene 
 With an obsequious promptness, yet the storm 
 Passed not beyond the suburbs of the mind ; 476 
 Save when realities of act and mien, 
 The incarnation of the spirits that move 
 In harmony amid the Poet's world, 
 Rose to ideal grandeur, or, called forth 480 
 
 By power of contrast, made me recognise, 
 As at a glance, the things which I had shaped, 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 137 
 
 And yet not shaped, had seen and scarcely seen, 
 When, having closed the mighty Shakspeare's 
 
 page, 
 I mused, and thought, and felt, in solitude. 485 
 
 Pass we from entertainments, that are such 
 Professedly, to others titled higher, 
 Yet, in the estimate of youth at least, 
 More near akin to those than names imply, — 
 I mean the brawls of lawyers in their courts 490 
 Before the ermined judge, or that great stage 
 Where senators, tongue-favoured men, perform, 
 Admired and envied. Oh ! the beating heart, 
 When one among the prime of these rose up, — 
 One, of whose name from childhood we had 
 heard 495 
 
 Familiarly, a household term, like those, 
 The Bedfords, G-losters, Salisburys, of old 
 Whom the fifth Harry talks of. Silence ! hush ! 
 This is no trifler, no short-flighted wit, 
 No stammerer of a minute, painfully 500 
 
 Delivered. No ! the Orator hath yoked 
 The Hours, like young Aurora, to his car : 
 Thrice welcome Presence ! how can patience e'er 
 Grow weary of attending on a track 
 That kindles with such glory ! All are charmed, 
 Astonished ; like a hero in romance, 506 
 
 He winds away his never-ending horn ; 
 Words follow words, sense seems to follow sense : 
 What memory and what logic ! till the strain 
 Transcendent, superhuman as it seemed, 510 
 Grows tedious even in a young man's ear. 
 
 Genius of Burke ! forgive the pen seduced 
 By specious wonders, and too slow to tell 
 Of what the ingenuous, what bewildered men, 
 Beginning to mistrust their boastful guides, 515 
 
138 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 And wise men, willing to grow wiser, caught, 
 Rapt auditors ! from thy most eloquent tongue — 
 Now mute, for ever mute in the cold grave. 
 I see him, — old, but vigorous in age, — 
 Stand like an oak whose stag-horn branches 
 
 start 520 
 
 Out of its leafy brow, the more to awe 
 The younger brethren of the grove. But some — 
 While he forewarns, denounces, launches forth, 
 Against all systems built on abstract rights, 
 Keen ridicule ; the majesty proclaims 525 
 
 Of Institutes and Laws, hallowed by time ; 
 Declares the vital power of social ties 
 Endeared by Custom ; and with high disdain, 
 Exploding upstart Theory, insists 
 Upon the allegiance to which men are born — 530 
 Some — say at once a froward multitude — 
 Murmur (for truth is hated, where not loved) 
 As the winds fret within the iEolian cave, 
 Galled by their monarch's chain. The times 
 
 were big 
 With ominous change, which, night by night, 
 
 provoked 535 
 
 Keen struggles, and black clouds of passion 
 
 raised ; 
 But memorable moments intervened, 
 When Wisdom, like the Goddess from Jove's 
 
 brain, 
 Broke forth in armour of resplendent words, 
 Startling the Synod. Could a youth, and one 
 In ancient story versed, whose breast had 
 
 heaved 54 l 
 
 Under the weight of classic eloquence, 
 Sit, see, and hear, unthankful, uninspired ? 
 
 Nor did the Pulpit's oratory fail 
 To achieve its higher triumph. Not unfelt 545 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 139 
 
 Were its admonishments, nor lightly heard 
 The awful truths delivered thence by tongues 
 Endowed with various power to search the soul ; 
 Yet ostentation, domineering, oft 
 Poured forth harangues, how sadly out of 
 
 place ! — 550 
 
 There have I seen a comely bachelor, 
 Fresh from a toilette of two hours, ascend 
 His rostrum, with seraphic glance look up, 
 And, in a tone elaborately low 554 
 
 Beginning, lead his voice through many a maze 
 A minuet course ; and, winding up his mouth, 
 From time to time, into an orifice 
 Most delicate, a lurking eyelet, small, 
 And only not invisible, again 
 Open it out, diffusing thence a smile 560 
 
 Of rapt irradiation, exquisite. 
 Meanwhile the Evangelists, Isaiah, Job, 
 Moses, and he who penned, the other day, 
 The Death of Abel, Shakspeare, and the Bard 
 Whose genius spangled o'er a gloomy theme 565 
 With fancies thick as his inspiring stars, 
 And Ossian (doubt not 'tis the naked truth) 
 Summoned from streamy Morven — each and 
 
 all 
 Would, in their turns, lend ornaments and 
 
 flowers 569 
 
 To entwine the crook of eloquence that helped 
 This pretty Shepherd, pride of all the plains, 
 To rule and guide his captivated flock. 
 
 I glance but at a few conspicuous marks, 
 Leaving a thousand others, that, in hall, 
 Court, theatre, conventicle, or shop, 575 
 
 In public room or private, park or street, 
 Each fondly reared on his own pedestal, 
 Looked out for admiration. Folly, vice, 
 
140 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Extravagance in gesture, mien, and dress, 
 And all the strife of singularity, 580 
 
 Lies to the ear, and lies to every sense — 
 Of these, and of the living shapes they wear, 
 There is no end. Such candidates for regard, 
 Although well pleased to be where they were 
 
 found, 
 I did not hunt after, nor greatly prize, 585 
 
 Nor made unto myself a secret boast 
 Of reading them with quick and curious eye ; 
 But, as a common produce, things that are 
 To-day, to-morrow will be, took of them 
 Such willing note, as, on some errand bound 590 
 That asks not speed, a traveller might bestow 
 On sea- shells that bestrew the sandy beach, 
 Or daisies swarming through the fields of June. 
 
 But foolishness and madness in parade, 
 Though most at home in this their dear 
 
 domain, 595 
 
 Are scattered everywhere, no rarities, 
 Even to the rudest novice of the Schools. 
 Me, rather, it employed, to note, and keep 
 In memory, those individual sights 
 Of courage, or integrity, or truth, 600 
 
 Or tenderness, which there, set off by foil, 
 Appeared more touching. One will I select ; 
 A Father — for he bore that sacred name — 
 Him saw I, sitting in an open square, 
 Upon a corner-stone of that low wall, 605 
 
 Wherein were fixed the iron pales that fenced 
 A spacious grass-plot ; there, in silence, sate 
 This One Man, with a sickly babe outstretched 
 Upon his knee, whom he had thither brought 
 For sunshine, and to breathe the fresher air. 610 
 Of those who passed, and me who looked at 
 
 him, 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 141 
 
 He took no heed ; but in his brawny arms 
 
 (The Artificer was to the elbow bare, 
 
 And from his work this moment had been 
 
 stolen) 
 He held the child, and, bending over it, 615 
 As if he were afraid both of the sun 
 And of the air, which he had come to seek, 
 Eyed the poor babe with love unutterable. 
 
 As the black storm upon the mountain top 
 Sets off the sunbeam in the valley, so 620 
 
 That huge fermenting mass of human-kind 
 Serves as a solemn back-ground, or relief, 
 To single forms and objects, whence they 
 
 draw, 
 For feeling and contemplative regard, 
 More than inherent liveliness and power. 625 
 How oft, amid those overflowing streets, 
 Have I gone forward with the crowd, and said 
 Unto myself, " The face of every one 
 That passes by me is a mystery ! " 
 Thus have I looked, nor ceased to look, op- 
 pressed 630 
 By thoughts of what and whither, when and 
 
 how, 
 Until the shapes before my eyes became 
 A second- sight procession, such as glides 
 Over still mountains, or appears in dreams ; 
 And once, far-travelled in such mood, beyond 
 The reach of common indication, lost 636 
 
 Amid the moving pageant, I was smitten 
 Abruptly, with the view (a sight not rare) 
 Of a blind Beggar, who, with upright face, 
 Stood, propped against a wall, upon his chest 
 Wearing a written paper, to explain 641 
 
 His story, whence he came, and who he was. 
 Caught by the spectacle my mind turned round 
 
142 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 As with the might of waters ; an apt type 
 This label seemed of the utmost we can know, 
 Both of ourselves and of the universe ; 646 
 
 Aad, on the shape of that unmoving man, 
 His steadfast face and sightless eyes, I gazed, 
 As if admonished from another world. 
 
 Though reared upon the base of outward 
 
 things, 650 
 
 Structures like these the excited spirit mainly 
 Builds for herself ; scenes different there are, 
 Full-formed, that take, with small internal 
 
 help, 
 Possession of the faculties, — the peace 
 That comes with night ; the deep solemnity 655 
 Of nature's intermediate hours of rest, 
 When the great tide of human life stands 
 
 still ; 
 The business of the day to come, unborn, 
 Of that gone by, locked up, as in the grave ; 
 The blended calmness of the heavens and earth, 
 Moonlight and stars, and empty streets, and 
 
 sounds 661 
 
 Unfrequent as in deserts ; at late hours 
 Of winter evenings, when unwholesome rains 
 Are falling hard, with people yet astir, 
 The feeble salutation from the voice 665 
 
 Of some unhappy woman, now and then 
 Heard as we pass, when no one looks about, 
 Nothing is listened to. But these, I fear, 
 Are falsely catalogued ; things that are, are 
 
 not, 
 As the mind answers to them, or the heart 670 
 Is prompt, or slow, to feel. What say you, 
 
 then, 
 To times, when half the city shall break out 
 Full of one passion, vengeance, rage, or fear ? 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 143 
 
 To executions, to a street on fire, 
 Mobs, riots, or rejoicings ? From these sights 
 Take one, — that ancient festival, the Fair, 676 
 Holden where martyrs suffered in past time, 
 And named of St. Bartholomew ; there, see 
 A work completed to our hands, that lays, 
 If any spectacle on earth can do, 680 
 
 The whole creative powers of man asleep ! — 
 For once, the Muse's help will we implore, 
 And she shall lodge us, wafted on her wings, 
 Above the press and danger of the crowd, 
 Upon some showman's platform. What a 
 
 shock 685 
 
 For eyes and ears ! what anarchy and din, 
 Barbarian and infernal, — a phantasma, 
 Monstrous in colour, motion, shape, sight, 
 
 sound ! 
 Below, the open space, through every nook 
 Of the wide area, twinkles, is alive 690 
 
 With heads ; the midway region, and above, 
 Is thronged with staring pictures and huge 
 
 scrolls, 
 Dumb proclamations of the Prodigies ; 
 With chattering monkeys dangling from their 
 
 poles, 
 And children whirling in their roundabouts; 695 
 With those that stretch the neck and strain the 
 
 eyes, 
 And crack the voice in rivalship, the crowd 
 Inviting ; with buffoons against buffoons 
 Grimacing, writhing, screaming, — him who 
 
 grinds 
 The hurdy-gurdy, at the fiddle weaves, 700 
 
 Rattles the salt-box, thumps the kettle-drum, 
 And him who at the trumpet puffs his cheeks, 
 The silver-collared Negro with his timbrel, 
 Equestrians, tumblers, women, girls, and boys, 
 
144 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Blue-breeched, pink-vested, with high-towering 
 plumes. — 7° 5 
 
 All moveables of wonder, from all parts, 
 Are here — Albinos, painted Indians, Dwarfs, 
 The Horse of knowledge, and the learned Pig, 
 The Stone-eater, the man that swallows fire, 
 Giants, Ventriloquists, the Invisible Girl, 710 
 The Bust that speaks and moves its goggling 
 
 eyes, 
 The Wax-work, Clock-work, all the marvellous 
 
 craft 
 Of modern Merlins, Wild Beasts, Puppet- 
 shows, 
 All out -o'- the -way, far-fetched, perverted 
 things, 714 
 
 All freaks of nature, all Promethean thoughts, 
 Of man, his dulness, madness, and their feats 
 All jumbled up together, to compose 
 A Parliament of Monsters. Tents and Booths 
 Meanwhile, as if the whole were one vast mill, 
 Are vomiting, receiving on all sides, 720 
 
 Men, Women, three-years' Children, Babes in 
 arms. 
 
 Oh, blank confusion ! true epitome 
 Of what the mighty City is herself, 
 To thousands upon thousands of her sons, 
 Living amid the same perpetual whirl 725 
 
 Of trivial objects, melted and reduced 
 To one identity, by differences 
 That have no law, no meaning, and no end — 
 Oppression, under which even highest minds 
 Must labour, whence the strongest are not 
 free. 730 
 
 But though the picture weary out the eye, 
 By nature an unmanageable sight, 
 It is not wholly so to him who looks 
 
RESIDENCE IN LONDON. 145 
 
 In steadiness, who hath among least things 
 
 An under- sense of greatest ; sees the parts 735 
 
 As parts, but with a feeling of the whole. 
 
 This, of all acquisitions, first awaits 
 
 On sundry and most widely different modes 
 
 Of education, nor with least delight 
 
 On that through which I passed. Attention 
 
 springs, 74 o 
 
 And comprehensiveness and memory flow, 
 From early converse with the works of God 
 Among all regions ; chiefly where appear 
 Most obviously simplicity and power. 744 
 
 Think, how the everlastiog streams and woods, 
 Stretched and still stretching far and wide, 
 
 exalt 
 The roving Indian, on his desert sands : 
 What grandeur not unfelt, what pregnant 
 
 show 
 Of beauty, meets the sun-burnt Arab's eye : 
 And, as the sea propels, from zone to zone, 750 
 Its currents ; magnifies its shoals of life 
 Beyond all compass; spreads, and sends aloft 
 Armies of clouds, — even so, its powers and 
 
 aspects 
 Shape for mankind, by principles as fixed, 
 The views and aspirations of the soul 755 
 
 To majesty. Like virtue have the forms 
 Perennial of the ancient hills ; nor less 
 The changeful language of their countenances 
 Quickens the slumbering mind, and aids the 
 
 thoughts, 
 However multitudinous, to move 760 
 
 With order and relation. This, if still, 
 As hitherto, in freedom I may speak, 
 Not violating any just restraint, 
 As may be hoped, of real modesty, — 
 This did I feel, in London's vast domain. 765 
 
 VII. L 
 
146 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 The Spirit of Nature was upon me there ; 
 The soul of Beauty and enduring Life 
 Vouchsafed her inspiration, and diffused, 
 Through meagre lines and colours, and the 
 
 press 
 
 Of self-destroying, transitory things, 770 
 
 Composure, and ennobling Harmony. 
 
BOOK EIGHTH. 
 
 RETROSPECT.— LOVE OF NATURE 
 LEADING TO LOVE OF MAN. 
 
 What sounds are those, Helvellyn, that are 
 
 heard 
 Up to thy summit, through the depth of air 
 Ascending, as if distance had the power 
 To make the sounds more audible ? What 
 
 crowd 
 Covers, or sprinkles o'er, yon village green ? 5 
 Crowd seems it, solitary hill ! to thee, 
 Though but a little family of men, 
 Shepherds and tillers of the ground — betimes 
 Assembled with their children and their wives, 
 And here and there a stranger interspersed. 10 
 They hold a rustic fair — a festival, 
 Such as, on this side now, and now on that, 
 Repeated through his tributary vales, 
 Helvellyn, in the silence of his rest, 
 Sees annually, if clouds towards either ocean 15 
 Blown from their favourite resting-place, or 
 
 mists 
 Dissolved, have left him an unshrouded head. 
 Delightful day it is for all who dwell 
 In this secluded glen, and eagerly 
 They give it welcome. Long ere heat of noon, 
 From byre or field the kine were brought ; the 
 
 sheep 21 
 
148 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Are penned in cotes ; the chaffering is begun. 
 The heifer lows, uneasy at the voice 
 Of a new master ; bleat the flocks aloud. 
 Booths are there none ; a stall or two is here ; 
 A lame man or a blind, the one to beg, 26 
 
 The other to make music ; hither, too, 
 From far, with basket, slung upon her arm, 
 Of hawker's wares — books, pictures, combs, and 
 
 pins — 
 Some aged woman finds her way again, 30 
 
 Year after year, a punctual visitant ! 
 There also stands a speech-maker by rote, 
 Pulling the strings of his boxed raree-show ; 
 And in the lapse of many years may come 
 Prouder itinerant, mountebank, or he 3 5 
 
 Whose wonders in a covered wain lie hid. 
 But one there is, the loveliest of them all, 
 Some sweet lass of the valley, looking out 
 For gains, and who that sees her would not buy ? 
 Fruits of her father's orchard are her wares, 40 
 And with the ruddy produce she walks round 
 Among the crowd, half pleased with, half 
 
 ashamed 
 Of her new office, blushing restlessly. 
 The children now are rich, for the old to-day 
 Are generous as the young ; and, if content 45 
 With looking on, some ancient wedded pair 
 Sit in the shade together, while they gaze, 
 " A cheerful smile unbends the wrinkled brow, 
 The days departed start again to life, 
 And all the scenes of childhood reappear, 50 
 Faint, but more tranquil, like the changing sun 
 To him who slept at noon and wakes at eve." 
 Thus gaiety and cheerfulness prevail, 
 Spreading from young to old, from old to young, 
 And no one seems to want his share. — Immense 
 Is the recess, the circumambient world 56 
 
RETROSPECT. 149 
 
 Magnificent, by which they are embraced : 
 They move about upon the soft green turf : 
 How little they, they and their doings, seem, 
 And all that they can further or obstruct ! 60 
 Through utter weakness pitiably dear, 
 As tender infants are : and yet how great ! 
 For all things serve them ; them the morning 
 
 light 
 Loves, as it glistens on the silent rocks ; 
 And them the silent rocks, which now from high 
 Look down upon them ; the reposing clouds ; 66 
 The wild brooks prattling from invisible haunts ; 
 And old Helvellyn, conscious of the stir 
 Which animates this day their calm abode. 
 
 With deep devotion, Nature, did I feel, 70 
 In that enormous City's turbulent world 
 Of men and things, what benefit I owed 
 To thee, and those domains of rural peace, 
 Where to the sense of beauty first my heart 
 Was opened ; tract more exquisitely fair 75 
 Than that famed paradise of ten thousand trees, 
 Or Gehol's matchless gardens, for delight 
 Of the Tartarian dynasty composed 
 (Beyond that mighty wall, not fabulous, 
 China's stupendous mound) by patient toil 80 
 Of myriads and boon nature's lavish help ; 
 There, in a clime from widest empire chosen, 
 Fulfilling (could enchantment have done mere ?) 
 A sumptuous dream of flowery lawns, with 
 
 domes 
 Of pleasure sprinkled over, shady dells 85 
 
 For eastern monasteries, sunny mounts 
 With temples crested, bridges, gondolas, 
 Rocks, dens, and groves of foliage taught to 
 
 melt 
 Into each other their obsequious hues, 
 
150 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Vanished and vanishing in subtle chase, 90 
 Too fine to be pursued ; or standing forth 
 In no discordant opposition, strong 
 And gorgeous as the colours side by side 
 Bedded among rich plumes of tropic birds ; 
 And mountains over all, embracing all ; 95 
 
 And all the landscape, endlessly enriched 
 With waters running, falling, or asleep. 
 
 But lovelier far than this, the paradise 
 Where I was reared; in Nature's primitive 
 
 gifts 
 Favoured no less, and more to every sense 100 
 Delicious, seeing that the sun and sky, 
 The elements, and seasons as they change, 
 Do find a worthy fellow-labourer there — 
 Man free, man working for himself, with choice 
 Of time, and place, and object ; by his wants, 
 His comforts, native occupations, cares, 106 
 Cheerfully led to individual ends 
 Or social, and still followed by a train 
 Unwooed, unthought-of even — simplicity, 
 And beauty, and inevitable grace. no 
 
 Yea, when a glimpse of those imperial 
 
 bowers 
 Would to a child be transport over-great, 
 When but a half-hour's roam through such a 
 
 place 
 Would leave behind a dance of images, 
 That shall break in upon his sleep for weeks ; 
 Even then the common haunts of the green 
 
 earth, 116 
 
 And ordinary interests of man, 
 Which they embosom, all without regard 
 As both may seem, are fastening on the heart 
 Insensibly, each with the other's help. 120 
 
RETROSPECT. 151 
 
 For me, when my affections first were led 
 From kindred, friends, and playmates, to par- 
 take 
 Love for the human creature's absolute self, 
 That noticeable kindliness of heart 
 Sprang out of fountains, there abounding most, 
 Where sovereign Nature dictated the tasks 126 
 And occupations which her beauty adorned, 
 And Shepherds were the men that pleased me 
 
 first ; 
 Not such as Saturn ruled 'mid Latian wilds, 
 With arts and laws so tempered, that their 
 lives 1 30 
 
 Left, even to us toiling in this late day, 
 A bright tradition of the golden age ; 
 Not such as, 'mid Arcadian fastnesses 
 Sequestered, handed down among themselves 
 Felicity, in Grecian song renowned; 135 
 
 Nor such as — when an adverse fate had driven, 
 From house and home, the courtly band whose 
 
 fortunes 
 Entered, with Shakspeare's genius, the wild 
 
 woods 
 Of Arden — amid sunshine or in shade 
 Culled the best fruits of Time's uncounted 
 hours, 14° 
 
 Ere Phoebe sighed for the false Granymede ; 
 Or there where Perdita and Florizel 
 Together danced, Queen of the feast, and King ; 
 Nor such as Spenser fabled. True it is, 
 That I had heard (what he perhaps had seen) 
 Of maids at sunrise bringing in from far 146 
 Their May-bush, and along the street in flocks 
 Parading with a song of taunting rhymes, 
 Aimed at the laggards slumbering within doors ; 
 Had also heard, from those who yet re- 
 membered, 1 5° 
 
152 Wordsworth's poems* 
 
 Tales of the May-pole dance, and wreaths that 
 
 decked 
 Porch, door-way, or kirk-pillar ; and of youths, 
 Each with his maid, before the sun was up, 
 By annual custom, issuing forth in troops, 
 To drink the waters of some sainted well, 155 
 And hang it round with garlands. Love sur- 
 vives ; 
 But, for such purpose, flowers no longer grow : 
 The times, too sage, perhaps too proud, have 
 
 dropped 
 These lighter graces ; and the rural ways 
 And manners which my childhood looked upon 
 Were the unluxuriant produce of a life 161 
 
 Intent on little but substantial needs, 
 Yet rich in beauty, beauty that was felt. 
 But images of danger and distress, 
 Man suffering among awful Powers and Forms ; 
 Of this I heard, and saw enough to make 166 
 Imagination restless ; nor was free 
 Myself from frequent perils ; nor were tales 
 Wanting, — the tragedies of former times, 
 Hazards and strange escapes, of which the rocks 
 Immutable, and everflowing streams, 171 
 
 Where'er I roamed, were speaking monuments. 
 
 Smooth life had flock and shepherd in old 
 
 time, 
 Long springs and tepid winters, on the banks 
 Of delicate Galesus ; and no less 175 
 
 Those scattered along Adria's myrtle shores : 
 Smooth life had herdsman, and his snow-white 
 
 herd 
 To triumphs and to sacrificial rites 
 Devoted, on the inviolable stream 
 Of rich Clitumnus; and the goat-herd lived 180 
 As calmly, underneath the pleasant brows 
 
RETROSPECT? 153 
 
 Of cool Lucretilis, where the pipe was heard 
 Of Pan, Invisible Ood, thrilling the rocks 
 With tutelary music, from all harm 
 The fold protecting. I myself, mature 185 
 In manhood then, have seen a pastoral tract 
 Like one of these, where Fancy might run wild, 
 Though under skies less generous, less serene : 
 There, for her own delight had Nature framed 
 A pleasure-ground, diffused a fair expanse 190 
 Of level pasture, islanded with groves 
 And banked with woody risings ; but the Plain 
 Endless, here opening widely out, and there 
 Shut up in lesser lakes or beds of lawn 
 And intricate recesses, creek or bay 195 
 
 Sheltered within a shelter, where at large 
 The shepherd strays, a rolling hut his home. 
 Thither he comes with spring-time, there abides 
 All summer, and at sunrise ye may hear 
 His flageolet to liquid notes of love 200 
 
 Attuned, or sprightly fife resounding far. 
 Nook is there none, nor tract of that vast space 
 Where passage opens, but the same shall have 
 In turn its visitant, telling there his hours 
 In unlaborious pleasure, with no task 205 
 
 More toilsome than to carve a beechen bowl 
 For spring or fountain, which the traveller 
 
 finds, 
 When through the region he pursues at will 
 His devious course. A glimpse of such sweet 
 
 life 
 I saw when, from the melancholy walls 210 
 Of Ooslar, once imperial, I renewed 
 My daily walk along that wide champaign, 
 That, reaching to her gates, spreads east and 
 
 west, 
 And northwards, from beneath the mountainous 
 
 verge 
 
154 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Of the Hercynian forest. Yet, hail to you 215 
 Moors, mountains, headlands, and ye hollow 
 
 vales, 
 Ye long deep channels for the Atlantic's voice, 
 Powers of my native region ! Ye that seize 
 The heart with firmer grasp ! Your snows and 
 
 streams 
 Ungovernable, and your terrifying winds, 220 
 That howl so dismally for him who treads 
 Companionless your awful solitudes! 
 There, 'tis the shepherd's task the winter long 
 To wait upon the storms : of their approach 
 Sagacious, into sheltering coves he drives 225 
 His flock, and thither from the homestead 
 
 bears 
 A toilsome burden up the craggy ways, 
 And deals it out, their regular nourishment 
 Strewn on the frozen snow. And when the 
 
 spring 
 Looks out, and all the pastures dance with 
 
 lambs, 230 
 
 And when the flock, with warmer weather, 
 
 climbs 
 Higher and higher, him his office leads 
 To watch their goings, whatsoever track 
 The wanderers choose. For this he quits his 
 
 home 
 At day-spring, and no sooner doth the sun 235 
 Begin to strike him with a fire -like heat, 
 Than he lies down upon some shining rock, 
 And breakfasts with his dog. When they 
 
 have stolen, 
 As is their wont, a pittance from strict time, 
 For rest not needed or exchange of love, 240 
 Then from his couch he starts ; and now his feet 
 Crush out a livelier fragrance from the flowers 
 Of lowly thyme, by Nature's skill enwrought 
 
RETROSPECT. 155 
 
 In the wild turf : the lingering dews of morn 
 Smoke round him, as from hill to hill he hies, 245 
 His staff protending like a hunter's spear, 
 Or by its aid leaping from crag to crag, 
 And o'er the brawling beds of unbridged 
 
 streams. 
 Philosophy, methinks, at Fancy's call, 
 Might deign to follow him through what he 
 
 does 250 
 
 Or sees in his day's inarch ; himself he feels, 
 In those vast regions where his service lies, 
 A freeman, wedded to his life of hope 
 And hazard, and hard labour interchanged 
 With that majestic indolence so dear 255 
 
 To native man. A rambling school-boy, thus 
 I felt his presence in his own domain, 
 As of a lord and master, or a power, 
 Or genius, under Nature, under God, 
 Presiding ; and severest solitude 260 
 
 Had more commanding looks when he was there. 
 When up the lonely brooks on rainy days 
 Angling I went, or trod the trackless hills 
 By mists bewildered, suddenly mine eyes 
 Have glanced upon him distant a few steps, 265 
 In size a giant, stalking through thick fog, 
 His sheep like Greenland bears ; or, as he 
 
 stepped 
 Beyond the boundary line of some hill- shadow, 
 His form hath flashed upon me, glorified 
 By the deep radiance of the setting sun : 270 
 Or him have I descried in distant sky, 
 A solitary object and sublime, 
 Above all height ! like an aerial cross 
 Stationed alone upon a spiry rock 
 Of the Chartreuse, for worship. Thus was man 
 Ennobled outwardly before my sight, 276 
 
 And thus my heart was early introduced 
 
156 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 To an unconscious love and reverence 
 Of human nature ; hence the human form 
 To me became an index of delight, 280 
 
 Of grace and honour, power and worthiness. 
 Meanwhile this creature — spiritual almost 
 As those of books, but more exalted far ; 
 Far more of an imaginative form 
 Than the gay Corin of the groves, who lives 285 
 For his own fancies, or to dance by the hour, 
 In coronal, with Phyllis in the midst — 
 Was, for the purposes of kind, a man 
 With the most common ; husband, father ; 
 
 learned, 
 Could teach, admonish ; suffered with the rest 
 From vice and folly, wretchedness and fear ; 291 
 Of this I little saw, cared less for it, 
 But something must have felt. 
 
 Call ye these appearances — 
 Which I beheld of shepherds in my youth, 
 This sanctity of Nature given to man — 295 
 A shadow, a delusion, ye who pore 
 On the dead letter, miss the spirit of things ; 
 Whose truth is not a motion or a shape 
 Instinct with vital functions, bat a block 
 Or waxen image which yourselves have made, 
 And ye adore ! But blessed be the G-od 301 
 Of Nature and of Man that this was so ; 
 That men before my inexperienced eyes 
 Did first present themselves thus purified, 
 Removed, and to a distance that was fit : 305 
 And so we all of us in some degree 
 Are led to knowledge, wheresoever led, 
 And howsoever ; were it otherwise, 
 And we found evil fast as we find good 
 In our first years, or think that it is found, 310 
 How could the innocent heart bear up and 
 
 live ! 
 
RETROSPECT. 157 
 
 But doubly fortunate my lot ; not here 
 Alone, that something of a better life 
 Perhaps was round me than it is the privilege 
 Of most to move in, but that first I looked 315 
 At man through objects that were great or fair ; 
 First communed with him by their help. And 
 
 thus 
 Was founded a sure safeguard and defence 
 Against the weight of meanness, selfish cares, 
 Coarse manners, vulgar passions, that beat in 
 On all sides from the ordinary world 321 
 
 In which we traffic. Starting from this point 
 I had my face turned toward the truth, began 
 With an advantage furnished by that kind 
 Of prepossession, without which the soul 325 
 Receives no knowledge that can bring forth 
 
 good, 
 No genuine insight ever comes to her. 
 From the restraint of over-watchful eyes 
 Preserved, I moved about, year after year, 
 Happy, and now most thankful that my walk 
 Was guarded from too early intercourse 331 
 With the deformities of crowded life, 
 And those ensuing laughters and contempts, 
 Self -pleasing, which, if we would wish to think 
 With a due reverence on earth's rightful lord, 
 Here placed to be the inheritor of heaven, 336 
 Will not permit us ; but pursue the mind, 
 That to devotion willingly would rise, 
 Into the temple and the temple's heart. 
 
 Yet deem not, Friend ! that human kind 
 with me 34° 
 
 Thus early took a place pre-eminent ; 
 Nature herself was, at this unripe time, 
 But secondary to my own pursuits 
 And animal activities, and all 
 
158 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Their trivial pleasures ; and when these had 
 drooped 345 
 
 And gradually expired, and Nature, prized 
 For her own sake, became my joy, even then — 
 And upwards through late youth, until not less 
 Than two-and-twenty summers had been told — 
 Was Man in my affections and regards 350 
 Subordinate to her, her visible forms 
 And viewless agencies : a passion, she, 
 A rapture often, and immediate love 
 Ever at hand ; he, only a delight 
 Occasional, an accidental grace, 355 
 
 His hour being not yet come. Far less had then 
 The inferior creatures, beast or bird, attuned 
 My spirit to that gentleness of love 
 (Though they had long been carefully observed), 
 Won from me those minute obeisances 360 
 
 Of tenderness, which I may number now 
 With my first blessings. Nevertheless, on these 
 The light of beauty did not fall in vain, 
 Or grandeur circumfuse them to no end. 
 
 But when that first poetic faculty 365 
 
 Of plain Imagination and severe, 
 No longer a mute influence of the soul, 
 Ventured, at some rash Muse's earnest call, 
 To try her strength among harmonious words ; 
 And to book-notions and the rules of art 370 
 Did knowingly conform itself ; there came 
 Among the simple shapes of human life 
 A wilfulness of fancy and conceit : 
 And Nature and her objects beautified 
 These fictions, as in some sort, in their turn, 375 
 They burnished her. From touch of this new 
 
 power 
 Nothing was safe : the elder-tree that grew 
 Beside the well-known charnel-house had then 
 
RETROSPECT. 159 
 
 A dismal look ; the yew-tree had its ghost, 
 That took his station there for ornament : 380 
 The dignities of plain occurrence then 
 Were tasteless, and truth's golden mean, a point 
 Where no sufficient pleasure could be found. 
 Then, if a widow, staggering with the blow 
 Of her distress, was known to have turned her 
 steps 385 
 
 To the cold grave in which her husband slept, 
 One night, or haply more than one, through pain 
 Or half- insensate impotence of mind, 
 The fact was caught at greedily, and there 
 She must be visitant the whole year through, 390 
 Wetting the turf with never-ending tears. 
 
 Through quaint obliquities I might pursue 
 These cravings ; when the fox-glove, one by one, 
 Upwards through every stage of the tall stem, 
 Had shed beside the public way its bells, 395 
 And stood of all dismantled, save the last 
 Left at the tapering ladder's top, that seemed 
 To bend as doth a slender blade of grass 
 Tipped with a rain-drop, Fancy loved to seat, 
 Beneath the plant despoiled, but crested still 
 With this last relic, soon itself to fall, 401 
 
 Some vagrant mother, whose arch little ones, 
 All unconcerned by her dejected plight, 
 Laughed as with rival eagerness their hands 
 Gathered the purple cups that round them lay, 
 Strewing the turf's green slope. 
 
 A diamond light 406 
 (Whene'er the summer sun, declining, smote 
 A smooth rock wet with constant springs) was 
 
 seen 
 Sparkling from out a copse-clad bank that rose 
 Fronting our cottage. Oft beside the hearth 410 
 Seated, with open door, often and long 
 
160 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Upon this restless lustre have I gazed, 
 
 That made my fancy restless as itself. 
 
 'Twas now for me a burnished silver shield 
 
 Suspended over a knight's tomb, who lay 415 
 
 Inglorious, buried in the dusky wood : 
 
 An entrance now into some magic cave 
 
 Or palace built by fairies of the rock ; 
 
 Nor could I have been bribed to disenchant 
 
 The spectacle, by visiting the spot. 420 
 
 Thus wilful Fancy, in no hurtful mood, 
 
 Engrafted far-fetched shapes on feelings bred 
 
 By pure Imagination : busy Power 
 
 She was, and with her ready pupil turned 
 
 Instinctively to human passions, then 425 
 
 Least understood. Yet, 'mid the fervent swarm 
 
 Of these vagaries, with an eye so rich 
 
 As mine was through the bounty of a grand 
 
 And lovely region, I had forms distinct 
 
 To steady me : each airy thought revolved 430 
 
 Round a substantial centre, which at once 
 
 Incited it to motion, and controlled. 
 
 I did not pine like one in cities bred, 
 
 As was thy melancholy lot, dear Friend ! 
 
 Great Spirit as thou art, in endless dreams 435 
 
 Of sickliness, disjoining, joining, things 
 
 Without the light of knowledge. Where the 
 
 harm, 
 If, when the woodman languished with disease 
 Induced by sleeping nightly on the ground 
 Within his sod-built cabin, Indian-wise, 440 
 I called the pangs of disappointed love, 
 And all the sad etcetera of the wrong, 
 To help him to his grave. Meanwhile the man, 
 If not already from the woods retired 
 To die at home, was haply as I knew, 445 
 
 Withering by slow degrees, 'mid gentle airs, 
 Birds, running streams, and hills so beautiful 
 
RETROSPECT. 161 
 
 On golden evenings, while the charcoal pile 
 Breathed up its smoke, an image of his ghost 
 Or spirit that full soon must take her flight. 450 
 Nor shall we not be tending towards that point 
 Of sound humanity to which our Tale 
 Leads, though by sinuous ways, if here I shew 
 How Fancy, in a season when she wove 
 Those slender cords, to guide the unconscious 
 
 Boy 455 
 
 For the Man's sake, could feed at Nature's call 
 Some pensive musings which might well beseem 
 Maturer years. 
 
 A grove there is whose boughs 
 Stretch from the western marge of Thurston- 
 
 mere, 
 With length of shade so thick, that whoso 
 
 glides 460 
 
 Along the line of low-roofed water, moves 
 As in a cloister. Once — while, in that shade 
 Loitering, I watched the golden beams of light 
 Flung from the setting sun, as they reposed 
 In silent beauty on the naked ridge 465 
 
 Of a high eastern hill — thus flowed my thoughts 
 In a pure stream of words fresh from the heart : 
 Dear native Regions, wheresoe'er shall close 
 My mortal course, there will I think on you ; 
 Dying, will cast on you a backward look ; 470 
 Even as this setting sun (albeit the Vale 
 Is no where touched by one memorial gleam) 
 Doth with the fond remains of his last power 
 Still linger, and a farewell lustre sheds 
 On the dear mountain-tops where first he rose. 
 
 Enough of humble arguments ; recall, 476 
 My Song ! those high emotions which thy voice 
 Has heretofore made known ; that bursting 
 forth 
 
 VII. M 
 
162 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of sympathy, inspiring and inspired, 
 
 When everywhere a vital pulse was felt, 480 
 
 And all the several frames of things, like stars, 
 
 Through every magnitude distinguishable, 
 
 Shone mutually indebted, or half lost 
 
 Each in the other's blaze, a galaxy 
 
 Of life and glory. In the midst stood Man, 485 
 
 Outwardly, inwardly contemplated, 
 
 As, of all visible natures, crown, though born 
 
 Of dust, and kindred to the worm ; a Being, 
 
 Both in perception and discernment, first 
 
 In every capability of rapture, 490 
 
 Through the divine effect of power and love ; 
 
 As, more than anything we know, instinct 
 
 With godhead, and, by reason and by will, 
 
 Acknowledging dependency sublime. 
 
 Ere long, the lonely mountains left, I moved, 
 Begirt, from day to day, with temporal shapes 
 Of vice and folly thrust upon my view, 497 
 Objects of sport, and ridicule, and scorn, 
 Manners and characters discriminate, 
 And little bustling passions that eclipse, 500 
 As well they might, the impersonated thought, 
 The idea, or abstraction of the kind. 
 
 An Idler among academic bowers, 
 Such was my new condition, as at large 
 Has been set forth ; yet here the vulgar light 
 Of present, actual, superficial life, 506 
 
 Gleaming through colouring of other times, 
 Old usages and local privilege, 
 Was welcome, softened, if not solemnised. 
 This notwithstanding, being brought more near 
 To vice and guilt, forerunning wretchedness, 5 1 1 
 I trembled, — thought, at times, of human life 
 With an indefinite terror and dismay, 
 
RETROSPECT. 163 
 
 Such as the storms and angry elements 
 Had bred in me ; but gloomier far, a dim 515 
 Analogy to uproar and misrule, 
 Disquiet, danger, and obscurity. 
 
 It might be told (but wherefore speak of 
 things 
 Common to all ?) that, seeing, I was led 
 Gravely to ponder — judging between good 520 
 And evil, not as for the mind's delight 
 But for her guidance — one who was to act, 
 As sometimes to the best of feeble means 
 I did, by human sympathy impelled ; 
 And, through dislike and most offensive pain, 
 Was to the truth conducted ; of this faith 526 
 Never forsaken, that, by acting well, 
 And understanding, I should learn to love 
 The end of life, and every thing we know. 
 
 Grave Teacher, stern Preceptress ! for at 
 times 530 
 
 Thou canst put on an aspect most severe ; 
 London, to thee I willingly return. 
 Erewhile my verse played idly with the flowers 
 Enwrought upon thy mantle ; satisfied 
 With that amusement, and a simple look 535 
 Of child-like inquisition now and then 
 Cast upwards on thy countenance, to detect 
 Some inner meanings which might harbour 
 
 there. 
 But how could I in mood so light indulge, 
 Keeping such fresh remembrance of the day, 
 When, having thridded the long labyrinth 541 
 Of the suburban villages, I first 
 Entered thy vast dominion ? On the rodf 
 Of an itinerant vehicle I sate, 
 With vulgar men about me, trivial forms 545 
 
164 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of houses, pavement, streets, of men and 
 
 things, — 
 Mean shapes on every side : but, at the instant, 
 When to myself it fairly might be said, 
 The threshold now is overpast, (how strange 
 That aught external to the living mind 550 
 Should have such mighty sway ! yet so it was), 
 A weight of ages did at once descend 
 Upon my heart ; no thought embodied, no 
 Distinct remembrances, but weight and 
 
 power, — 
 Power growing under weight : alas! I feel 555 
 That I am trifling : 'twas a moment's pause, — 
 All that took place within me came and went 
 As in a moment ; yet with Time it dwells, 
 And grateful memory, as a thing divine. 
 
 The curious traveller, who, from open day, 560 
 Hath passed with torches into some huge cave, 
 The Grotto of Antiparos, or the Den 
 In old time haunted by that Danish Witch, 
 Yordas ; he looks around and sees the vault 
 Widening on all sides ; sees, or thinks he sees, 
 Erelong, the massy roof above his head, 566 
 That instantly unsettles and recedes, — 
 Substance and shadow, light and darkness, all 
 Commingled, making up a canopy 569 
 
 Of shapes and forms and tendencies to shape 
 That shift and vanish, change and interchange 
 Like spectres, — ferment silent and sublime ! 
 That after a short space works less and less, 
 Till, every effort, every motion gone, 
 The scene before him stands in perfect view 575 
 Exposed, and lifeless as a written book ! — 
 But let him pause awhile, and look again, 
 A.nd a new quickening shall succeed, at first 
 Beginning timidly, then creeping fast, 
 
RETROSPECT. 165 
 
 Till the whole cave, so late a senseless mass, 5 80 
 Busies the eye with images and forms 
 Boldly assembled, — here is shadowed forth 
 From the projections, wrinkles, cavities, 
 A variegated landscape, — there the shape 
 Of some gigantic warrior clad in mail, 585 
 
 The ghostly semblance of a hooded monk, 
 Veiled nun, or pilgrim resting on his staff : 
 Strange congregation ! yet not slow to meet 
 Eyes that perceive through minds that can 
 inspire. 
 
 Even in such sort had I at first been 
 moved, 590 
 
 Nor otherwise continued to be moved, 
 As I explored the vast metropolis, 
 Fount of my country's destiny and the world's ; 
 That great emporium, chronicle at once 
 And burial-place of passions, and their home 
 Imperial, their chief living residence. 596 
 
 With strong sensations teeming as it did 
 Of past and present, such a place must needs 
 Have pleased me, seeking knowledge at that 
 
 time 
 Far less than craving power ; yet knowledge 
 
 came, 600 
 
 Sought or unsought, and influxes of power 
 Came, of themselves, or at her call derived 
 In fits of kindliest apprehensiveness, 
 From all sides, when whate'er was in itself 
 Capacious found, or seemed to find, in me 605 
 A correspondent amplitude of mind ; 
 Such is the strength and glory of our youth ! 
 The human nature unto which I felt 
 That I belonged, and reverenced with love, 
 Was not a punctual presence, but a spirit 6jo 
 
166 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Diffused through time and space, with aid 
 
 derived 
 Of evidence from monuments, erect, 
 Prostrate, or leaning towards their common 
 
 rest 
 In earth, the widely scattered wreck sublime 
 Of vanished nations, or more clearly drawn 615 
 From books and what they picture and re- 
 cord. 
 
 'Tis true, the history of our native land, 
 With those of Greece compared and popular 
 
 Rome, 
 And in our high-wrought modern narratives 
 Stript of their harmonising soul, the life 620 
 Of manners and familiar incidents, 
 Had never much delighted me. And less 
 Than other intellects had mine been used 
 To lean upon extrinsic circumstance 
 Of record or tradition ; but a sense 625 
 
 Of what in the Great City had been done 
 And suffered, and was doing, suffering, still, 
 Weighed with me, could support the test of 
 
 thought ; 
 And, in despite of all that had gone by, 
 Or was departing never to return, 630 
 
 There I conversed with majesty and power 
 Like independent natures. Hence the place 
 Was thronged with impregnations like the 
 
 Wilds 
 In which my early feelings had been nursed — 
 Bare hills and valleys, full of caverns, rocks, 
 And audible seclusions, dashing lakes, 636 
 
 Echoes and waterfalls, and pointed crags 
 That into music touch the passing wind. 
 Here then my young imagination found 
 No uncongenial element ; could here 640 
 
RETROSPECT. 167 
 
 Among new objects serve or give command, 
 Even as the heart's occasions might require, 
 To forward reason's else too scrupulous march. 
 The effect was, still more elevated views 
 Of human nature. Neither vice nor guilt, 645 
 Debasement undergone by body or mind, 
 Nor all the misery forced upon my sight, 
 Misery not lightly passed, but sometimes 
 
 scanned 
 Most feelingly, could overthrow my trust 
 In what we may become ; induce belief 650 
 
 That I was ignorant, had been falsely taught, 
 A solitary, who with vain conceits 
 Had been inspired, and walked about in 
 
 dreams. 
 From those sad scenes when meditation turned, 
 Lo ! every thing that was indeed divine 655 
 Retained its purity inviolate, 
 Nay brighter shone, by this portentous gloom 
 Set off ; such opposition as aroused 
 The mind of Adam, yet in Paradise 
 Though fallen from bliss, when in the East he 
 
 saw 660 
 
 Darkness ere day's mid course, and morning 
 
 light 
 More orient in the western cloud, that drew 
 O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, 
 Descending slow with something heavenly 
 
 fraught. 
 
 Add also, that among the multitudes 665 
 Of that huge city, oftentimes was seen 
 Affectingly set forth, more than elsewhere 
 Is possible, the unity of man, 
 One spirit over ignorance and vice 
 Predominant, in good and evil hearts ; 670 
 
 One sense for moral judgments, as one eye 
 
168 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 For the sun's light. The soul when smitten 
 
 thus 
 By a sublime idea, whencesoe'er 
 Vouchsafed for union or communion, feeds 
 On the pure bliss, and takes her rest with God. 
 
 Thus from a very early age, Friend ! 676 
 My thoughts by slow gradations had been 
 
 drawn 
 To human-kind, and to the good and ill 
 Of human life : Nature had led me on ; 
 And oft amid the " busy hum " I seemed 680 
 To travel independent of her help, 
 As if I had forgotten her ; but no, 
 The world of human-kind outweighed not hers 
 In my habitual thoughts ; the scale of love, 
 Though filling daily, still was light, compared 
 With that in which her mighty objects lay. 686 
 
BOOK NINTH. 
 
 RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 
 
 Even as a river, — partly (it might seem) 
 Yielding to old remembrances, and swayed 
 In part by fear to shape a way direct, 
 That would engulph him soon in the ravenous 
 
 sea — 
 Turns, and will measure back his course, far 
 
 back, 5 
 
 Seeking the very regions which he crossed 
 In his first outset ; so have we, my Friend ! 
 Turned and returned with intricate delay. 
 Or as a traveller, who has gained the brow 
 Of some aerial Down, while there he halts 10 
 For breathing-time, is tempted to review 
 The region left behind him ; and, if aught 
 Deserving notice have escaped regard, 
 Or been regarded with too careless eye, 
 Strives, from that height, with one and yet one 
 
 more 1 5 
 
 Last look, to make the best amends he may : 
 So have we lingered. Now we start afresh 
 With courage, and new hope risen on our 
 
 toil. 
 Fair greetings to this shapeless eagerness, 
 Whene'er it comes ! needful in work so long, 
 Thrice needful to the argument which now 21 
 Awaits us ! Oh, how much unlike the past ! 
 
170 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Free as a colt at pasture on the hill, 
 I ranged at large, through London's wide 
 
 domain, 
 Month after month. Obscurely did I live, 25 
 Not seeking frequent intercourse with men, 
 By literature, or elegance, or rank, 
 Distinguished. Scarcely was a year thus spent 
 Ere I forsook the crowded solitude, 
 With less regret for its luxurious pomp, 30 
 And all the nicely- guarded shows of art, 
 Than for the humble book-stalls in the streets, 
 Exposed to eye and hand where'er I turned. 
 
 France lured me forth ; the realm that I had 
 
 crossed, 
 So lately, journeying toward the snow- clad 
 
 Alps. 35 
 
 But now, relinquishing the scrip and staff, 
 And all enjoyment which the summer sun 
 Sheds round the steps of those who meet the 
 
 day 
 With motion constant as his own, I went 
 Prepared to sojourn in a pleasant town, 40 
 
 Washed by the current of the stately Loire. 
 
 Through Paris lay my i*eadiest course, and 
 there 
 Sojourning a few days, I visited 
 In haste, each spot of old or recent fame, 
 The latter chiefly ; from the field of Mars 45 
 Down to the suburbs of St. Antony, 
 And from Mont Martyr southward to the Dome 
 Of Genevieve. In both her clamorous Halls, 
 The National Synod and the Jacobins, 
 I saw the Eevolutionary Power 50 
 
 Toss like a ship at anchor, rocked by storms ; 
 The Arcades I traversed, in the Palace huge 
 
EESIDEISTCE IN FRA^ T CE. 171 
 
 Of Orleans ; coasted round and round the line 
 Of Tavern, Brothel, Gaming-house, and Shop, 
 Great rendezvous of worst and best, the walk 5 5 
 Of all who had a purpose, or had not ; 
 I stared and listened, with a stranger's ears, 
 To Hawkers and Haranguers, hubbub wild ! 
 And hissing Factionists with ardent eyes, 
 In knots, or pairs, or single. Not a look 60 
 Hope takes, or Doubt or Fear is forced to 
 
 wear, 
 But seemed there present ; and I scanned them 
 
 all, 
 Watched every gesture uncontrollable, 
 Of anger, and vexation, and despite, 
 All side by side, and struggling face to face, 65 
 With gaiety and dissolute idleness. 
 
 Where silent zephyrs sported with the dust 
 Of the Bastille, I sate in the open sun, 
 And from the rubbish gathered up a stone, 
 And pocketed the relic, in the guise 70 
 
 Of an enthusiast ; yet, in honest truth, 
 I looked for something that I could not find, 
 Affecting more emotion than I felt ; 
 For 'tis most certain, that these various sights, 
 However potent their first shock, with me 75 
 Appeared to recompense the traveller's pains 
 Less than the painted Magdalene of Le Bran, 
 A beauty exquisitely wrought, with hair 
 Dishevelled, gleaming eyes, and rueful cheek 
 Pale and bedropped with overflowing tears. 80 
 
 But hence to my more permanent abode 
 I hasten ; there, by novelties in speech, 
 Domestic manners, customs, gestures, looks, 
 And all the attire of ordinary life, 
 Attention was engrossed ; and, thus amused, 85 
 
172 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 I stood, 'mid those concussions, unconcerned, 
 Tranquil almost, and careless as a flower 
 Glassed in a green-house, or a parlour shrub 
 That spreads its leaves in unmolested peace, 
 While every bush and tree, the country through, 
 Is shaking to the roots : indifference this 91 
 Which may seem strange : but I was unpre- 
 pared 
 With needful knowledge, had abruptly passed 
 Into a theatre, whose stage was filled 
 And busy with an action far advanced. 95 
 
 Like others, I had skimmed, and sometimes 
 
 read 
 With care, the master pamphlets of the day ; 
 Nor wanted such half-insight as grew wild 
 Upon that meagre soil, helped out by talk 
 And public news ; but having never seen 100 
 A chronicle that might suffice to show 
 Whence the main organs of the public power 
 Had sprung, their transmigrations, when and 
 
 how 
 Accomplished, giving thus unto events 
 A form and body ; all things were to me 105 
 Loose and disjointed, and the affections left 
 Without a vital interest. At that time, 
 Moreover, the first storm was overblown, 
 And the strong hand of outward violence 
 Locked up in quiet. For myself, I fear no 
 Now in connection with so great a theme 
 To speak (as I must be compelled to do) 
 Of one so unimportant ; night by night 
 Did I frequent the formal haunts of men, 
 Whom, in the city, privilege of birth 115 
 
 Sequestered from the rest, societies 
 Polished in arts, and in punctilio versed ; 
 Whence, and from deeper causes, all discourse 
 Of good and evil of the time was shunned 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 173 
 
 With scrupulous care; but these restrictions 
 soon 1 20 
 
 Proved tedious, and I gradually withdrew 
 Into a noisier world, and thus ere long 
 Became a patriot ; and my heart was all 
 Given to the people, and my love was theirs. 
 
 A band of military Officers, 125 
 
 Then stationed in the city, were the chief 
 Of my associates : some of these wore swords 
 That had been seasoned in the wars, and all 
 Were men well-born ; the chivalry of France. 
 In age and temper differing, they had yet 130 
 One spirit ruling in each heart ; alike 
 (Save only one, hereafter to be named) 
 Were bent upon undoing what was done : 
 This was their rest and only hope ; therewith 
 No fear had they of bad becoming worse, 1 3 5 
 For worst to them was come ; nor would have 
 
 stirred, 
 Or deemed it worth a moment's thought to stir, 
 In any thing, save only as the act 
 Looked thitherward. One, reckoning by years, 
 Was in the prime of manhood, and ere while 140 
 He had sate lord in many tender hearts ; 
 Though heedless of such honours now, and 
 
 changed : 
 His temper was quite mastered by the times, 
 And they had blighted him, had eaten away 
 The beauty of his person, doing wrong 145 
 
 Alike to body and to mind : his port, 
 Which once had been erect and open, now 
 Was stooping and contracted, and a face, 
 Endowed by Nature with her fairest gifts 
 Of symmetry and light and bloom, expressed, 
 As much as any that was ever seen, 151 
 
 A ravage out of season, made by thoughts 
 
174 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Unhealthy and vexatious. With the hour, 
 That from the press of Paris duly brought 
 Its freight of public news, the fever came, 155 
 A punctual visitant, to shake this man, 
 Disarmed his voice and fanned his yellow cheek 
 Into a thousand colours ; while he read, 
 Or mused, his sword was haunted by his touch 
 Continually, like an uneasy place 160 
 
 In his own body. 'Twas in truth an hour 
 Of universal ferment ; mildest men 
 Were agitated ; and commotions, strife 
 Of passions and opinions, filled the walls 
 Of peaceful houses with unquiet sounds. 165 
 The soil of common life, was, at that time, 
 Too hot to tread upon. Oft said I then, 
 And not then only, " What a mockery this 
 Of history, the past and that to come ! 
 Now do I feel how all men are deceived, 170 
 Reading of nations and their works, in faith, 
 Faith given to vanity and emptiness ; 
 Oh ! laughter for the page that would reflect 
 To future times the face of what now is ! " 
 The land all swarmed with passion, like a plain 
 Devoured by locusts, — Carra, Grorsas, — add 176 
 A hundred other names, forgotten now, 
 ISTor to be heard of more ; yet, they were powers, 
 Like earthquakes, shocks repeated day by day, 
 And felt through every nook of town and 
 field. 180 
 
 Such was the state of things. Meanwhile 
 the chief 
 Of my associates stood prepared for flight 
 To augment the band of emigrants in arms 
 Upon the borders of the Rhine, and leagued 
 With foreign foes mustered for instant war. 1 8 5 
 This was their undisguised intent, and they 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 175 
 
 Were waiting with the whole of their desires 
 The moment to depart. 
 
 An Englishman, 
 Born in a land whose very name appeared 
 To license some nnrnliness of mind ; 190 
 
 A stranger, with youth's further privilege, 
 And the indulgence that a half-learnt speech 
 Wins from the courteous ; I, who had been else 
 Shunned and not tolerated, freely lived 194 
 
 With these defenders of the Crown, and talked, 
 And heard their notions ; nor did they disdain 
 The wish to bring me over to their cause. 
 
 But though untaught by thinking or by books 
 To reason well of polity or law, 
 And nice distinctions, then on every tongue, 
 Of natural rights and civil ; and to acts 201 
 Of nations and their passing interests, 
 (If with unworldly ends and aims compared) 
 Almost indifferent, even the historian's tale 
 Prizing but little otherwise than I prized 205 
 Tales of the poets, as it made the heart 
 Beat high, and filled the fancy with fair forms, 
 Old heroes and their sufferings and their deeds ; 
 Yet in the regal sceptre, and the pomp 
 Of orders and degrees, I nothing found 210 
 Then, or had ever, even in crudest youth, 
 That dazzled me, but rather what I mourned 
 And ill could brook, beholding that the best 
 Euled not, and feeling that they ought to rule. 
 
 For, born in a poor district, and which yet 
 Retaineth more of ancient homeliness, 216 
 
 Than any other nook of English ground, 
 It was my fortune scarcely to have seen, 
 Through the whole tenor of my school-day time, 
 The face of one, who, whether boy or man, 220 
 
176 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Was vested with attention or respect 
 Through claims of wealth or blood ; nor was it 
 
 least 
 Of many benefits, in later years 
 Derived from academic institutes 
 And rules, that they held something up to view 
 Of a Republic, where all stood thus far 226 
 Upon equal ground ; that we were brothers all 
 In honour, as in one community, 
 Scholars and gentlemen ; where, furthermore, 
 Distinction open lay to all that came, 230 
 
 And wealth and titles were in less esteem 
 Than talents, worth, and prosperous industry. 
 And unto this, subservience from the first 
 To presences of G-od's mysterious power 
 Made manifest in Nature's sovereignty, 235 
 And fellowship with venerable books, 
 To sanction the proud workings of the soul, 
 And mountain liberty. It could not be 
 But that one tutored thus should look with awe 
 Upon the faculties of man, receive 240 
 
 Gladly the highest promises, and hail, 
 As best, the government of equal rights 
 And individual worth. And hence, Friend ! 
 If at the first great outbreak I rejoiced 
 Less than might well befit my youth, the cause 
 In part lay here, that unto me the events 246 
 Seemed nothing out of nature's certain course, 
 A gift that was come rather late than soon. 
 No wonder, then, if advocates like these, 
 Inflamed by passion, blind with prejudice, 250 
 And stung with injury, at this riper day, 
 Were impotent to make my hopes put on 
 The shape of theirs, my understanding bend 
 In honour to their honour : zeal, which yet 
 Had slumbered, now in opposition burst 255 
 Forth like a Polar summer : every word 
 
residence in fra:n t ce. 177 
 
 They uttered was a dart, by counter- winds 
 Blown back upon themselves ; their reason 
 
 seemed 
 Confusion- stricken by a higher power 
 Than human understanding, their discourse 
 Maimed, spiritless ; and, in their weakness 
 
 stronsr, 261 
 
 I triumphed. 
 
 Meantime, day by day, the roads 
 Were crowded with the bravest youth of France, 
 And all the promptest of her spirits, linked 
 In gallant soldiership, and posting on 265 
 
 To meet the war upon her frontier bounds. 
 Yet at this very moment do tears start 
 Into mine eyes : I do not say I weep — 
 I wept not then, — but tears have dimmed my 
 
 sight, 
 In memory of the farewells of that time, 270 
 Domestic severings, female fortitude 
 At dearest separation, patriot love 
 And self-devotion, and terrestrial hope, 
 Encouraged with a martyr's confidence ; 274 
 Even files of strangers merely seen but once, 
 And for a moment, men from far with sound 
 Of music, martial tunes, and banners spread, 
 Entering the city, here and there a face, 
 Or person singled out among the rest, 
 Yet still a stranger and beloved as such ; 280 
 Even by these passing spectacles my heart 
 Was oftentimes uplifted, and they seemed 
 Arguments sent from Heaven to prove the cause 
 Good, pure, which no one could stand up against, 
 Who was not lost, abandoned, selfish, proud, 
 Mean, miserable, wilfully depraved, 286 
 
 Hater perverse of equity and truth. 
 
 Among that band of Officers was one, 
 
 VII. N 
 
178 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Already hinted at, of other mould — 
 
 A patriot, thence rejected by the rest, 290 
 
 And with an oriental loathing spurned, 
 
 As of a different caste. A meeker man 
 
 Than this lived never, nor a more benign, 
 
 Meek though enthusiastic. Injuries 
 
 Made him more gracious, and his nature then 
 
 Bid breathe its sweetness out most sensibly, 296 
 
 As aromatic flowers on Alpine turf,' 
 
 When foot hath, crushed them. He through 
 
 the events 
 Of that great change wandered in perfect faith, 
 As through a book, an old romance, or tale 300 
 Of Fairy, or some dream of actions wrought 
 Behind the summer clouds. By birthJieranlved 
 With the most noble, but unto the poor 
 Among mankind he was in service bound, 
 As by some tie invisible, oaths professed 305 
 To a religious order. Man he loved 
 As man ; and, to the mean and the obscure, 
 And all the homely in their homely works, 
 Transferred a courtesy which had no air 
 Of condescension ; but did rather seem 3 1 o 
 
 A passion and a gallantry, like that 
 Which he, a soldier, in his idler day 
 Had paid to woman : somewhat vain he was, 
 Or seemed so, yet it was not vanity, 
 But fondness, and a kind of radiant joy 315 
 Diffused around him, while he was intent 
 On works of love or freedom, or revolved 
 Complacently the progress of a cause, 
 Whereof he was a part : yet this was meek 
 And placid, and took nothing from the man 320 
 That was delightful. Oft in solitude 
 With him did I discourse about the end 
 Of civil government, and its wisest forms ; 
 Of ancient loyalty, and chartered rights, 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 179 
 
 Custom and habit, novelty and change ; 325 
 Of self-respect, and virtue in the few 
 For patrimonial honour set apart, 
 And ignorance in the labouring multitude. 
 For he, to all intolerance indisposed, 
 Balanced these contemplations in his mind ; 330 
 And I, who at that time was scarcely dipped 
 Into the turmoil, bore a sounder judgment 
 Than later days allowed ; carried about me, 
 With less alloy to its integrity, 334 
 
 The experience of past ages, as, through help 
 Of books and common life, it makes sure way 
 To youthful minds, by objects over near 
 Not pressed upon, nor dazzled or misled 
 By struggling with the crowd for present ends. 
 
 But though not deaf, nor obstinate to find 
 Error without excuse upon the side 341 
 
 Of them who strove against us, more delight 
 We took, and let this freely be confessed, 
 In painting to ourselves the miseries 
 Of royal courts, and that voluptuous life 345 
 Unfeeling, where the man who is of soul 
 The meanest thrives the most ; where dignity, 
 True personal dignity, abideth not ; 
 A light, a cruel, and vain world cut off 
 From the natural inlets of just sentiment, 350 
 From lowly sympathy and chastening truth : 
 Where good and evil interchange their names, 
 And thirst for bloody spoils abroad is paired 
 With vice at home. We added dearest themes — 
 Man and his noble nature, as it is 355 
 
 The gift which Grod has placed within his power, 
 His blind desires and steady faculties 
 Capable of clear truth, the one to break 
 Bondage, the other to build liberty 
 On firm foundations, making social life, 360 
 
180 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Through knowledge spreading and imperishable, 
 As just in regulation, and as pure 
 As individual in the wise and good. 
 
 We summoned up the honourable deeds 
 Of ancient Story, thought of each bright spot, 
 That would be found in all recorded time, 366 
 Of truth preserved and error passed away ; 
 Of single spirits that catch the flame from 
 
 Heaven, 
 And how the multitudes of men will feed 
 And fan each other ; thought of sects, how keen 
 They are to put the appropriate nature on, 371 
 Triumphant over every obstacle 
 Of custom, language, country, love, or hate, 
 And what they do and suffer for their creed ; 
 How far they travel, and how long endure ; 375 
 How quickly mighty Nations have been formed, 
 From least beginnings ; how, together locked 
 By new opinions, scattered tribes have made 
 One body, spreading wide as clouds in heaven. 
 To aspirations then of our own minds 380 
 
 Did we appeal ; and, finally, beheld 
 A living confirmation of the whole 
 Before us, in a people from the depth 
 Of shameful imbecility uprisen, 
 Fresh as the morning star. Elate we looked 
 Upon their virtues ; saw, in rudest men, 386 
 Self-sacrifice the firmest ; generous love, 
 And continence of mind, and sense of right, 
 Uppermost in the midst of fiercest strife. 
 
 Oh, sweet it is, in academic groves, 390 
 
 Or such retirement, Friend ! as we have known 
 In the green dales beside our Kotha's stream, 
 Greta, or Derwent, or some nameless rill, 
 To ruminate, with interchange of talk, 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 181 
 
 On rational liberty, and hope in man, 395 
 
 Justice and peace. But far more sweet such 
 
 toil- 
 Toil, say I, for it leads to thoughts abstruse — 
 If nature then be standing on the brink 
 Of some great trial, and we hear the voice 
 Of one devoted, — one whom circumstance 400 
 Hath called upon to embody his deep sense 
 In action, give it outwardly a shape, 
 And that of benediction, to the world. 
 Then doubt is not, and truth is more than 
 
 truth, — 
 A hope it is, and a desire ; a creed 40; 
 
 Of zeal, by an authority Divine 
 Sanctioned, of danger, difficulty, or death. 
 Such conversation, under Attic shades, 
 Did Dion hold with Plato ; ripened thus 
 For a deliverer's glorious task, — and such 410 
 He, on that ministry already bound, 
 Held with Eudemus and Timonides, 
 Surrounded by adventurers in arms, 
 When those two vessels with their daring 
 
 freight, 
 For the Sicilian Tyrant's overthrow, 415 
 
 Sailed from Zacynthus, — philosophic war, 
 Led by Philosophers. With harder fate, 
 Though like ambition, such was he, Friend ! 
 Of whom I speak. So Beaupuis (let the name 
 Stand near the worthiest of Antiquity) 420 
 Fashioned his life ; and many a long discourse, 
 With like persuasion honoured, we maintained: 
 He, on his part, accoutred for the worst, 
 He perished fighting, in supreme command, 
 Upon the borders of the unhappy Loire, 425 
 For liberty, against deluded men, 
 His fellow country-men ; and yet most blessed 
 In this, that he the fate of later times 
 
182 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Lived not to see, nor what we now behold, 
 Who have as ardent hearts as he had then. 430 
 
 Along that very Loire, with festal mirth 
 Resounding at all hours, and innocent yet 
 Of civil slaughter, was our frequent walk ; 
 Or in wide forests of continuous shade, 
 Lofty and over-arched, with open space 435 
 Beneath the trees, clear footing many a mile — 
 A solemn region. Oft amid those haunts, 
 From earnest dialogues I slipped in thought, 
 And let remembrance steal to other times, 
 When o'er those interwoven roots, moss-clad, 
 And smooth as marble or a waveless sea, 441 
 Some Hermit, from his cell forth- strayed, might 
 
 pace 
 In sylvan meditation undisturbed ; 
 As on the pavement of a Gothic church 444 
 Walks a lone Monk, when service hath expired, 
 In peace and silence. But if e'er was heard, — 
 Heard, though unseen, — a devious traveller, 
 Retiring or approaching from afar 
 With speed and echoes loud of trampling hoofs 
 From the hard floor reverberated, then 450 
 
 It was Angelica thundering through the woods 
 Upon her palfrey, or that gentle maid 
 Erminia, fugitive as fair as she. 
 Sometimes methought I saw a pair of knights 
 Joust underneath the trees, that as in storm 455 
 Rocked high above their heads ; anon, the din 
 Of boisterous merriment, and music's roar, 
 In sudden proclamation, burst from haunt 
 Of Satyrs in some viewless glade, with dance 
 Rejoicing o'er a female in the midst, 460 
 
 A mortal beauty, their unhappy thrall. 
 The width of those huge forests, unto me 
 A novel scene, did often in this way 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 183 
 
 Master my fancy while I wandered on 
 With that revered companion. And some- 
 times — 465 
 When to a convent in a meadow green, 
 By a brook-side, we came, a roofless pile, 
 And not by reverential tonch of Time 
 Dismantled, but by violence abrupt — 
 In spite of those heart-bracing colloquies, 470 
 In spite of real fervour, and of that 
 Less genuine and wrought up within myself — 
 I could not but bewail a wrong so harsh, 
 And for the Matin-bell to sound no more 474 
 Grieved, and the twilight taper, and the cross 
 High on the topmost pinnacle, a sign 
 (How welcome to the weary traveller's eyes !) 
 Of hospitality and peaceful rest. 
 And when the partner of those varied walks 
 Pointed upon occasion to the site 480 
 Of Romorentin, home of ancient kings, 
 To the imperial edifice of Blois, 
 Or to that rural castle, name now slipped 
 From my remembrance, where a lady lodged, 
 By the first Francis wooed, and bound to him 
 In chains of mutual passion, from the tower, 
 As a tradition of the country tells, 487 
 Practised to commune with her royal knight 
 By cressets and love-beacons, intercourse 
 'Twixt her high- seated residence and his 490 
 Far off at Chambord on the plain beneath ; 
 Even here, though less than with the peaceful 
 
 house 
 Eeligious, 'mid those frequent monuments 
 Of Kings, their vices and their better deeds, 
 Imagination, potent to inflame 495 
 
 At times with virtuous wrath and noble scorn, 
 Did also often mitigate the force 
 Of civic prejudice, the bigotry, 
 
184 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 So call it, of a youthful patriot's mind ; 
 
 And on these spots with many gleams I looked 
 
 Of chivalrous delight. Yet not the less, 501 
 
 Hatred of absolute rule, where will of one 
 
 Is law for all, and of that barren pride 
 
 In them who, by immunities unjust, 
 
 Between the sovereign and the people stand, 505 
 
 His helper and not theirs, laid stronger hold 
 
 Daily upon me, mixed with pity too 
 
 And love ; for where hope is, there love will be 
 
 For the abject multitude. And when we 
 
 chanced 
 One day to meet a hunger-bitten girl, 510 
 
 Who crept along fitting her languid gait 
 Unto a heifer's motion, by a cord 
 Tied to her arm, and picking thus from the 
 
 lane 
 Its sustenance, while the girl with pallid hands 
 Was busy knitting in a heartless mood 515 
 
 Of solitude, and at the sight my friend 
 In agitation said, " "Pis against that 
 That we are fighting," I with him believed 
 That a benignant spirit was abroad 
 Which might not be withstood, that poverty 
 Abject as this would in a little time 521 
 
 Be found no more, that we should see the earth 
 Unthwarted in her wish to recompense 
 The meek, the lowly, patient child of toil, 
 All institutes for ever blotted out 525 
 
 That legalised exclusion, empty pomp 
 Abolished, sensual state and cruel power, 
 Whether by edict of the one or few ; 
 And finally, as sum and crown of all, 
 Should see the people having a strong hand 530 
 In framing their own laws ; whence better 
 
 days 
 To all mankind. But, these things set apart, 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 185 
 
 Was not this single confidence enough 
 To animate the mind that ever turned 
 A thought to human welfare? That, hence- 
 forth 535 
 Captivity by mandate without law 
 Should cease ; and open accusation lead 
 To sentence in the hearing of the world, 
 And open punishment, if not the air 
 Be free to breathe in, and the heart of man 540 
 Dread nothing. From this height I shall not 
 
 stoop 
 To humbler matter that detained us oft 
 In thought or conversation, public acts, 
 And public persons, and emotions wrought 
 Within the breast, as ever- varying winds 545 
 Of record or report swept over us ; 
 But I might here, instead, repeat a tale, 
 Told by my Patriot friend, of sad events, 
 That prove to what low depth had struck the 
 
 roots, 
 How widely spread the boughs, of that old 
 tree 550 
 
 Which, as a deadly mischief, and a foul 
 And black dishonour, France was weary of. 
 
 O, happy time of youthful lovers, (thus 
 The story might begin,) oh, balmy time, 
 In which a love-knot on a lady's brow, 555 
 
 Is fairer than the fairest star in Heaven ! 
 So might — and with that prelude did begin 
 The record ; and, in faithful verse, was given 
 The doleful sequel. 
 
 But our little bark 559 
 On a strong river boldly hath been launched ; 
 And from the driving current should we turn 
 To loiter wilfully within a creek, 
 Howe'er attractive, Fellow voyager ! 
 
186 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Would' st thou not chide? Yet deem not my 
 
 pains lost : 
 For Vaudracour and Julia (so were named 565 
 The ill-fated pair) in that plain tale will draw 
 Tears from the hearts of others, when their own 
 Shall beat no more. Thou, also, there mayst 
 
 read, 
 At leisure, how the enamoured youth was 
 
 driven, 
 By public power abased, to fatal crime, 570 
 Nature's rebellion against monstrous law ; 
 How, between heart and heart, oppression 
 
 thrust 
 Her mandates, severing whom true love had 
 
 joined, 
 Harassing both ; until he sank and pressed 
 The couch his fate had made for him ; supine, 
 Save when the stings of viperous remorse, 576 
 Trying their strength, enforced him to start up, 
 Aghast and prayerless. Into a deep wood 
 He fled, to shun the haunts of human kind ; 
 There dwelt, weakened in spirit more and more ; 
 Nor could the voice of Freedom, which through 
 
 France 581 
 
 Full speedily resounded, public hope, 
 Or personal memory of his own worst wrongs, 
 Rouse him ; but, hidden in those gloomy shades, 
 His days he wasted, — an imbecile mind. 585 
 
BOOK TENTH. 
 
 RESIDENCE IN FRANCE.— (Continued.) 
 
 It was a beautiful and silent day 
 
 That overspread the countenance of earth, 
 
 Then fading with unusual quietness, — 
 
 A day as beautiful as e'er was given 
 
 To soothe regret, though deepening what it 
 
 soothed, 5 
 
 When by the gliding Loire I paused, and cast 
 Upon his rich domains, vineyard and tilth, 
 Green meadow- ground, and many-coloured 
 
 woods, 
 Again, and yet again, a farewell look ; 
 Then from the quiet of that scene passed on, 10 
 Bound to the fierce Metropolis. From his 
 
 throne 
 The King had fallen, and that invading host — 
 Presumptuous cloud, on whose black front was 
 
 written 
 The tender mercies of the dismal wind 
 That bore it — on the plains of Liberty 1 5 
 
 Had burst innocuous. Say in bolder words, 
 They — who had come elate as eastern hunters 
 Banded beneath the Great Mogul, when he 
 Erewhile went forth from Agra or Lahore, 
 Rajahs and Omrahs in his train, intent 20 
 
 To drive their prey enclosed within a ring 
 
188 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Wide as a province, but, the signal given, 
 Before the point of the life- threatening spear 
 Narrowing itself by moments — they, rash men, 
 Had seen the anticipated quarry turned 25 
 
 Into avengers, from whose wrath they fled 
 In terror. Disappointment and dismay 
 Remained for all whose fancies had run wild 
 With evil expectations ; confidence 
 And j3erfect triumph for the better cause. 30 
 
 The State, as if to stamp the final seal 
 On her security, and to the world 
 Show what she was, a high and fearless soul, 
 Exulting in defiance, or heart- stung 
 By sharp resentment, or belike to taunt 3 5 
 
 With spiteful gratitude the baffled League, 
 That had stirred up her slackening faculties 
 To a new transition, when the King was 
 
 crushed, 
 Spared not the empty throne, and in proud 
 
 haste 
 Assumed the body and venerable name 40 
 
 Of a Republic. Lamentable crimes, 
 'Tis true, had gone before this hour, dire work 
 Of massacre, in which the senseless sword 
 Was prayed to as a judge ; but these were past, 
 Earth free from them for ever, as was thought, — 
 Ephemeral monsters, to be seen but once ! 46 
 Things that could only show themselves and die. 
 
 Cheered with this hope, to Paris I returned, 
 And ranged, with ardour heretofore unfelt, 
 The spacious city, and in progress passed 50 
 The prison where the unhappy Monarch lav, 
 Associate with his children and his wife 
 In bondage ; and the palace, lately stormed 
 With roar of cannon by a furious host. 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 189 
 
 I crossed the square (an empty area then !) 55 
 Of the Carrousel, where so late had lain 
 The dead, upon the dying heaped, and gazed 
 On this and other spots, as doth a man 
 Upon a volume whose contents he knows 
 Are memorable, but from him locked up, 60 
 Being written in a tongue he cannot read, 
 So that he questions the mute leaves with pain, 
 And half upbraids their silence. But that 
 
 night 
 I felt most deeply in what world I was, 64 
 
 What ground I trod on, and what air I breathed. 
 High was my room and lonely, near the roof 
 Of a large mansion or hotel, a lodge 
 That would have pleased me in more quiet 
 
 times ; 
 Nor was it wholly without pleasure then. 
 With unextinguished taper I kept watch 70 
 Beading at intervals ; the fear gone by 
 Pressed on me almost like a fear to come. 
 I thought of those September massacres, 
 Divided from me by one little month, 74 
 
 Saw them and touched : the rest was conjured up 
 From tragic fictions or true history, 
 Eemembrances and dim admonishments. 
 The horse is taught his manage, and no star 
 Of wildest course but treads back his own steps ; 
 For the spent hurricane the air provides 80 
 
 As fierce a successor ; the tide retreats 
 But to return out of its hiding-place 
 In the great deep ; all things have second birth ; 
 The earthquake is not satisfied at once ; 
 And in this way I wrought upon myself, 85 
 Until I seemed to hear a voice that cried, 
 To the whole city, " sleep no more." The trance 
 Fled with the voice to which it had given birth ; 
 But vainly comments of a calmer mind 
 
190 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Promised soft peace and sweet forge tfulness. 90 
 The place, all hushed and silent as it was, 
 Appeared unfit for the repose of night, 
 Defenceless as a wood where tigers roam. 
 
 With early morning towards the Palace- walk 
 Of Orleans eagerly I turned ; as yet 95 
 
 The streets were still ; not so those long Arcades ; 
 There, 'mid a peal of ill-matched sounds and 
 
 cries, 
 That greeted me on entering, I could hear 
 Shrill voices from the hawkers in the throng. 
 Bawling, " Denunciation of the Crimes 100 
 
 Of Maximilian Robespierre ; " the hand, 
 Prompt as the voice, held forth a printed 
 
 speech, 
 The same that had been recently pronounced, 
 When Robespierre, not ignorant for what mark 
 Some words of indirect reproof had been 105 
 Intended, rose in hardihood, and dared 
 The man who had an ill surmise of him 
 To bring his charge in openness ; whereat, 
 When a dead pause ensued, and no one stirred, 
 In silence of all present, from his seat no 
 
 Louvet walked single through the avenue, 
 And took his station in the Tribune, saying, 
 " I, Robespierre, accuse thee ! " Well is known 
 The inglorious issue of that charge, and how 
 He, who had launched the startling thunder- 
 bolt, 1 t 5 
 The one bold man, whose voice the attack had 
 
 sounded, 
 Was left without a follower to discharge 
 His perilous duty, and retire lamenting 
 That Heaven's best aid is wasted upon men 
 Who to themselves are false. 
 
 But these are things 120 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 191 
 
 Of which I speak, only as they were storm 
 Or sunshine to my individual mind, 
 No further. Let me then relate that now — 
 In some sort seeing with my proper eyes 
 That Liberty, and Life, and Death would soon 
 To the remotest corners of the land 126 
 
 Lie in the arbitrement of those who ruled 
 The capital City; what was struggled for, 
 And by what combatants victory must be won ; 
 The indecision on their part whose aim 130 
 
 Seemed best, and the straightforward path of 
 
 those 
 Who in attack or in defence were strong 
 Through their impiety — my inmost soul 
 Was agitated ; yea, I could almost 
 Have prayed that throughout earth upon all 
 
 men, 135 
 
 By patient exercise of reason made 
 Worthy of liberty, all spirits filled 
 With zeal expanding in Truth's holy light, 
 The gift of tongues might fall, and power 
 
 arrive 
 From the four quarters of the winds to do 140 
 For France, what without help she could not do, 
 A work of honour ; think not that to this 
 I added, work of safety : from all doubt 
 Or trepidation for the end of things 
 Far was I, far as angels are from guilt. 145 
 
 Yet did I grieve, nor only grieved, but 
 thought 
 Of opposition and of remedies : 
 An insignificant stranger and obscure, 
 And one, moreover, little graced with power 
 Of eloquence even in my native speech, 150 
 
 And all unfit for tumult or intrigue, 
 Yet would I at this time with willing heart 
 
192 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Have undertaken for a cause so great 
 Service however dangerous. I revolved, 
 How much the destiny of Man had still 155 
 Hung upon single persons ; that there was, 
 Transcendent to all local patrimony, 
 One nature, as there is one sun in heaven ; 
 That objects, even as they are great, thereby 
 Do come within the reach of humblest eyes ; 160 
 That Man is only weak through his mistrust 
 And want of hope where evidence divine 
 Proclaims to him that hope should be most 
 
 sure ; 
 Nor did the inexperience of my youth 
 Preclude conviction, that a spirit strong 165 
 In hope, and trained to noble aspirations, 
 A spirit thoroughly faithful to itself, 
 Is for Society's unreasoning herd 
 A domineering instinct, serves at once 
 For way and guide, a fluent receptacle 1 70 
 
 That gathers up each petty straggling rill 
 And vein of water, glad to be rolled on 
 In safe obedience ; that a mind, whose rest 
 Is where it ought to be, in self-restraint, • 
 In circumspection and simplicity, 175 
 
 Falls rarely in entire discomfiture 
 Below its aim, or meets with, from without, 
 A treachery that foils it or defeats ; 
 And, lastly, if the means on human will, 
 Frail human will, dependent should betray 180 
 Him who too boldly trusted them, I felt 
 That 'mid the loud distractions of the world 
 A sovereign voice subsists within the soul, 
 Arbiter undisturbed of right and wrong, 
 Of life and death, in majesty severe 185 
 
 Enjoining, as may best promote the aims 
 Of truth and justice, either sacrifice, 
 From whatsoever region of our cares 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 193 
 
 Or our infirm affections Nature pleads, 
 Earnest and blind, against the stern decree. 190 
 
 On the other side, I called to mind those 
 truths 
 That are the common-places of the schools — 
 (A theme for boys, too hackneyed for their 
 
 sires,) 
 Yet, with a revelation's liveliness, 
 In all their comprehensive bearings known 195 
 And visible to philosophers of old, 
 Men who, to business of the world untrained, 
 Lived in the shade ; and to Harmodius known 
 And his compeer Aristogiton, known 
 To Brutus — that tyrannic power is weak, 200 
 Hath neither gratitude, nor faith, nor love, 
 Nor the support of good or evil men 
 To trust in ; that the godhead which is ours 
 Can never utterly be charmed or stilled ; 
 That nothing hath a natural right to last 205 
 But equity and reason ; that all else 
 Meets foes irreconcilable, and at best 
 Lives only by variety of disease. 
 
 Well might my wishes be intense, my 
 
 thoughts 
 Strong and perturbed, not doubting at that time 
 But that the virtue of one paramount mind 2 1 1 
 Would have abashed those impious crests — 
 
 have quelled 
 Outrage and bloody power, and — in despite 
 Of what the People long had been and were 
 Through ignorance and false teaching, sadder 
 
 proof 2 1 5 
 
 Of immaturity, and — in the teeth 
 Of desperate opposition from without — 
 Have cleared a passage for just government, 
 
 VII. o 
 
194 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 And left a solid birthright to the State, 
 Redeemed, according to example given 220 
 
 By ancient lawgivers. 
 
 In this frame of mind, 
 Dragged by a chain of harsh necessity, 
 So seemed it, — now I thankfully acknowledge, 
 Forced by the gracious providence of Heaven,-— 
 To England I returned, else (though assured 
 That I both was and must be of small weight, 
 No better than a landsman on the deck 227 
 Of a ship struggling with a hideous storm) 
 Doubtless, I should have then made common 
 
 cause 
 With some who perished ; haply perished too, 
 A poor mistaken and bewildered offering, — 2 3 1 
 Should to the breast of Nature have gone 
 
 back, 
 With all my resolutions, all my hopes, 
 A Poet oDly to myself, to men 
 Useless, and even, beloved Friend ! a soul 235 
 To thee unknown ! 
 
 Twice had the trees let fall 
 Their leaves, as often Winter had put on 
 His hoary crown, since I had seen the surge 
 Beat against Albion's shore, since ear of mine 
 Had caught the accents of my native speech 240 
 Upon our native country's sacred ground. 
 A patriot of the world, how could I glide 
 Into communion with her sylvan shades, 
 Erewhile my tuneful haunt? It pleased me 
 
 more 
 To abide in the great City, where I found 245 
 The general air still busy with the stir 
 Of that first memorable onset made 
 By a strong levy of humanity 
 Upon the traffickers in Negro blood ■ 
 Effort which, though defeated, had recalled 250 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 195 
 
 To notice old forgotten principles, 
 
 And through the nation spread a novel heat 
 
 Of virtuous feeling. For myself, I own 
 
 That this particular strife had'wanted power 
 
 To rivet my affections; nor did now 255 
 
 Its unsuccessful issue much excite 
 
 My sorrow ; for I brought with me the faith 
 
 That, if France prospered, good men would not 
 
 long 
 Pay fruitless worship to humanity, 
 And this most rotten branch of human shame, 
 Object, so seemed it, of superfluous pains, 261 
 Would fall together with its parent tree. 
 What, then, were my emotions, when in arms 
 Britain put forth her free-born strength in 
 
 league, 
 Oh, pity and shame ! with those confederate 
 
 Powers! 265 
 
 Not in my single self alone I found, 
 But in the minds of all ingenuous youth, 
 Change and subversion from that hour. No 
 
 shock 
 Given to my moral nature had I known 
 Down to that very moment ; neither lapse 270 
 Nor turn of sentiment that might be named 
 A revolution, save at this one time ; 
 All else was progress on the self- same path 
 On which, with a diversity of pace, 
 I had been travelling : this a stride at once 275 
 Into another region. As a light 
 And pliant harebell, swinging in the breeze 
 .On some grey l*ock— its birth-place — so had I 
 VV antoned, fast rooted on the ancient tower 
 Of my beloved country, wishing not 280 
 
 A happier fortune than to wither there : 
 Now was I from that pleasant station torn 
 And tossed about in whirlwind. I rejoiced, 
 
196 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Yea, afterwards — truth most painful to 
 
 record ! — 
 Exulted, in the triumph of my soul, 285 
 
 When Englishmen by thousands were o'er- 
 
 thrown, 
 Left without glory on the field, or driven, 
 Brave hearts ! to shameful flight. It was a 
 
 grief- 
 Grief call it not, 'twas anything but that, — 
 A conflict of sensations without name, 290 
 
 Of which lie only, who may love the sight 
 Of a village steeple, as I do, can judge, 
 When, in the congregation bending all 
 To their great Father, prayers were offered up, 
 Or praises for our country's victories ; 295 
 
 And, 'mid the simple worshippers, perchance 
 I only, like an uninvited guest 
 Whom no one owned, sate silent, shall I add, 
 Fed on the day of vengeance yet to come. 
 
 Oh! much have they to account for, who 
 could tear, 300 
 
 By violence, at one decisive rent, 
 From the best youth in England their dear 
 
 pride, 
 Their joy, in England ; this, too. at a time 
 In which worst losses easily might wean 
 The best of names, when patriotic love 305 
 
 Did of itself in modesty give way, 
 Like the Precursor when the Deity 
 Is come Whose harbinger he was ; a time 
 In which apostasy from ancient faith 
 Seemed but conversion to a higher creed ; 310 
 Withal a season dangerous and wild, 
 A time when sage Experience would have 
 
 snatched 
 Flowers out of any hedge-row to compose 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 197 
 
 A chaplet in contempt of his grey locks. 
 
 When the proud fleet that bears the red- cross 
 flag 315 
 
 In that unworthy service was prepared 
 To mingle, I beheld the vessels lie, 
 A brood of gallant creatures, on the deep ; 
 I saw them in their rest, a sojourner 
 Through a whole month of calm and glassy 
 days 320 
 
 In that delightful island which protects 
 Their place of convocation — there I heard, 
 Each evening, pacing by the still sea- shore, 
 A monitory sound that never failed, — 
 The sunset cannon. While the orb went down 
 In the tranquillity of nature, came 326 
 
 That voice, ill requiem ! seldom heard by me 
 Without a spirit overcast by dark 
 Imaginations, sense of woes to come, 
 Sorrow for human kind, and pain of heart. 330 
 
 In France, the men, who, for their desperate 
 ends, 
 Had plucked up mercy by the roots, were glad 
 Of this new enemy. Tyrants, strong before 
 In wicked pleas, were strong as demons now ; 
 And thus, on every side beset with foes, 335 
 The goaded land waxed mad ; the crimes of few 
 Spread into madness of the many ; blasts 
 From hell came sanctified like airs from heaven. 
 The sternness of the just, the faith of those 
 Who doubted not that Providence had times 
 Of vengeful retribution, theirs who throned 341 
 The human Understanding paramount 
 And made of that their God, the hopes of men 
 Who were content to barter short-lived pangs 
 For a paradise of ages, the blind rage 345 
 
198 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of insolent tempers, the light vanity 
 
 Of intermeddlers, steady purposes 
 
 Of the suspicious, slips of the indiscreet, 
 
 And all the accidents of life were pressed 
 
 Into one service, busy with one work. 350 
 
 The Senate stood aghast, her prudence 
 
 quenched, 
 Her wisdom stifled, and her justice scared, 
 Her frenzy only active to extol 
 Past outrages, and shape the way for new, 
 Which no one dared to oppose or mitigate. 355 
 
 Domestic carnage now filled the whole year 
 With feast-days ; old men from the chimney- 
 nook, 
 The maiden from the bosom of her love, 
 The mother from the cradle of her babe, 
 The warrior from the field — all perished, all — 
 Friends, enemies, of all parties, ages, ranks, 361 
 Head after head, and never heads enough 
 For those that bade them fall. They found 
 
 their joy, 
 They made it proudly, eager as a child, 
 (If like desires of innocent little ones 365 
 
 May with such heinous appetites be compared), 
 Pleased in some open field to exercise 
 A toy that mimics with revolving wings 
 The motion of a wind-mill ; though the air 
 Do of itself blow fresh, and make the vanes 370 
 Spin in his eyesight, that contents him not, 
 But, with the plaything at arm's length, he sets 
 His front against the blast, and runs amain, 
 That it may whirl the faster. 
 
 Amid the depth 
 Of those enormities, even thinking minds 375 
 Forgot, at seasons, whence they had their 
 being ; 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 199 
 
 Forgot that such a sound was ever heard 
 
 As Liberty upon earth : yet all beneath 
 
 Her innocent authority was wrought, 
 
 Nor could have been, without her blessed name. 
 
 The illustrious wife of Eoland, in the hour 381 
 
 Of her composure, felt that agony, 
 
 And gave it vent in her last words. O Friend ! 
 
 It was a lamentable time for man, 
 
 Whether a hope had e'er been his or not ; 385 
 
 A woful time for them whose hopes survived 
 
 The shock ; most woful for those few who still 
 
 Were nattered, and had trust in human kind : 
 
 They had the deepest feeling of the grief. 
 
 Meanwhile the Invaders fared as they deserved : 
 
 The Herculean Commonwealth had put forth 
 
 her arms, 391 
 
 And throttled with an infant godhead's might 
 The snakes about her cradle ; that was well, 
 And as it should be ; yet no cure for them 
 Whose souls were sick with pain of what 
 
 would be 395 
 
 Hereafter brought in charge against mankind. 
 Most melancholy at that time, O Friend ! 
 Were my day-thoughts, — my nights were 
 
 miserable ; 
 Through months, through years, long after the 
 
 last beat 
 Of those atrocities, the hour of sleep 400 
 
 To me came rarely charged with natural gifts, 
 Such ghastly visions had I of despair 
 And tyranny, and implements of death ; 
 And innocent victims sinking under fear, 
 And momentary hope, and worn-out prayer, 405 
 Each in his separate cell, or penned in crowds 
 For sacrifice, and struggling with fond mirth 
 And levity in dungeons, where the dust 
 Was laid with tears. Then suddenly the scene 
 
I 
 
 200 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Changed, and the unbroken dream entangled 
 me 410 
 
 In long orations, which I strove to plead 
 Before unjust tribunals, — with a voice 
 Labouring, a brain confounded, and a sense, 
 Death-like, of treacherous desertion, felt 
 In the last place of refuge — my own soul. 415 
 
 When I began in youth's delightful prime 
 To yield myself to Nature, when that strong 
 And holy passion overcame me first, 
 Nor day nor night, evening or morn, was free 
 From its oppression. But,^ Power Supreme J 
 Without Whose call this world would cease to 
 
 breathe, 421 
 
 Who from the Fountain of Thy grace dost fill 
 The veins that branch through every frame of 
 
 of life, 
 Making man what he is, creature divine, 
 In single or in social eminence, 425 
 
 Above the rest raised infinite ascents 
 When reason that enables him to be 
 Is not sequestered — what a change is here ! 
 How different ritual for this after-worship, 
 What countenance to promote this second love ! 
 The first was service paid to things which lie 431 
 Guarded within the bosom of Thy will. 
 Therefore to serve was high beatitude ; 
 Tumult was therefore gladness, and the fear 
 Ennobling, venerable ; sleep secure, 435 
 
 And waking thoughts more rich than happiest 
 
 dreams. 
 
 Bnt as the ancient Prophets, borne aloft 
 In vision, yet constrained by natural laws 
 With them to take a troubled human heart, 
 Wanted not consolations, nor a creed 440 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 201 
 
 Of reconcilement, then when they denounced, 
 
 On towns and cities, wallowing in the abyss 
 
 Of their offences, punishment to come ; 
 
 Or saw, like other men, with bodily eyes, 
 
 Before them, in some desolated place, 445 
 
 The wrath consummate and the threat fulfilled ; 
 
 So, with devout humility be it said, 
 
 So, did a portion of that spirit fall 
 
 On me uplifted from the vantage-ground 
 
 Of pity and sorrow to a state of being 450 
 
 That through the time's exceeding fierceness 
 
 saw 
 Glimpses of retribution, terrible, 
 And in the order of sublime behests : 
 But, even if that were not, amid the awe 
 Of unintelligible chastisement, 455 
 
 Not only acquiescences of faith 
 Survived, but daring sympathies with power, 
 Motions not treacherous or profane, else why 
 Within the folds of no ungentle breast 459 
 
 Their dread vibration to this hour prolonged ? 
 Wild blasts of music thus could find their way 
 Into the midst of turbulent events ; 
 So that worst tempests might be listened to. 
 Then was the truth received into my heart, 
 That, under heaviest sorrow earth can bring, 465 
 If from the affliction somewhere do not grow 
 Honour which could not else have been, a faith, 
 An elevation, and a sanctity, 
 If new strength be not given nor old restored, 
 The blame is ours, not Nature's. When a taunt 
 Was taken up by scoffers in their pride, 471 
 Saying, " Behold the harvest that we reap 
 From popular government and equality," 
 I clearly saw that neither these nor aught 
 Of wild belief engrafted on their names 475 
 By false philosophy had caused the woe, 
 
202 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 But a terrific reservoir of guilt 
 And ignorance filled up from age to age, 
 That could no longer hold its loathsome charge, 
 But burst and spread in deluge through the 
 land. 4 8 o 
 
 And as the desert hath green spots, the sea 
 Small islands scattered amid stormy waves, 
 So that disastrous period did not want 
 Bright sprinklings of all human excellence, 
 To which the silver wands of saints in Heaven 
 Might point with rapturous joy. Yet not the 
 
 less, 486 
 
 For those examples, in no age surpassed, 
 Of fortitude and energy and love, 
 And human nature faithful to herself 
 Under worst trials, was I driven to think 490 
 Of the glad times when first I traversed France 
 A youthful pilgrim ; above all reviewed 
 That eventide, when under windows bright 
 With happy faces and with garlands hung, 
 And through a rainbow-arch that spanned the 
 
 street, 495 
 
 Triumphal pomp for liberty confirmed, 
 I paced, a dear companion at my side, 
 The town of Arras, whence with promise high 
 Issued, on delegation to sustain 
 Humanity and right, that Robespierre, 500 
 
 He who thereafter, and in how short time ! 
 Wielded the sceptre of the Atheist crew. 
 When the calamity spread far and wide — 
 And this same city, that did then appear 
 To outrun the rest in exultation, groaned 505 
 Under the vengeance of her cruel son, 
 As Lear reproached the winds — I could almost 
 Have quarrelled with that blameless spectacle 
 For lingering yet an image in my mind 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 203 
 
 To mock me under such a strange reverse. 510 
 
 O Friend ! few happier moments have been 
 mine 
 Than that which told the downfall of this Tribe 
 So dreaded, so abhorred. The day deserves 
 A separate record. Over the smooth sands 
 Of Leven's ample estuary lay 515 
 
 My journey, and beneath a genial sun, 
 With distant prospect among gleams of sky 
 And clouds, and intermingling mountain tops, 
 In one inseparable glory clad, 
 Creatures of one ethereal substance met 520 
 In consistory, like a diadem 
 Or crown of burning seraphs as they sit 
 In the empyrean. Underneath that pomp 
 Celestial, lay unseen the pastoral vales 
 Among whose happy fields I had grown up 525 
 From childhood. On the fulgent spectacle, 
 That neither passed away nor changed, I gazed 
 Enrapt ; but brightest things are wont to draw 
 Sad opposites out of the inner heart, 
 As even their pensive influence drew from 
 mine, 530 
 
 How could it otherwise ? for not in vain 
 That very morning had I turned aside 
 To seek the ground where, 'mid a throng of 
 
 graves, 
 An honoured teacher of my youth was laid, 
 And on the stone were graven by his desire 535 
 Lines from the churchyard elegy of Gray. 
 This faithful guide, speaking from his death- 
 bed, 
 Added no farewell to his parting counsel, 
 But said to me, " My head will soon lie low ;" 
 And when I saw the turf that covered him, 540 
 After the lapse of full eight years, those words, 
 
204 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 With sound of voice and countenance of the 
 
 Man, 
 Came back upon me, so that some few tears 
 Fell from me in my own despite. But now 
 I thought, still traversing that widespread 
 
 plain, 545 
 
 With tender pleasure of the verses graven 
 Upon his tombstone, whispering to myself : 
 He loved the Poets, and, if now alive, 
 Would have loved me, as one not destitute 
 Of promise, nor belying the kind hope 550 
 
 That he had formed, when I, at his command, 
 Began to spin, with toil, my earliest songs. 
 
 As I advanced, all that I saw or felt 
 Was gentleness and peace. Upon a small 
 And rocky island near, a fragment stood 555 
 (Itself like a sea rock) the low remains 
 (With shells encrusted, dark with briny weeds) 
 Of a dilapidated structure, once 
 A Romish chapel, where the vested priest 
 Said matins at the hour that suited those 560 
 Who crossed the sands with ebb of morning 
 
 tide. 
 Not far from that still ruin all the plain 
 Lay spotted with a variegated crowd 
 Of vehicles and travellers, horse and foot, 
 Wading beneath the conduct of their guide 565 
 In loose procession through the shallow stream 
 Of inland waters ; the great sea meanwhile 
 Heaved at safe distance, far retired. I paused, 
 Longing for skill to paint a scene so bright 
 And cheerful, but the foremost of the band 570 
 As he approached, no salutation given 
 In the familiar language of the day, 
 Cried, " Robespierre is dead ! " — nor was a 
 doubt, 
 
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE. 205 
 
 After strict question, left within my mind 
 That he and his supporters all were fallen. 575 
 
 Great was my transport, deep my gratitude 
 To everlasting Justice, by this fiat 
 Made manifest. " Come now, ye golden times," 
 Said I forth-pouring on those open sands 579 
 A hymn of triumph : " as the morning comes 
 From out the bosom of the night, come ye : 
 Thus far our trust is verified ; behold ! 
 They who with clumsy desperation brought 
 A river of Blood, and preached that nothing 
 
 else 584 
 
 Could cleanse the Augean stable, by the might 
 Of their own helper have been swept away ; 
 Their madness stands declared and visible ; 
 Elsewhere will safety now be sought, and earth 
 March firmly towards righteousness and 
 
 peace." — 
 Then schemes I framed more calmly, when and 
 
 how 590 
 
 The madding factions might be tranquillised, 
 And how through hardships manifold and long 
 The glorious renovation would proceed. 
 Thus interrupted by uneasy bursts 
 Of exultation, I pursued my way 595 
 
 Along that very shore which I had skimmed 
 In former days, when — spurring from the Vale 
 Of Nightshade, and St. Mary's mouldering 
 
 fane, 
 And the stone abbot, after circuit made 
 In wantonness of heart, a joyous band 600 
 
 Of school-boys hastening to their distant home 
 Along the margin of the moonlight sea — 
 We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand. 
 
BOOK ELEVENTH. 
 
 FRANCE.— (Concluded.) 
 
 From that time forth, Authority in France 
 Put on a milder face ; Terror had ceased, 
 Yet every thing was wanting that might give 
 Courage to them who looked for good by light 
 Of rational Experience, for the shoots 5 
 
 And hopeful blossoms of a second spring : 
 Yet, in me, confidence was unimpaired ; 
 The Senate's language, and the public acts 
 And measures of the Government, though both 
 Weak, and of heartless omen, had not power 10 
 To daunt me ; in the People was my trust : 
 And, in the virtues which mine eyes had seen, 
 I knew that wound external could not take 
 Life from the young Republic ; that new foes 
 Would only follow, in the path of shame, 15 
 Their brethren, and her triumphs be in the end 
 Great, universal, irresistible. 
 This intuition led me to confound 
 One victory with another, higher far, — 
 Triumphs of unambitious peace at home, 20 
 And noiseless fortitude. Beholding still 
 Resistance strong as heretofore, I thought 
 That what was in degree the same was likewise 
 The same in quality, — that, as the worse 
 Of the two spirits then at strife remained 25 
 
FRANCE. 207 
 
 Untired, the better, surely, would preserve 
 The heart that first had roused him. Youth 
 
 maintains, 
 In all conditions of society, 
 Communion more direct and intimate 
 With Nature, — hence, ofttimes, with reason 
 too — 30 
 
 Than age or manhood, even. To Nature, then, 
 Power had reverted : habit, custom, law, 
 Had left an interregnum's open space 
 For her to move about in, uncontrolled. 
 Hence could I see how Babel-like their task, 35 
 Who, by the recent deluge stupefied, 
 With their whole souls went culling from the 
 
 day 
 Its petty promises, to build a tower 
 For their own safety ; laughed with my com- 
 peers 
 At gravest heads, by enmity to France 40 
 
 Distempered, till they found, in every blast 
 Forced from the street- disturbing newsman's 
 
 horn, 
 For her great cause record or prophecy 
 Of utter ruin. How might we believe 
 That wisdom could, in any shape, come near 45 
 Men clinging to delusions so insane ? 
 And thus, experience proving that no few 
 Of our opinions had been just, we took 
 Like credit to ourselves where less was due, 
 And thought that other notions were as sound, 
 Yea, could not but be right, because we saw 51 
 That foolish men opposed them. 
 
 To a strain 
 More animated I might here give way, 
 And tell, since juvenile errors are my theme, 
 What in those days through Britain was per- 
 formed 55 
 
208 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 To turn all judgments out of their right course; 
 But this is passion over-near ourselves, 
 Reality too close and too intense, 
 And intermixed with something, in my mind, 
 Of scorn and condemnation personal, 60 
 
 That would profane the sanctity of verse. 
 Our Shepherds, this say merely, at that time 
 Acted, or seemed at least to act, like men 
 Thirsting to make the guardian crook of law 
 A tool of murder ; they who ruled the State, 65 
 Though with such awful proof before their eyes 
 That he, who would sow death, reaps death, or 
 
 worse, 
 And can reap nothing better, child-like longed 
 To imitate, not wise enough to avoid ; 
 Or left (by mere timidity betrayed) 70 
 
 The plain straight road, for one no better chosen 
 Than if their wish had been to undermine 
 Justice, and make an end of Liberty. 
 
 But from these bitter truths I must return 
 To my own history. It hath been told 75 
 
 That I was led to take an eager part 
 In arguments of civil polity, 
 Abruptly, and indeed before my time : 
 I had approached, like other youths, the shield 
 Of human nature from the golden side, 80 
 
 And would have fought, even to the death, to 
 
 attest 
 The quality of the metal which I saw. 
 What there is best in individual man, 
 Of wise in passion, and sublime in power, 
 Benevolent in small societies, 85 
 
 And great in large, ones, I had oft revolved, 
 Felt deeply, but not thoroughly understood 
 By reason : nay, far from it ; they were yet, 
 As cause was given me afterwards to learn, 
 
FRANCE. 209 
 
 Not proof against the injuries of the day ; 9° 
 Lodged only at the sanctuary's door, 
 Not safe within its bosom. Thus prepared, 
 And with such general insight into evil, 
 And of the bounds which sever it from good, 
 As books and common intercourse with life 95 
 Must needs have given — to the inexperienced 
 
 mind, 
 When the world travels in a beaten road, 
 Guide faithful as is needed — I began 
 To meditate with ardour on the rule 
 And management of nations ; what it is 100 
 And ought to be ; and strove to learn how far 
 Their power or weakness, wealth or poverty, 
 Their happiness or misery, depends 
 Upon their laws, and fashion of the State. 
 
 pleasant exercise of hope and joy ! 105 
 
 For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood 
 Upon our side, us who were strong in love ! 
 Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, 
 But to be young was very Heaven ! O times, 
 In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways 
 Of custom, law, and statute, took at once 1 1 1 
 The attraction of a country in romance ! 
 When Eeason seemed the most to assert her 
 
 rights 
 When most intent on making of herself 
 A prime enchantress — to assist the work, 1 1 5 
 Which then was going forward in her name ! 
 Not favoured spots alone, but the whole Earth, 
 The beauty wore of promise — that which sets 
 (As at some moments might not be unfelt 
 Among the bowers of Paradise itself) 120 
 
 The budding rose above the rose full blown. 
 What temper at the prospect did not wake 
 To happiness unthought of ? The inert 
 
 VII. p 
 
210 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Were roused, and lively natures rapt away ! 
 They who had fed their childhood upon dreams, 
 The play-fellows of fancy, who had made 126 
 All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength 
 Their ministers, — who in lordly wise had stirred 
 Among the grandest objects of the sense, 
 And dealt with whatsoever they found there 
 As if they had within some lurking right 131 
 To wield it ; — they, too, who of gentle mood 
 Had watched all gentle motions, and to these 
 Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more 
 
 mild, 
 And in the region of their peaceful selves ; — 135 
 Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty 
 Did both find helpers to their hearts' desire, 
 And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish, — 
 Were called upon to exercise their skill, 
 Not in Utopia, — subterranean fields, — 140 
 
 Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where ! 
 But in the very world, which is the world 
 Of all of us, — the place where, in the end, 
 
 We find our happiness, or not at all ! 
 
 1 
 
 Why should I not confess that Earth was 
 then 145 
 
 To me, what an inheritance, new-fallen, 
 Seems, when the first time visited, to one 
 Who thither comes to find in it his home ? 
 He walks about and looks upon the spot 149 
 With cordial transport, moulds it and remoulds, 
 And is half pleased with things that are amiss, 
 'Twill be such joy to see them disappear. 
 
 An active partisan, I thus convoked 
 From every object pleasant circumstance 
 To suit my ends ; I moved among mankind 155 
 With genial feelings still predominant ; 
 
FRANCE. 211 
 
 When erring, erring on the better part, 
 
 And in the kinder spirit ; placable, 
 
 Indulgent, as not uninformed that men 
 
 See as they have been taught — Antiquity 160 
 
 Gives rights to error ; and aware, no less, 
 
 That throwing off oppression must be work 
 
 As well of License as of Liberty ; 
 
 And above all — for this was more than all — 
 
 Not caring if the wind did now and then 165 
 
 Blow keen upon an eminence that gave 
 
 Prospect so large into futurity ; 
 
 In brief, a child of Nature, as at first, 
 
 Diffusing only those affections wider 
 
 That from the cradle had grown up with me, 170 
 
 And losing, in no other way than light 
 
 Is lost in light, the weak in the more strong. 
 
 In the main outline, such it might be said 
 Was my condition, till with open war 
 Britain opposed the liberties of France. 175 
 This threw me first out of the pale of love ; 
 Soured and corrupted, upwards to the source, 
 My sentiments ; was not, as hitherto, 
 A swallowing up of lesser things in great, 
 But change of them into their contraries ; 180 
 And thus a way was opened for mistakes 
 And false conclusions, in degree as gross, 
 In kind more dangerous. What had been a 
 
 pride, 
 Was now a shame ; my likings and my loves 
 Ean in new channels, leaving old ones dry ; 185 
 And hence a blow that, in maturer age, 
 Would but have touched the judgment, struck 
 
 more deep 
 Into sensations near the heart : meantime, 
 As from the first, wild theories were afloat, 
 To whose pretensions, sedulously urged, 190 
 
212 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 I had but lent a careless ear, assured 
 That time was ready to set all things right, 
 And that the multitude, so long oppressed, 
 Would be oppressed no more. 
 
 But when events 
 Brought less encouragement, and unto these 195 
 The immediate proof of principles no more 
 Could be entrusted, while the events them- 
 selves, 
 Worn out in greatness, stripped of novelty, 
 Less occupied the mind, and sentiments 
 Could through my understanding's natural 
 growth 200 
 
 No longer keep their ground, by faith main- 
 tained 
 Of inward consciousness, and hope that laid 
 Her hand upon her object — evidence 
 Safer, of universal application, such 
 As could not be impeached, was sought else- 
 where. 205 
 
 But now, become oppressors in their turn, 
 Frenchmen had changed a war of self-defence 
 For one of conquest, losing sight of all 
 Which they had struggled for: up mounted 
 
 now, 
 Openly in the eye of earth and heaven, 210 
 
 The scale of liberty. I read her doom, 
 With anger vexed, with disappointment sore, 
 But not dismayed, nor taking to the shame 
 Of a false prophet. While resentment rose 
 Striving to hide, what nought could heal, the 
 
 wounds 215 
 
 Of mortified presumption, I adhered 
 More firmly to old tenets, and, to prove 
 Their temper, strained them more ; and thus, 
 
 in heat 
 
FRANCE. 213 
 
 Of contest, did opinions every day 
 Grow into consequence, till round my mind 220 
 They clung, as if they were its life, nay more, 
 The very being of the immortal soul. 
 
 This was the time, when, all things tending 
 
 fast 
 To depravation, speculative schemes — 
 That promised to abstract the hopes of Man 225 
 Out of his feelings, to be fixed thenceforth 
 For ever in a purer element — 
 Found ready welcome. Tempting region that 
 For Zeal to enter and refresh herself, 
 Where passions had the privilege to work, 231 
 And never hear the sound of their own names. 
 But, speaking more in charity, the dream 
 Flattered the young, pleased with extremes, nor 
 
 least 
 With that which makes our Keason's naked self 
 The object of its fervour. What delight! 235 
 How glorious ! in self-knowledge and self-rule, 
 To look through all the frailties of the world, 
 And, with a resolute mastery shaking off 
 Infirmities of nature, time, and place, 
 Build social upon personal Liberty, 240 
 
 Which, to the blind restraints of general laws 
 Superior, magisterially adopts 
 One guide, the light of circumstances, flashed 
 Upon an independent intellect. 
 Thus expectation rose again ; thus hope, 245 
 From her first ground expelled, grew proud 
 
 once more. 
 Oft, as my thoughts were turned to human kind, 
 I scorned indifference ; but, inflamed with thirst 
 Of a secure intelligence, and sick 
 Of other longing, I pursued what seemed 250 
 A more exalted nature ; wished that Man 
 
214 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Should start out of his earthy, worm- like 
 
 state, 
 And spread abroad the wings of Liberty, 
 Lord of himself, in undisturbed delight — 
 A noble aspiration ! yet I feel 255 
 
 (Sustained by worthier as by wiser thoughts) 
 The aspiration, nor shall ever cease 
 To feel it ; — but return we to our course. 
 
 Enough, 'tis true — could such a plea excuse 
 Those aberrations — had the clamorous friends 
 Of ancient Institutions said and done 261 
 
 To bring disgrace upon their very names ; 
 Disgrace, of which, custom and written law, 
 And sundry moral sentiments as props 
 Or emanations of those institutes, 265 
 
 Too justly bore a part. A veil had been 
 Uplifted ; why deceive ourselves ? in sooth, 
 'Twas even so ; and sorrow for the man 
 Who either had not eyes wherewith to see, 
 Or, seeing, had forgotten ! A strong shock 270 
 Was given to old opinions ; all men's minds 
 Had felt its power, and mine was both let 
 
 loose, 
 Let loose and goaded. After what hath been 
 Already said of patriotic love, 
 Suffice it here to add, that, somewhat stern 275 
 In temperament, withal a happy man, 
 And therefore bold to look on painful things, 
 Free likewise of the world, and thence more 
 
 bold, 
 I summoned my best skill, and toiled, intent 
 To anatomise the frame of social life, 280 
 
 Yea, the whole body of society 
 Searched to its heart. Share with me, Friend ! 
 
 the wish 
 That some dramatic tale, endued with shapes. 
 
FRANCE. 215 
 
 Livelier, and flinging ont less guarded words 
 Than suit the work we fashion, might set 
 
 forth 285 
 
 What then I learned, or think I learned, of 
 
 truth, 
 And the errors into which I fell, betrayed 
 By present objects, and by reasonings false 
 From their beginnings, inasmuch as drawn 
 Out of a heart that had been turned aside 290 
 From Nature's way by outward accidents, 
 And which was thus confounded, more and 
 
 more 
 Misguided, and misguiding. So I fared, 
 Dragging all precepts, judgments, maxims, 
 
 creeds, 
 Like culprits to the bar ; calling the mind, 295 
 Suspiciously, to establish in plain day 
 Her titles and her honours ; now believing, 
 Now disbelieving ; endlessly perplexed 
 With impulse, motive, right and wrong, the 
 
 ground 
 Of obligation, what the rule and whence 300 
 The sanction ; till, demanding formal proof, 
 And seeking it in every thing, I lost 
 All feeling of conviction, and, in fine, 
 Sick, wearied out with contrarieties, 
 Yielded up moral questions in despair. 305. 
 
 This was the crisis of that sti'ong disease, 
 This the soul's last and lowest ebb ; I drooped,. 
 Deeming our blessed reason of least use 
 Where wanted most : " The lordly attributes 
 Of will and choice," I bitterly exclaimed, 310 
 " What are they but a mockery of a Being 
 Who hath in no concerns of his a test 
 Of good and evil .; knows not what to fear 
 Or hope for, what to covet or to shun ;., 
 
216 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 And who, if those could be discerned, would 
 yet 315 
 
 Be little profited, would see, and ask 
 Where is the obligation to enforce ? 
 And, to acknowledged law rebellious, still, 
 As selfish passion urged, would act amiss ; 
 The dupe of folly, or the slave of crime." 320 
 
 Depressed, bewildered thus, I did not walk 
 With scoffers, seeking light and gay revenge 
 From indiscriminate laughter, nor sate down 
 In reconcilement with an utter waste 
 Of intellect ; such sloth I could not brook, 325 
 (Too well I loved, in that my spring of life, 
 Pains-taking thoughts, and truth, their dear 
 
 reward) 
 But turned to abstract science, and there 
 
 sought 
 Work for the reasoning faculty enthroned 
 Where the disturbances of space and time — 330 
 Whether in matters various, properties 
 Inherent, or from human will and power 
 Derived — find no admission. Then it was — 
 Thanks to the bounteous Giver of all good ! — 
 That the beloved Sister in whose sight 535 
 
 Those days were passed, now speaking in a 
 
 voice 
 Of sudden admonition — like a brook 
 That did but cross a lonely road, and now 
 Is seen, heard, felt, and caught at every 
 
 turn, 
 Companion never lost through many a league — 
 Maintained for me a saving intercourse 341 
 With my true self ; for, though bedimmed and 
 
 changed 
 Much, as it seemed, I was no further changed 
 Than as a clouded and a waning moon : 
 
FRANCE. 217 
 
 She whispered still that brightness would 
 
 return, 345 
 
 She, in the midst of all preserved me still 
 A Poet, made me seek beneath that name, 
 And that alone, my office upon earth ; 
 And, lastly, as hereafter will be shown, 
 If willing audience fail not, Nature's self, 350 
 By all varieties of human love 
 Assisted, led me back through opening day 
 To those sweet counsels between head and 
 
 heart 
 Whence grew that genuine knowledge, fraught 
 
 with peace, 
 Which, through the later sinkings of this 
 
 cause, 355 
 
 Hath still upheld me, and upholds me now 
 In the catastrophe (for so they dream, 
 And nothing less), when, finally to close 
 And seal up all the gains of France, a Pope 
 Is summoned in to crown an Emperor — 360 
 This last opprobrium, when we see a people, 
 That once looked up in faith, as if to Heaven 
 For manna, take a lesson from the dog 
 Eeturning to his vomit ; when the sun 
 That rose in splendour, was alive, and moved 
 In exultation with a living pomp 366 
 
 Of clouds — his glory's natural retinue — 
 Hath dropped all functions by the gods 
 
 bestowed, 
 And, turned into a gewgaw, a machine, 
 Sets like an Opera phantom. 
 
 Thus, O Friend ! 370 
 Through times of honour and through times of 
 
 shame 
 Descending, have I faithfully retraced 
 The perturbations of a youthful mind 
 Under a long-lived storm of great events — 
 
218 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 A story destined for thy ear, who now, 375 
 
 Among the fallen of nations, dost abide 
 Where Etna, over hill and valley, casts 
 His shadow stretching towards Syracuse, 
 The city of Timoleon ! Righteous Heaven ! 
 How are the mighty prostrated ! They first, 380 
 They first of all that breathe should have 
 
 awaked 
 When the great voice was heard from out the 
 
 tombs 
 Of ancient heroes. If I suffered grief 
 For ill-requited France, by many deemed 
 A trifler only in her proudest day ; 385 
 
 Have been distressed to think of what she once 
 Promised, now is ; a far more sober cause 
 Thine eyes must see of sorrow in a land, 
 To the reanimating influence lost 
 Of memory, to virtue lost and hope, 390 
 
 Though with the wreck of loftier years bestrewn. 
 
 But indignation works where hope is not, 
 And thou, O Friend ! wilt be refreshed. 
 
 There is 
 One great society alone on earth : 
 The noble Living and the noble Dead. 395 
 
 Thine be such converse strong and sanative, 
 A ladder for thy spirit to reascend 
 To health and joy and pure contentedness ; 
 To me the grief confined, that thou art gone 
 From this last spot of earth, where Freedom 
 now 400 
 
 Stands single in her only sanctuary ; 
 A lonely wanderer art gone, by pain 
 Compelled and sickness, at this latter day, 
 This sorrowful reverse for all mankind. 
 Lfeel for. thee, must utter what I feel : 405 
 
FRANCE. 219 
 
 The sympathies erewhile in part discharged, 
 Gather afresh, and will have vent again : 
 My own delights do scarcely seem to me 
 My own delights ; the lordly Alps themselves, 
 Those rosy peaks, from which the Morning 
 
 looks 410 
 
 Abroad on many nations, are no more 
 For me that image of pure gladsomeness 
 Which they were wont to be. Through kindred 
 
 scenes, 
 For purpose, at a time, how different ! 
 Thou tak'st thy way, carrying the heart and soul 
 That Nature gives to Poets, now by thought 416 
 Matured, and in the summer of their strength. 
 Oh ! wrap him in your shades, ye giant woods, 
 On Etna's side ; and thou, O flowery field 
 Of Enna ! is there not some nook of thine, 420 
 From the first play-time of the infant world 
 Kept sacred to restorative delight, 
 When from afar invoked by anxious love ? 
 
 Child of the mountains, among shepherds 
 
 reared, 
 Ere yet familiar with the classic page, 425 
 
 I learnt to dream of Sicily ; and lo, 
 The gloom, that, but a moment past was 
 
 deepened 
 At thy command, at her command gives way ; 
 A pleasant promise, wafted from her shores, 
 Comes o'er my heart : in fancy I behold 430 
 Her seas yet smiling, her once happy vales ; 
 Nor can my tongue give utterance to a name 
 Of note belonging to that honoured isle, 
 Philosopher or Bard, Empedocles, 
 Or Archimedes, pure abstracted soul ! 43 5 
 
 That doth not yield a solace to my grief : 
 And, O Theocritus, so far have some 
 
220 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Prevailed among the powers of heaven and earth, 
 By their endowments good, or great, that they 
 Have had, as thou reportest, miracles 440 
 
 Wrought for them in old time : yea, not un- 
 moved, 
 When thinking on my own beloved friend, 
 I hear thee tell how bees with honey fed 
 Divine Comates, by his impious lord 
 Within a chest imprisoned ; how they came 445 
 Laden from blooming grove or flowery field, 
 And fed him there, alive, month after month, 
 Because the goatherd, blessed man ! had lij)s 
 Wet with the Muses' nectar. 
 
 Thus I soothe 
 The pensive moments by this calm fire-side, 450 
 And find a thousand bounteous images 
 To cheer the thoughts of those I love, and mine. 
 Our prayers have been accepted ; thou wilt stand 
 On Etna's summit, above earth and sea, 454 
 Triumphant, winning from the invaded heavens 
 Thoughts without bound, magnificent designs, 
 Worthy of poets who attuned their harps 
 In wood or echoing cave, for discipline 
 Of heroes ; or, in reverence to the gods, 
 'Mid temples, served by sapient priests, and 
 choirs 460 
 
 Of virgins crowned with roses. Not in vain 
 Those temples, where they in their ruins yet 
 Survive for inspiration, shall attract 
 Thy solitary steps : and on the brink 
 Thou wilt recline of pastoral Arethuse; 465 
 Or, if that fountain be in truth no more, 
 Then, near some other spring — which by the 
 
 name 
 Thou gratulatest, willingly deceived — 
 I see thee linger a glad votary, 
 And not a captive pining for his home. 470 
 
BOOK TWELFTH. 
 
 IMAGINATION AND TASTE, HOW 
 IMPAIRED AND RESTORED. 
 
 Long time have human ignorance and guilt 
 Detained us, on what spectacles of woe 
 Compelled to look, and inwardly oppressed 
 With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts, 
 Confusion of the judgment, zeal decayed, 5 
 And, lastly, utter loss of hope itself 
 And things to hope for ! Not with these began 
 Our song, and not with these our song must 
 
 end. — 
 Ye motions of delight, that haunt the sides 
 Of the green hills ; ye breezes and soft airs, 10 
 Whose subtle intercourse with breathing 
 
 flowers, 
 Feelingly watched, might teach Man's haughty 
 
 race 
 How without injury to take, to give 
 Without offence ; ye who, as if to show 
 The wondrous influence of power gently used, 1 5 
 Bend the complying heads of lordly pines, 
 And, with a touch, shift the stupendous clouds 
 Through the whole compass of the sky ; ye 
 
 brooks, 
 Muttering along the stones, a busy noise 
 By day, a quiet sound in silent night ; 20 
 
222 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Ye waves, that out of the great deep steal forth 
 In a calm hour to kiss the pebbly shore, 
 Not rnute, and then retire, fearing no storm ; 
 And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is 
 To interpose the covert of your shades, 25 
 
 Even as a sleep, between the heart of man 
 And outward troubles, between man himself, 
 Not seldom, and his own uneasy heart : 
 Oh ! that I had a music and a voice 
 Harmonious as your own, that I might tell 30 
 What ye have done for me. The morning 
 
 shines, 
 Nor heedeth Man's perverseness ; Spring 
 
 returns, — 
 I saw the Spring return, and could rejoice, 
 In common with the children of her love, 
 Piping on boughs, or sporting on fresh fields, 35 
 Or boldly seeking pleasure nearer heaven 
 On wings that navigate cerulean skies. 
 So neither were complacency, nor peace, 
 Nor tender yearnings, wanting for my good 
 Through these distracted times; in Nature 
 
 still 40 
 
 Glorying, I found a counterpoise in her, 
 Which, when the spirit of evil reached its 
 
 height 
 Maintained for me a secret happiness. 
 
 This narrative, my Friend ! hath chiefly told 
 Of intellectual power, fostering love, 45 
 
 Dispensing truth, and, over men and things, 
 Where reason yet might hesitate, diffusing 
 Prophetic sympathies of genial faith : 
 So was I favoured — such my happy lot — 
 Until that natural graciousness of mind 50 
 
 Grave way to overpressure from the times 
 4.nd their disastrous issues. What availed, 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 223 
 
 When spells forbade the voyager to land, 
 That fragrant notice of a pleasant shore 
 Wafted, at intervals, from many a bower 55 
 Of blissful gratitude and fearless love ? 
 Dare I avow that wish was mine to see, 
 And hope that future times would surely see, 
 The man to come, parted, as by a gulph, 
 From him who had been; that I could no more 60 
 Trust the elevation which had made me one 
 With the great family that still survives 
 To illuminate the abyss of ages past, 
 Sage, warrior, patriot, hero ; for it seemed 
 That their best virtues were not free from 
 
 taint 65 
 
 Of something false and weak, that could not 
 
 stand 
 The open eye of Reason. Then I said, 
 " Gro to the Poets, they will speak to thee 
 More perfectly of purer creatures ; — yet 
 If reason be nobility in man, 70 
 
 Can aught be more ignoble than the man 
 Whom they delight in, blinded as he is 
 By prejudice, the miserable slave 
 Of low ambition or distempered love ? " 
 
 In such strange passion, if I may once more 75 
 Review the past, I warred against myself — 
 A bigot to a new idolatry — 
 Like a cowled monk who hath forsworn the 
 
 world, 
 Zealously laboured to cut off my heart 
 From all the sources of her former strength ; 80 
 And as, by simple waving of a wand, 
 The wizard instantaneously dissolves 
 Palace or grove, even so could I unsoul 
 As readily by syllogistic words 
 Those mysteries of being which have made, 85 
 
224 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 And shall continue evermore to make, 
 
 Of the whole human race one brotherhood. 
 
 What wonder, then, if, to a mind so far 
 Perverted, even the visible Universe 
 Fell under the dominion of a taste 90 
 
 Less spiritual, with microscopic view 
 Was scanned, as I had scanned the moral 
 world ? 
 
 Soul of Nature ! excellent and fair ! 
 That didst rejoice with me, with whom I, too, 94 
 Rejoiced through early youth, before the winds 
 And roaring waters, and in lights and shades 
 That marched and countermarched about the 
 
 hills 
 In glorious apparition, Powers on whom 
 I daily waited, now all eye and now 
 All ear; but never long without the heart 100 
 Employed, and man's unfolding intellect : 
 O Soul of Nature ! that, by laws divine 
 Sustained and governed, still dost overflow 
 With an impassioned life, what feeble ones 
 Walk on this earth ! how feeble have I been 105 
 When thou wert in thy strength ! Nor this 
 
 through stroke 
 Of human suffering, such as justifies 
 Remissness and inaptitude of mind, 
 But through presumption; even in pleasure 
 
 pleased 
 Unworthily, disliking here, and there no 
 
 Liking ; by rules of mimic art transferred 
 To things above all art ; but more, — for this, 
 Although a strong infection of the age, 
 Was never much my habit — giving way 
 To a comparison of scene with scene, 1 1 5 
 
 Bent overmuch on superficial things, 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 225 
 
 Pampering myself with meagre novelties 
 
 Of colour and proportion ; to the moods 
 
 Of time and season, to the moral power, 
 
 The affections and the spirit of the place, 120 
 
 Insensible. Nor only did the love 
 
 Of sitting thus in judgment interrupt 
 
 My deeper feelings, but another cause, 
 
 More subtle and less easily explained, 
 
 That almost seems inherent in the creature, 125 
 
 A twofold frame of body and of mind. 
 
 I speak in recollection of a time 
 
 When the bodily eye, in every stage of life 
 
 The most despotic of our senses, gained 
 
 Such strength in me as often held my mind 1 30 
 
 In absolute dominion. Gladly here, 
 
 Entering upon abstruser argument, 
 
 Could I endeavour to unfold the means 
 
 Which Nature studiously employs to thwart 
 
 This tyranny, summons all the senses each 1 3 5 
 
 To counteract the other, and themselves, 
 
 And makes them all, and the objects with 
 
 which all 
 Are conversant, subservient in their turn 
 To the great ends of Liberty and Power. 
 But leave we this : enough that my delights 140 
 (Such as they were) were sought insatiably. 
 Vivid the transport, vivid though not profound ; 
 I roamed from hill to hill, from rock to rock, 
 Still craving combinations of new forms, 
 New pleasure, wider empire for the sight, 145 
 Proud of her own endowments, and rejoiced 
 To lay the inner faculties asleep. 
 Amid the turns and counterturns, the strife 
 And various trials of our complex being, 
 As we grow up, such thraldom of that sense 150 
 Seems hard to shun. And yet I knew a maid, 
 A young enthusiast, who escaped these bonds ; 
 
 VII. Q 
 
226 wordsvvorth's poems. 
 
 Her eye was not the mistress of her heart ; 
 Far less did rules prescribed by passive taste, 
 Or barren intermeddling subtleties, 155 
 
 Perplex her mind ; but, wise as women are 
 When genial circumstance hath favoured them, 
 She welcomed what was given, and craved no 
 
 more ; 
 Whate'er the scene presented to her view 
 That was the best, to that she was attuned 160 
 By her benign simplicity of life, 
 And through a perfect happiness of soul, 
 Whose variegated feelings were in this 
 Sisters, that they were each some new delight. 
 Birds in the bower, and lambs in the green 
 
 field, 165 
 
 Could they have known her, would have loved ; 
 
 methought 
 Her very presence such a sweetness breathed, 
 That flowers, and trees, and even the silent 
 
 hills, 
 And every thing she looked on, should have had 
 An intimation how she bore herself 170 
 
 Towards them and to all creatures. Grod delights 
 In such a being ; for, her common thoughts 
 Are piety, her life is gratitude. 
 
 Even like this maid, before I was called forth 
 From the retirement of my native hills, 175 
 I loved whate'er I saw : nor lightly loved, 
 But most intensely ; never dreamt of aught 
 More grand, more fair, more exquisitely framed 
 Than those few nooks to which my happy feet 
 Were limited. I had not at that time 180 
 
 Lived long enough, nor in the least survived 
 The first diviner influence of this world, 
 As it appears to unaccustomed eyes, 
 Worshipping then among the depth of things, 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 227 
 
 As piety ordained ; could I submit 185 
 
 To measured admiration, or to aught 
 That should preclude humility and love ? 
 I felt, observed, and pondered ; did not judge, 
 Yea, never thought of judging; with the 
 
 gift 
 Of all this glory filled and satisfied. 1 90 
 
 And afterwards, when through the gorgeous 
 
 Alps 
 Eoaming, I carried with me the same heart : 
 In truth, the degradation — howsoe'er 
 Induced, effect, in whatsoe'er degree, 
 Of custom that prepares a partial scale 195 
 
 In which the little oft outweighs the great ; 
 Or any other cause that hath been named ; 
 Or lastly, aggravated by the times 
 And their impassioned sounds, which well might 
 
 make 
 The milder minstrelsies of rural scenes 200 
 
 Inaudible — was transient ; I had known 
 Too forcibly, too early in my life, 
 Visitings of imaginative power 
 For this to last : I shook the habit off 
 Entirely and for ever, and again 205 
 
 In Nature's presence stood, as now I stand, 
 A- sensitive being, a creative soul. 
 
 There are in our existence spots of time, 
 That with distinct pre-eminence retain 
 A renovating virtue, whence, depressed 210 
 By false opinion and contentious thought, 
 Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight, 
 In trivial occupations, and the round 
 Of ordinary intercourse, our minds 
 Are nourished and invisibly repaired ; 215 
 
 A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced, 
 That penetrates, enables us to mount, 
 
228 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 When high, more high, and lifts ns up when 
 
 fallen. 
 This efficacious spirit chiefly lurks 
 Among those passages of life that give 220 
 
 Prof oundest knowledge to what point, and how, 
 The mind is lord and master — outward sense 
 The obedient servant of her will. Such moments 
 Are scattered everywhere, taking their date 
 From our first childhood. I remember well, 225 
 That once, while yet my inexperienced hand 
 Could scarcely hold a bridle, with proud hopes 
 I mounted, and we journeyed towards the hills : 
 An ancient servant of my father's house 
 Was with me, my encourager and guide : 230 
 We had not travelled long, ere some mischance 
 Disjoined me from my comrade; and, through 
 
 fear 
 Dismounting, down the rough and stony moor 
 I led my horse, and, stumbling on, at length 
 Came to a bottom, where in former times 235 
 A murderer had been hung in iron chains. 
 The gibbet-mast had mouldered down, the bones 
 And iron case were gone ; but on the turf, 
 Hard by, soon after that fell deed was wrought, 
 Some unknown hand had carved the murderer's 
 
 name. 240 
 
 The monumental letters were inscribed 
 In times long past ; but still, from year to year, 
 By superstition of the neighbourhood, 
 The grass is cleared away, and to this hour 
 The characters are fresh and visible : 245 
 
 A casual glance had shown them, and I fled, 
 Faltering and faint, and ignorant of the road : 
 Then, reascending the bare common, saw 
 A naked pool that lay beneath the hills, 
 The beacon on the summit, and, more near, 250 
 A girl, who bore a pitcher on her head, 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 229 
 
 And seemed with difficult steps to force her way 
 Against the blowing wind. It was, in truth, 
 An ordinary sight ; but I should need 
 Colours and words that are unknown to man, 
 To paint the visionary dreariness 256 
 
 Which, while I looked all round for my lost 
 
 guide, 
 Invested moorland waste, and naked pool, 
 The beacon crowning the lone eminence, 
 The female and her garments vexed and tossed 
 By the strong wind. When, in the blessed 
 
 hours 261 
 
 Of early love, the loved one at my side, 
 I roamed, in daily presence of this scene, 
 Upon the naked pool and dreary crags, 
 And on the melancholy beacon, fell 265 
 
 A spirit of pleasure and youth's golden gleam; 
 And think ye not with radiance more sublime 
 For these remembrances, and for the power 
 They had left behind ? So feeling comes in aid 
 Of feeling, and diversity of strength 270 
 
 Attends us, if but once we have been strong. 
 Oh ! mystery of man, from what a depth 
 Proceed thy honours. I am lost, but see 
 In simple childhood something of the base 
 On which thy greatness stands ; but this I feel, 
 That from thyself it comes, that thou must 
 
 give, 276 
 
 Else never canst receive. The days gone by 
 Return upon me almost from the dawn 
 Of life : the hiding-places of man's power 
 Open ; I would approach them, but they close. 
 I see by glimpses now ; when age comes on, 281 
 May scarcely see at all ; and I would give, 
 WTiile yet we may, as far as words can give, 
 Substance and life to what I feel, enshrining, 
 Such is my hope, the spirit of the Past 285 
 
230 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 For future restoration. — Yet another 
 Of these memorials : — 
 
 One Christmas- time, 
 On the glad eve of its dear holidays, 
 Feverish, and tired, and restless, I went forth 
 Into the fields, impatient for the sight 290 
 
 Of those led palfreys that should bear us home ; 
 My brothers and myself. There rose a crag, 
 That, from the meeting-point of two highways 
 Ascending, overlooked them both, far stretched ; 
 Thither, uncertain on which road to fix 295 
 My expectation, thither I repaired, 
 Scout-like, and gained the summit ; 'twas a day 
 Tempestuous, dark, and wild, and on the grass 
 I sate half- sheltered by a naked wall ; 
 Upon my right hand couched a single sheep, 
 Upon my left a blasted hawthorn stood ; 301 
 With those companions at my side, I watched, 
 Straining my eyes intensely, as the mist 
 Grave intermitting prospect of the copse 
 And plain beneath. Ere we to school re- 
 turned, — 305 
 That dreary time, — ere we had been ten days 
 Sojourners in my father's house, he died, 
 And I and my three brothers, orphans then, 
 Followed his body to the grave. The event, 
 With all the sorrow that it brought, appeared 
 A chastisement ; and when I called to mind 311 
 That day so lately past, when from the crag 
 I looked in such anxiety of hope ; 
 With trite reflections of morality, 
 Yet in the deepest passion, I bowed low 315 
 To G-od, Who thus corrected my desires ; 
 And, afterwards, the wind and sleety rain, 
 And all the business of the elements, 
 The single sheep, and the one blasted tree, 
 And the bleak music from that old stone wall, 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 231 
 
 The noise of wood and water, and the mist 321 
 That on the line of each of those two roads 
 Advanced in such indisputable shapes ; 
 All these were kindred spectacles and sounds 
 To which I oft repaired, and thence would drink, 
 As at a fountain ; and on winter nights, 326 
 Down to this very time, when storm and rain 
 Beat on my roof, or, haply, at noon-day, 
 While in a grove I walk, whose lofty trees, 
 Laden with summer's thickest foliage, rock 330 
 In a strong wind, some working of the spirit, 
 Some inward agitations thence are brought, 
 Whate'er their office, whether to beguile 
 Thoughts over busy in the course they took, 
 Or animate an hour of vacant ease. 335 
 
BOOK THIRTEENTH. 
 
 IMAGINATION AND TASTE HOW 
 IMPAIRED AND RESTORED.— 
 
 (Concluded.) 
 
 From Nature doth, emotion come, and moods 
 ""Of calmness equally are Nature's gift : 
 This is her glory ; these two attributes 
 Are sister horns that constitute her strength. 
 Hence Genius, born to thrive by interchange 5 
 Of peace and excitation, finds in her 
 His best and purest friend ; from her receives 
 That energy by which he seeks the truth, 
 From her that happy stillness of the mind 
 Which fits him to receive it when unsought. 10 
 
 Such benefit the humblest intellects 
 Partake of, each in their degree ; 'tis mine 
 To speak, what I myself have known and felt ; 
 Smooth task ! for words find easy way, inspired 
 By gratitude, and confidence in truth. 15 
 
 Long time in search of knowledge did I range 
 The field of human life, in heart and mind 
 Benighted ; but, the dawn beginning now 
 To re-appear, 'twas proved that not in vain 
 I had been taught to reverence a Power 20 
 
 That is the visible quality and shape 
 And image of right reason ; that matures 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 233 
 
 Her processes by steadfast laws ; gives birth 
 To no impatient or fallacious hopes, 
 No heat of passion or excessive zeal* 25 
 
 No vain conceits ; provokes to no quick turns 
 Of self-applauding intellect ; but trains 
 To meekness, and exalts by humble faith ; 
 Holds up before the mind intoxicate 
 With present objects, and the busy dance 30 
 Of things that pass away, a temperate show 
 Of objects that endure; and by this course 
 Disposes her, when over-fondly set 
 On throwing off incumbrances, to seek 
 In man, and in the frame of social life, 35 
 
 Whate'er there is desirable and good 
 Of kindred permanence, unchanged in form 
 And function, or, through strict vicissitude 
 Of life and death, revolving. Above all 
 Were re-established now those watchful 
 thoughts 40 
 
 Which, seeing little worthy or sublime 
 In what the Historian's pen so much delights 
 To blazon— power and energy detached 
 From moral purpose — early tutored me 
 To look with feelings of fraternal love 45 
 
 Upon the unassuming things that hold 
 A silent station in this beauteous world. 
 
 Thus moderated, thus composed, I found 
 Once more in Man an object of delight, 
 Of pure imagination, and of love ; 50 
 
 And, as the horizon of my mind enlarged, 
 Again I took the intellectual eye 
 For my instructor, studious more to see 
 Great truths, than touch and handle little ones. 
 Knowledge was given accordingly; my trust 55 
 Became more firm in feelings that had stood 
 The test of such a trial ; clearer far 
 
234 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 My sense of excellence — of right and wrong : 
 The promise of the present time retired 
 Into its true proportion ; sanguine schemes, 60 
 Ambitious projects, pleased me less ; I sought 
 For present good in life's familiar face, 
 And built thereon my hopes of good to come. 
 
 With settling judgments now of what would 
 
 last 
 And what would disappear ; prepared to find 65 
 Presumption, folly, madness, in the men 
 Who thrust themselves upon the passive world 
 As Rulers of the world ; to see in these, 
 Even when the public welfare is their aim, 
 Plans without thought, or built on theories 70 
 Vague and unsound ; and having brought the 
 
 books 
 Of modern statists to then- proper test, 
 Life, human life, with all its sacred claims 
 Of sex and age, and heaven-descended rights, 
 Mortal, or those beyond the reach of death ; 75 
 And having thus discerned how dire a thing 
 Is worshipped in that idol proudly named 
 ''The Wealth of Nations," where alone that 
 
 wealth 
 Is lodged, and how increased ; and having gained 
 A more judicious knowledge of the worth 80 
 And dignity of individual man, 
 No composition of the brain, but man 
 Of whom we read, the man whom we behold 
 With our own eyes — I could not but inquire — 
 Not with less interest than heretofore, 85 
 
 But greater, though in spirit more subdued — 
 Why is this glorious creature to be found 
 One only in ten thousand ? What one is, 
 Why may not millions be? What bars are 
 
 thrown 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 235 
 
 By Nature in the way of such a hope ? 90 
 
 Our animal appetites and daily wants, 
 Are these obstructions insurmountable ? 
 If not, then others vanish into air. 
 " Inspect the basis of the social pile : 
 Inquire," said I, " How much of mental power 
 And genuine virtue they possess who live 96 
 By bodily toil, labour exceeding far 
 Their due proportion, under all the weight 
 Of that injustice which upon ourselves 
 Ourselves entail." Such estimate to frame 100 
 I chiefly looked (what need to look beyond ?) 
 Among the natural abodes of men, 
 Fields with their rural works ; recalled to 
 
 mind 
 My earliest notices ; with these compared 
 The observations made in later youth, 105 
 
 And to that day continued. — For, the time 
 Had never been when throes of mighty Nations 
 And the world's tumult unto me could yield, 
 How far soe'er transported and possessed, 
 Full measure of content ; but still I craved 1 10 
 An intermingling of distinct regards 
 And truths of individual sympathy 
 Nearer ourselves. Such often might be gleaned 
 From the great City, else it must have proved 
 To me a heart-depressing wilderness ; 115 
 
 But much was wanting : therefore did I turn 
 To you, ye pathways, and ye lonely roads ; 
 Sought you enriched with everything I prized, 
 With human kindnesses and simple joys. 
 
 Oh ! next to one dear state of bliss, vouch- 
 safed 120 
 Alas ! to few in this untoward world, 
 The bliss of walking daily in life's prime 
 Through field or forest with the maid we love, 
 
236 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 While yet our hearts are young, while yet we 
 
 breathe 
 Nothing but happiness, in some lone nook 125 
 Deep vale, or any where, the home of both, 
 From which it would be misery to stir : 
 Oh ! next to such enjoyment of our youth, 
 In my esteem, next to such dear delight, 
 Was that of wandering on from day to day 130 
 Where I could meditate in peace, and cull 
 Knowledge that step by step might lead me on 
 To wisdom ; or, as lightsome as a bird 
 Wafted upon the wind from distant lands, 
 Sing notes of greeting to strange fields or 
 
 groves, 1 3 5 
 
 Which lacked not voice to welcome me in turn : 
 And, when that pleasant toil had ceased to 
 
 please, 
 Converse with men, where if we meet a face 
 We almost meet a friend, on naked heaths 139 
 With long long ways before, by cottage bench, 
 Or well-spring where the weary traveller rests. 
 
 Who doth not love to follow with his eye 
 The windings of a public way ? the sight, 
 Familiar object as it is, hath wrought 
 On my imagination since the morn 145 
 
 Of childhood, when a disappearing line, 
 One daily present to my eyes, that crossed 
 The naked summit of a far-off hill 
 Beyond the limits that my feet had trod, 
 Was like an invitation into space 150 
 
 Boundless, or guide into eternity. 
 Yes, something of the grandeur which invests 
 The mariner who sails the roaring sea 
 Through storm and darkness, early in my mind 
 Surrounded, too, the wanderers of the earth 5155 
 Grandeur as much, and loveliness far more. 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 237 
 
 Awed have I been by strolling Bedlamites ; 
 From many other uncouth vagrants (passed 
 In fear) have walked with quicker step; but 
 
 why i 59 
 
 Take note of this ? When I began to enquire, 
 To watch and question those I met, and speak 
 Without reserve to them, the lonely roads 
 Were open schools in which I daily read 
 With most delight the passions of mankind, 
 Whether by words, looks, sighs, or tears, 
 
 revealed: 165 
 
 There saw into the depth of human souls, 
 Souls that appear to have no depth at all 
 To careless eyes. And — now convinced at 
 
 heart 
 How little those formalities, to which 
 With overweening trust alone we give 170 
 
 The name of Education, have to do 
 With real feeling and just sense ; how vain 
 A correspondence with the talking world 
 Proves to the most ; and called to make good 
 
 search 
 If man's estate, by doom of Nature yoked 175 
 With toil, be therefore yoked with ignorance ; 
 If virtue be indeed so hard to rear, 
 And intellectual strength so rare a boon — 
 I prized such walks still more, for there I found 
 Hope to my hope, and to my pleasure peace 180 
 And steadiness, and healing and repose 
 To every angry passion. There I heard, 
 From mouths of men obscure and lowly, truths 
 Keplete with honour ; sounds in unison 
 With loftiest promises of good and fair. 185 
 
 There are who think that strong affection, 
 love 
 Known by whatever name, is falsely deemed 
 
238 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 A gift, to use a term which they would use, 
 Of vulgar nature ; that its growth requires 
 Retirement, leisure, language purified 190 
 
 By manners studied and elaborate ; 
 That whoso feels such passion in its strength 
 Must live within the very light and air 
 Of courteous usages refined by art. 
 True is it, where oppression worse than death 195 
 Salutes the being at his birth, where grace 
 Of culture hath been utterly unknown, 
 And poverty and labour in excess 
 From day to day pre-occupy the ground 
 Of the affections, and to Nature's self 200 
 
 Oppose a deeper nature ; there, indeed, 
 Love cannot be ; nor does it thrive with ease 
 Among the close and overcrowded haunts 
 Of cities, where the human heart is sick, 
 And the eye feeds it not, and cannot feed. 205 
 — Yes, in those wanderings deeply did I feel 
 How we mislead each other ; above all, 
 How books mislead us, seeking their reward 
 From judgments of the wealthy Few, who see 
 By artificial lights ; how they debase 210 
 
 The Many for the pleasure of those Few ; 
 Effeminately level down the truth 
 To certain general notions, for the sake 
 Of being understood at once, or else 
 Through want of better knowledge in the 
 
 heads 215 
 
 That framed them ; flattering self-conceit with 
 
 words, 
 That, while they most ambitiously set forth 
 Extrinsic differences, the outward marks 
 Whereby society has parted man 
 From man, neglect the universal heart, 220 
 
 Here, calling up to mind what then I saw, 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 239 
 
 A youthful traveller, and see daily now 
 In the familiar circuit of my home, 
 Here might I pause, and bend in reverence 
 To Nature, and the power of human minds, 225 
 To men as they are men within themselves. 
 How oft high service is performed within. 
 When all the external man is rude in show, — 
 Not like a temple rich with pomp and gold, 
 But a mere mountain chapel, that protects 230 
 Its simple worshippers from sun and shower. 
 Of these, said I, shall be my song ; of these, 
 If future years mature me for the task, 
 Will I record the praises, making verse 
 Deal boldly with substantial things ; in truth 
 And sanctity of passion, speak of these, 236 
 That justice may be done, obeisance paid 
 Where it is due : thus haply shall I teach, 
 Inspire ; through unadulterated ears 
 Pour rapture, tenderness, and hope, — my 
 
 theme 240 
 
 No other than the very heart of man, 
 As found among the best of those who live, 
 Not unexalted by religious faith, 
 Nor uninformed by books, good books, though 
 
 few, 
 In Nature's presence : thence may I select 245 
 Sorrow, that is not sorrow, but delight ; 
 And miserable love, that is not pain 
 To hear of, for the glory that redounds 
 Therefrom to human kind, and what we are. 
 Be mine to follow with no timid step 250 
 
 Where knowledge leads me: it shall be my 
 
 pride 
 That I have dared to tread this holy ground, 
 Speaking no dream, but things oracular ; 
 Matter not lightly to be heard by those 
 Who to the letter of the outward promise 255 
 
240 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Do read the invisible soul ; by men adroit 
 In speech, and for communion with the world 
 Accomplished ; minds whose faculties are then 
 Most active when they are most eloquent, 
 And elevated most when most admired. 260 
 Men may be found of other mould than these, 
 Who are their own upholders, to themselves 
 Encouragement, and energy, and will, 
 Expressing liveliest thoughts in lively words 
 As native passion dictates. Others, too, 265 
 There are among the walks of homely life 
 Still higher, men for contemplation framed, 
 Shy, and unpractised in the strife of phrase ; 
 Meek men, whose very souls perhaps would 
 
 sink 
 Beneath them, summoned to such intercourse : 
 Theirs is the language of the heavens, the 
 
 power, 271 
 
 The thought, the image, and the silent joy : 
 Words are but under-agents in their souls ; 
 When they are grasping with their greatest 
 
 strength, 
 They do not breathe among them : this I speak 
 I In gratitude to G-od, Wlio feeds our hearts 276 
 (i^orJEIis own service ; knoweth, loveth us, 
 i When" we are unregarded by the world. 
 
 Also, about this time did I receive 
 Convictions still more strong than hereto- 
 fore, 280 
 Not only that the inner frame is good, 
 And graciously composed, but that, no less, 
 Nature for all conditions wants not power 
 To consecrate, -if we have eyes to see, 
 The outside of s Rer creatures, and to breathe 285 
 Grandeur upon the very humblest face 
 Of human life. I felt that the array 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 241 
 
 Of act and circumstance, and visible form, 
 Is mainly to the pleasure of the mind 
 What passion makes them ; that meanwhile 
 .the forms 290 
 
 Of Nature have a passion in themselves, 
 That intermingles with those works of man 
 To which she summons him ; although the 
 
 '. works 
 Be mean, have nothing lofty of their own ; 
 And that the genius of the Poet hence 295 
 
 May boldly take his way among mankind 
 Wherever Nature leads ; that he hath stood 
 By Nature's side among the men of old, 
 And so shall stand for ever. Dearest Friend ! 
 If thou partake the animating faith 300 
 
 That Poets, even as Prophets, each with each 
 Connected in a mighty scheme of truth, 
 Have each his own peculiar faculty, 
 Heaven's gift, a sense that fits him to perceive 
 Objects unseen before, thou wilt not blame 305 
 The humblest of this band who dares to hope 
 That unto him hath also been vouchsafed 
 An insight that in some sort he possesses, 
 A privilege whereby a work of his, 
 Proceeding from a source of untaught things, 310 
 Creative and enduring, may become 
 A power like one of Nature's. To a hope 
 Not less ambitious once among the wilds 
 Of Sarum's Plain, my youthful spirit was raised ; 
 There, as I ranged at will the pastoral downs 
 Trackless and smooth, or paced the bare white 
 roads 3 l6 
 
 Lengthening in solitude their dreary line, 
 Time with his retinue of ages fled 
 Backwards, nor checked his flight until I saw 
 Our dim ancestral Past in vision clear ; 320 
 
 Saw multitudes of men, and, here and there, 
 vii. R 
 
242 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 A single Briton clothed in wolf- skin vest, 
 With shield and stone-axe, stride across the 
 
 wold; 
 The voice of spears was heard, the rattling 
 
 spear 
 Shaken by arms of mighty bone, in strength, 325 
 Long mouldered, of barbaric majesty. 
 I called on Darkness — but before the word 
 Was uttered, midnight darkness seemed to 
 
 take 
 All objects from my sight ; and lo ! again 
 The Desert visible by dismal flames ; 330 
 
 It is the sacrificial altar, fed 
 With living men — how deep the groans ! the 
 
 voice 
 Of those that crowd the giant wicker thrills 
 The monumental hillocks, and the pomp 
 Is for both worlds, the living and the dead. 335 
 At other moments — (for through that wide 
 
 waste 
 Three summer davs I roamed) where'er the 
 
 Plain 
 Was figured o'er with circles, lines, or mounds, 
 That yet survive, a work, as some divine, 
 Shaped by the Druids, so to represent 340 
 
 Their knowledge of the heavens, and image 
 
 forth 
 The constellations — gently was I charmed 
 Into a waking dream, a reverie 
 That, with believing eyes, where'er I turned, 
 Beheld long-bearded teachers, with white 
 
 wands 345 
 
 Uplifted, pointing to the starry sky, 
 Alternately, and plain below, while breath 
 Of music swayed their motions, and the waste 
 Rejoiced with them and me in those sweet 
 
 sounds. 
 
IMAGINATION AND TASTE. 243 
 
 This for the past, and things that may be 
 viewed 350 
 
 Or fancied in the obscurity of years 
 From monumental hints : and thou, Friend ! 
 Pleased with some unpremeditated strains 
 That served those wanderings to beguile, hast 
 
 said 
 That then and there my mind had exercised 355 
 Upon the vulgar forms of present things, 
 The actual world of our familiar days, 
 Yet higher power; had caught from them a 
 
 tone, 
 An image, and a character, by books 
 Not hitherto reflected. Call we this 360 
 
 A partial judgment — and yet why ? for then 
 We were as strangers ; and I may not speak 
 Thus wrongfully of verse, however rude, 
 Which on thy young imagination, trained 
 In the great City, broke like light from far. 365 
 Moreover, each man's Mind is to herself 
 Witness and judge ; and I remember well 
 That in life's every-day appearances 
 I seemed about this time to gain clear sight 
 Of a new world — a world, too, that was fit 370 
 To be transmitted, and to other eyes 
 Made visible ; as ruled by those fixed laws 
 Whence spiritual dignity originates, 
 Which do both give it being and maintain 
 A balance, an ennobling interchange 375 
 
 Of action from without and from within ; 
 The excellence, pure function, and best power 
 Both of the object seen, and eye that sees. 
 
BOOK FOURTEENTH. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 In one of those excursions (may they ne'er 
 Fade from remembrance!) through the Northern 
 
 tracts 
 Of Cambria ranging with a youthful friend, 
 I left Bethgelert's huts at couching- time, 
 And westward took my way, to see the sun 5 
 Rise, from the top of Snowdon. To the door 
 Of a rude cottage at the mountain's base 
 We came, and roused the shepherd who attends 
 The adventurous stranger's steps, atrusty guide; 
 Then, cheered by short refreshment, sallied 
 
 forth. 10 
 
 It was a close, warm, breezeless summer night, 
 Wan, dull, and glaring, with a dripping fog 
 Low-hung and thick that covered all the sky ; 
 But, undiscouraged, we began to climb 
 The mountain- side. The mist soon girt us 
 round, 15 
 
 And, after ordinary travellers' talk 
 With our conductor, pensively we sank 
 Each into commerce with his private thoughts : 
 Thus did we breast the ascent, and by myself 
 Was nothing either seen or heard that checked 
 Those musings or diverted, save that once 21 
 The shepherd's lurcher, who, among the crags, 
 
CONCLUSION. 245 
 
 Had to his joy unearthed a hedgehog, teased 
 His coiled-up prey with barkings turbulent. 
 This small adventure, for even such it seemed 
 In that wild place and at the dead of night, 26 
 Being over and forgotten, on we wound 
 In silence as before. With forehead bent 
 Earthward, as if in opposition set 
 Against an enemy, I panted up 30 
 
 With eager pace, and no less eager thoughts. 
 Thus might we wear a midnight hour away, 
 Ascending at loose distance each from each, 
 And I, as chanced, the foremost of the band ; 
 When at my feet the ground appearedj^to 
 brighten, 35 
 
 And with a step or two seemed brighter still ; 
 Nor was time given to ask or learn the cause, 
 For instantly a light upon the turf 
 Fell like a flash, and lo ! as I looked up, 
 The Moon hung naked in a firmament 40 
 
 Of azure without cloud, and at my feet 
 Rested a silent sea of hoary mist. 
 ^^-AJbundred hills their dusky backs upheaved^ 
 ~Xll over this still ocean ; and beyond, 
 Far, far beyond, the solid vapours stretched, 45 
 In headlands, tongues, and promontory shapes, 
 Into the main Atlantic, that appeared 
 To dwindle, and give up his majesty, 
 Usurped upon far as the sight could reach. 
 Not so the ethereal vault; encroachment none 50 
 Was there, nor loss ; only the inferior stars 
 Had disappeared, or shed a fainter light 
 In the clear presence of the full- orbed Moon, 
 Who, from her sovereign elevation, gazed 
 Upon the billowy ocean, as it lay 55 
 
 All meek and silent, save that through a rift — 
 Not distant from the shore whereon we stood, 
 A fixed, abysmal, gloomy, breathing-place — 
 
246 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Mounted the roar of waters, torrents, streams 
 Innumerable, roaring with one voice ! 60 
 
 Heard over earth and sea, and, in that hour, 
 For so it seemed, felt by the starry heavens. 
 
 When into air had partially dissolved 
 That vision, given to spirits of the night 
 And three chance human wanderers, in calm 
 
 thought 65 
 
 Keflected, it appeared to me the type 
 Of a majestic intellect, its acts 
 And its possessions, what it has and craves, 
 What in itself it is, and would become. 
 There I beheld the emblem of a mind 70 
 
 That feeds upon infinity, that broods 
 Over the dark abyss, intent to hear 
 Its voices issuing forth to silent light 
 In one continuous stream ; a mind sustained 
 By recognitions of transcendent power, 75 
 
 In sense conducting to ideal form, 
 In soul of more than mortal privilege. 
 One function, above all, of such a mind 
 Had Nature shadowed there, by putting forth, 
 'Mid circumstances awful and sublime, 80 
 
 That mutual domination which she loves 
 To exert upon the face of outward things, 
 So moulded, joined, abstracted, so endowed 
 With interchangeable supremacy, 
 That men, least sensitive, see, hear, perceive, 85 
 And cannot choose but feel. The power, which 
 
 all 
 Acknowledge when thus moved, which Nature 
 
 thus 
 To bodily sense exhibits, is the express 
 Eesemblance of that glorious faculty 
 That higher minds bear with them as their own. 
 This is the very spirit in which they deal 91 
 
CONCLUSION. 247 
 
 With the whole compass of the universe : 
 
 They from their native selves can send abroad 
 
 Kindred mutations ; for themselves create 
 
 A like existence ; and, whene'er it dawns 95 
 
 Created for them, catch it, or are caught 
 
 By its inevitable mastery, 
 
 Like angels stopped upon the wing by sound 
 
 Of harmony from Heaven's remotest spheres. 
 
 Them the enduring and the transient both 100 
 
 Serve to exalt ; they build up greatest things 
 
 From least suggestions ; ever on the watch, 
 
 Willing to work and to be wrought upon, 
 
 They need not extraordinary calls 
 
 To rouse them ; in a world of life they live, 105 
 
 By sensible impressions not enthralled, 
 
 But by their quickening impulse made more 
 
 prompt 
 To hold fit converse with the spiritual world, 
 And with the generations of mankind 
 Spread over time, past, present, and to come, 
 Age after age, till Time shall be no more. 1 1 1 
 Such minds are truly from the Deity, 
 For they are Powers ; and hence the highest 
 
 bliss 
 That flesh can know is theirs — the consciousness 
 Of Whom they are, habitually infused 1 1 5 
 
 Through every image and through every 
 
 thought, 
 And all affections by communion raised 
 From earth to heaven, from human to divine ; 
 Hence endless occupation for the Soul, 
 Whether discursive or intuitive ; 12° 
 
 Hence cheerfulness for acts of daily life, 
 Emotions which best foresight need not fear, 
 Most worthy then of trust when most intense. 
 Hence, amid ills that vex and wrongs that crush 
 Our hearts— if here the words of Holy Writ 125 
 
248 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 May with fit reverence be applied — that peace 
 
 Which passeth understanding, that repose 
 
 In moral judgments which from this pure 
 
 source 
 Must come, or will by man be sought in vain. 
 
 Oh ! who is he that hath his whole life long 1 30 
 Preserved, enlarged, this freedom in himself ? 
 For this alone is genuine liberty : 
 Where is the favoured being who hath held 
 That course unchecked, unerring, and untired, 
 In one perpetual progress smooth and bright ? — 
 A humbler destiny have we retraced, 136 
 
 And told of lapse and hesitating choice, 
 And backward wanderings along thorny ways : 
 Yet — compassed round by mountain solitudes, 
 Within whose solemn temple I received 140 
 My earliest visitations, careless then 
 Of what was given me ; and which now I range, 
 A meditative, oft a suffering man — 
 Do I declare — in accents which, from truth 
 Deriving cheerful confidence, shall blend 145 
 Their modulation with these vocal streams — 
 That, whatsoever falls my better mind, 
 Revolving with the accidents of life, 
 May have sustained, that, howsoe'er misled, 
 Never did I, in quest of right and wrong, 150 
 Tamper with conscience from a private aim ; 
 Nor was in any public hope the dupe 
 Of selfish passions ; nor did ever yield 
 Wilfully to mean cares or low pursuits, 
 But shrunk with apprehensive jealousy 155 
 
 From every combination which might aid 
 The tendency, too potent in itself, 
 Of use and custom to bow down the soul 
 Under a growing weight of vulgar sense, 
 And substitute a universe of death 160 
 
CONCLUSION. 249 
 
 For that which moves with light and life in- 
 formed, 
 Actual, divine, and true. To fear and love, 
 To love as prime and chief, for there fear ends, 
 Be this ascribed ; to early intercourse, 
 In presence of sublime or beautiful forms, 165 
 "With the adverse principles of pain and joy — 
 Evil as one is rashly named by men 
 Who know not what they speak. By love 
 
 subsists 
 All Tasting grandeur, by pervading love ; 
 That "gone, we are as dust. — Behold the fields 
 In balmy spring-time full of rising flowers 171 
 And joyous creatures ; see that pair, the lamb 
 And the lamb's mother, and their tender ways 
 Shall touch thee to the heart; thou callest this 
 
 love, 
 And not inaptly so, for love it is, 175 
 
 Far as it carries thee. In some green bower 
 Rest, and be not alone, but have thou there 
 The One who is thy choice of all the world : 
 There linger, listening, gazing, with delight 
 Impassioned, but delight how pitiable ! 180 
 
 Unless this love by a still higher love 
 Be hallowed, love that breathes not without 
 
 awe ; 
 Loyejthat. adores, but on the knees of prayer, 
 ByJieayen inspired ; that frees from chains the 
 
 soul, 
 Lifted, in union with the purest, best, 185 
 
 Of earth-born passions, on the wings of praise 
 Bearing a tribute to the Almighty's Throne. 
 
 This spiritual Love acts not nor can exist 
 Without Imagination, which, in truth, 
 Is but another name for absolute power 190 
 And clearest insight, amplitude of mind, 
 
 \ 
 
250 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 And Reason in her most exalted mood. 
 This faculty hath been the feeding source 
 Of our long labour : we have traced the stream 
 From the blind cavern whence is faintly heard 
 Its natal murmur ; followed it to light 196 
 
 And open day ; accompanied its course 
 Among the ways of Nature, for a time 
 Lost sight of it bewildered and engulphed ; 
 Then given it greeting as it rose once more 200 
 In strength, reflecting from its placid breast 
 The works of man and face of human life ; 
 And lastly, from its progress have we drawn 
 Faith in life endless, the sustaining thought 
 Of human Being, Eternity, and God. 205 
 
 Imagination having been our theme, 
 So also hath that intellectual Love, 
 For they are each in each, and cannot stand 
 Dividually. — Here must thou be, O Man ! 
 Power to thyself ; no Helper hast thou here ; 
 Here keepest thou in singleness thy state : 2 u 
 No other can divide with thee this work : 
 No secondary hand can intervene 
 To fashion this ability ; 'tis thine, 
 The prime and vital principle is thine 2 1 5 
 
 In the recesses of thy nature, far 
 From any reach of outward fellowship, 
 Else is not thine at all. But joy to him, 
 Oh, joy to him who here hath sown, hath laid 
 Here, the foundation of his future years ! 220 
 For all that friendship, all that love can do, 
 All that a darling countenance can look 
 Or dear voice utter, to complete the man, 
 Perfect him, made imperfect in himself, 
 All shall be his : and he whose soul hath risen 
 Up to the height of feeling intellect 226 
 
 Shall want no humbler tenderness ; his heart 
 
CONCLUSION. 251 
 
 Be tender as a nursing mother's heart ; 
 
 Of female softness shall his life be full, 
 
 Of humble cares and delicate desires, 230 
 
 Mild interests and gentlest sympathies. 
 
 Child of my parents ! Sister of my soul ! 
 Thanks in sincerest verse have been elsewhere 
 Poured out for all the early tenderness 
 Which I from thee imbibed : and 'tis most true 
 That later seasons owed to thee no less ; 236 
 For, spite of thy sweet influence and the touch 
 Of kindred hands that opened out the springs 
 Of genial thought in childhood, and in spite 
 Of all that unassisted I had marked 240 
 
 In life or nature of those charms minute 
 That win their way into the heart by stealth, 
 (Still to the very going- out of youth) 
 I too exclusively esteemed that love, 
 And sought that beauty, which, as Milton sings, 
 Hath terror in it. Thou didst soften down 246 
 This over- sternness ; but for thee, dear Friend ! 
 My soul, too reckless of mild grace, had stood 
 In her original self too confident, 
 Retained too long a countenance severe ; 250 
 A rock with torrents roaring, with the clouds 
 Familiar, and a favourite of the stars : 
 But thou didst plant its crevices with flowers, 
 Hang it with shrubs that twinkle in the breeze, 
 And teach the little birds to build their nests 255 
 And warble in its chambers. At a time 
 When Nature, destined to remain so long 
 Foremost in my affections, had fallen back 
 Into a second place, pleased to become 
 A handmaid to a nobler than herself, 260 
 
 When every day brought with it some new sense 
 Of exquisite regard for common things, 
 And all the earth was budding with these gifts 
 
252 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Of more refined humanity, thy breath, 
 Dear Sister ! was a kind of gentler spring 265 
 That went before my steps. Thereafter came 
 One whom with thee friendship had early paired ; 
 She came, no more a phantom to adorn 
 A moment, but an inmate of the heart, 
 And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined 270 
 To penetrate the lofty and the low ; 
 Even as one essence of pervading light 
 Shines, in the brightest of ten thousand stars, 
 And, the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp 
 Couched in the dewy grass. 
 
 With such a theme, 275 
 Coleridge ! with this my argument, of thee 
 Shall I be silent ? O capacious Soul ! 
 Placed on this earth to love and understand, 
 And from thy presence shed the light of love, 
 Shall I be mute, ere thou be spoken of ? 280 
 Thy kindred influence to my heart of hearts 
 Did also find its way. Thus fear relaxed 
 Her overweening grasp; thus thoughts and 
 
 things 
 In the self -haunting spirit learned to take 
 More rational proportions ; mystery, 285 
 
 The incumbent mystery of sense and soul, 
 Of life and death, time and eternity, 
 Admitted more habitually a mild 
 Interposition — a serene delight 
 In closelier gathering cares, such as become 290 
 A human creature, howsoe'er endowed, 
 Poet, or destined for a humbler name ; 
 And so the deep enthusiastic joy, 
 The rapture of the hallelujah sent 
 From all that breathes and is, was chastened, 
 
 stemmed 295 
 
 And balanced by pathetic truth, by trust 
 In hopeful reason, leaning on the stay 
 
CONCLUSION. 253 
 
 Of Providence ; and in reverence for dirty, 
 Here, if need be, struggling with storms, and 
 
 there 
 Strewing in peace life's humblest ground with 
 
 herbs, 300 
 
 At every season green, sweet at all hours. 
 
 And now, O Friend ! this history is brought 
 To its appointed close : the discipline 
 And consummation of a Poet's mind, 
 In everything that stood most prominent, 305 
 Have faithfully been pictured ; we have reached 
 The time (our guiding object from the first) 
 When we may, not presumptuously, I hope, 
 Suppose my powers so far confirmed, and such 
 My knowledge, as to make me capable 310 
 
 Of building up a Work that shall endure. 
 Yet much hath been omitted, as need was ; 
 Of books how much ! and even of the other 
 
 wealth 
 That is collected among woods and fields, 
 Far more : for Nature's secondary grace 315 
 Hath hitherto been barely touched upon, 
 The charm more superficial that attends 
 Her works, as they present to Fancy's choice 
 Apt illustrations of the moral world, 
 Caught at a glance, or traced with curious 
 
 pains. 320 
 
 Finally, and above all, O Friend ! (I speak 
 With due regret) how much is overlooked 
 In human nature and her subtle ways, 
 As studied first in our own hearts, and then 
 In life among the passions of mankind, 325 
 Varying their composition and their hue, 
 Where'er we move, under the diverse shapes 
 That individual character presents 
 
254 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 To an attentive eye. For progress meet, 
 Along this intricate and difficult path, 330 
 
 Whate'er was wanting, something had I gained, 
 As one of many schoolfellows compelled, 
 In hardy independence, to stand up 
 Amid conflicting interests, and the shock 
 Of various tempers ; to endure and note 335 
 What was not understood, though known to be ; 
 Among the mysteries of love and hate, 
 Honour and shame, looking to right and left, 
 Unchecked by innocence too delicate, 
 And moral notions too intolerant, 340 
 
 Sympathies too contracted. Hence, when called 
 To take a station among men, the step 
 Was easier, the transition more secure, 
 More profitable also ; for the mind 
 Learns from such timely exercise to keep 345 
 In wholesome separation the two natures, 
 The one that feels, the other that observes. 
 
 Yet one word more of personal concern ; — 
 Since I withdrew unwillingly from France, 
 I led an undomestic wanderer's life, 350 
 
 In London chiefly harboured, whence I roamed, 
 Tarrying at will in many a pleasant spot 
 Of rural England's cultivated vales 
 Or Cambrian solitudes. A youth — (he bore 
 The name of Calvert — it shall live, if words 355 
 Of mine can give it life,) in firm belief 
 That by endowments not from me withheld 
 Grood might be furthered — in his last decay 
 By a bequest sufficient for my needs 
 Enabled me to pause for choice, and walk 360 
 At large and unrestrained, nor damped too soon 
 By mortal cares. Himself no Poet, yet 
 Far less a common follower of the world, 
 He deemed that my pursuits and labours lay 
 
CONCLUSION. 255 
 
 Apart from all that leads to wealth, or even 365 
 A necessary maintenance insures, 
 Without some hazard to the finer sense ; 
 He cleared a passage for me, and the stream 
 Flowed in the bent of Nature. 
 
 Having now 
 Told what best merits mention, further pains 
 Our present purpose seems not to require, 371 
 And I have other tasks. Eecall to mind 
 The mood in which this labour was begun, 
 
 Friend ! The termination of my course 
 
 Is nearer now, much nearer ; yet even then, 375 
 In that distraction and intense desire, 
 
 1 said unto the life which I had lived, 
 Where art thou ? Hear I not a voice from thee 
 Which 'tis reproach to hear ? Anon I rose 
 
 As if on wings, and saw beneath me stretched 
 Vast prospect of the world which I had been 381 
 And was ; and hence this Song, which like a 
 
 lark 
 I have protracted, in the unwearied heavens 
 Singing, and often with more plaintive voice 
 To earth attempered and her deep-drawn sighs, 
 Yet centring all in love, and in the end 386 
 All gratulant, if rightly understood. 
 
 Whether to me shall be allotted life, 
 And, with life, power to accomplish aught of 
 
 worth, 
 That will be deemed no insufficient plea 390 
 For having given the story of myself, 
 Is all uncertain : but, beloved Friend ! 
 When, looking back, thou seest, in clearer view 
 Than any liveliest sight of yesterday, 
 That summer, under whose indulgent skies, 395 
 Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved 
 Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs, 
 
256 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Thou in bewitching words, with happy heart, 
 Didst chaunt the vision of that Ancient Man, 
 The bright-eyed Mariner, and rueful woes .4°° 
 Didst utter of the Lady Christabel ; 
 And I, associate with such labour, steeped 
 In soft forgetfulness the livelong hours, 
 Murmuring of him who, joyous hap, was found, 
 After the perils of his moonlight ride, 405 
 
 Near the loud waterfall ; or her who sate 
 In misery near the miserable Thorn ; 
 When thou dost to that summer turn thy 
 
 thoughts, 
 And hast before thee all which then we were, 
 To thee, in memory of that happiness, 410 
 
 It will be known, by thee at least, my Friend ! 
 Felt, that the history of a Poet's mind 
 Is labour not unworthy of regard : 
 To thee the work shall justify itself. 
 
 The last and later portions of this gift 455 
 Have been prepared, not with the buoyant 
 
 spirits 
 That were our daily portion when we first 
 Together wantoned in wild Poesy, 
 But, under pressure of a private grief, 
 Keen and enduring, which the mind and heart, 
 That in this meditative history 421 
 
 Have been laid open, needs must make me feel 
 More deeply, yet enable me to bear 
 More firmly ; and a comfort now hath risen 
 From hope that thou art near, and wilt be soon 
 Restored to us in renovated health ; 426 
 
 When, after the first mingling of our tears, 
 'Mong other consolations, we may draw 
 Some pleasure from this offering of my love. 
 
 Oh ! yet a few short years of useful life, 
 
CONCLUSION. 257 
 
 And all will be complete, thy race be run, 
 
 Thy monument of glory will be raised ; 
 
 Then, though (too weak to tread the ways of 
 
 truth) 
 This age fall back to old idolatry, 
 Though men return to servitude as fast 435 
 As the tide ebbs, to ignominy and shame 
 By nations sink together, we shall still 
 Find solace — knowing what we have learnt to 
 
 know, 
 Rich in true happiness if allowed to be 
 Faithful alike in forwarding a day 440 
 
 Of firmer trust, joint labourers in the work 
 (Should Providence such grace to us vouchsafe) 
 Of their deliverance, surely yet to come. 
 Prophets of Nature, we to them will speak 
 A lasting inspiration, sanctified 445 
 
 By reason, blest by faith : what we have loved, 
 Others will love, and we will teach them how ; 
 Instruct them how the mind of man becomes 
 A thousand times more beautiful than the earth 
 X)n_JzeJiJch he dwells, above this frame of 
 
 things 450 
 
 (Which, 'mid all revolution in the hopes 
 And fears of men, doth still remain unchanged) 
 In beauty exalted, as it is itself 
 Of quality and fabric more divine. 
 
 VII. 
 
EDITOR'S NOTES. 
 
 "The Prelude" was first published in 1850, after 
 Wordsworth's death, under the editorship of Mr. Carter, 
 the poet's secretary. The MS. bore no title ; that chosen 
 was suggested by Mrs. Wordsworth. 
 
 The composition of " The Prelude " lies between 
 Feb. 10, 1799, and May 20, 1805. The opening pas- 
 sage was poured forth as Wordsworth and his sister left 
 Goslar, Feb. 10, 1799 (see the lines 1-12 of Book VII.). 
 The first "transport" was "short-lived"; a "less im- 
 petuous stream " flowed for awhile ; then " stopped for 
 years." In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal for Dec. 26, 
 1801, we find the words: "William wrote part of the 
 poem to Coleridge ; " and again in the entry of Jan. 
 11, 1803, "William was working at his poem to C." 
 In a letter from Wordsworth to De Quincey, dated 
 March 8, 180-1, he says " I am now writing a poem 
 on my own earlier life. I have just finished that part 
 in which I speak of my residence at the University" 
 (Book III.); and again: "It is better than half com- 
 pleted — viz., four books, amounting to about 2,500 
 lines." In a letter to Richard Sharpe, dated April 
 29, 1804, Wordsworth says: "I have been very busy 
 these last ten weeks ; having written between two and 
 three thousand lines — accurately near three thousand — - 
 in that time; namely, four books, and a third of another, 
 of the poem, which I believe I mentioned to you, on my 
 own earlier life. I am at present in the seventh book." 
 We thus learn that Books I., II., are of a date previous 
 to this season of activity, and that Books III., IV., V., 
 VI., and a third of Book VII. (if the division into Books 
 was identical with the final division) were written be- 
 tween Feb. 19 and April 29, 1804. When starting for 
 Malta, April 2, 1804, Coleridge took with him the first 
 
260 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 five books of " The Prelude." In Book VI, 11. 48-50, we 
 read: 
 
 " Four years and thirty, told this very week, 
 Have I been now a sojourner on earth." 
 
 Wordsworth's thirty-fourth birthday was April 7, 1804. 
 Accordingly we find that Books III. and IV. were written 
 between Feb. 19 and March 8, 1804; Book V. 
 between March 8 and the close of the month ; Book VI. 
 and part of Book VII. between April 1 and April 29, 
 1804. The opening lines of Book VII., however, were 
 evidently written (see 1. 23) in the autumn of 1804. 
 
 The poem was resumed late in the same year, 1804. 
 " I have written upwards of 2,000 verses during the last 
 ten weeks," Wordsworth wrote to Sir G. Beaumont on 
 Christmas Day, 1804. That is to say, Books VII. (in 
 part), VIII., IX., X., XI. were written in October- 
 December, 1804. Book XII. was written in the last 
 week of April, 1805. " I have added 300 lines to it [the 
 poem] in the course of last week. Two more books will 
 conclude it," so wrote Wordsworth to Sir G. Beaumont on 
 May 1, 1805. Book XII. contains 335 lines. Books 
 XIII. and XIV. were written between May 1 and Mny 
 20, 1805. " I finished my poem about a fortnight ago," 
 Wordsworth wrote on June 3 ; " I had looked forward to 
 
 the day as a most happy one But it was not a 
 
 happy day for me." 
 
 The text received Wordsworth's final corrections in 
 1832. 
 
 In writing this note, which fixes the chronology for the 
 first time with accuracy, I have received valuable aid 
 from Mr. T. Hutchinson. 
 
 In connection with "The Prelude" should be read 
 Coleridge's noble and pathetic poem, " To William 
 Wordsworth, composed on the night after his recitatiou 
 of a Poem on the growth of an Individual Mind," which 
 belongs to the winter of 1806, when the Wordsworths 
 were at Coleorton. 
 
 P. 10,1. 106, " A pleasant loitering journey"; ie.,from 
 Sockburn to Grasmere, Dec. 19-21, 1799. 
 
 P. 13, 1. 206, "That one Frenchman." Dominique de 
 Gourgues, who in 1567 sailed to Florida to avenge the 
 massacre of the French by the Spaniards. 
 
 P. 15, 1. 283, " Towers" ; i.e., Cockermouth Castle. 
 
 P. 16, 1. 304, "That beloved vale"; i.e., the vale of 
 Esthwaite. 
 
NOTES. 261 
 
 P. 19, 11. 401-463. See vol. i. p. 197-199, and note, 
 vol. i. p. 376. 
 
 P. 30, 1. 103, "Abbey." Furness Abbey. 
 
 P. 31, 1. 140, " A tavern." White Lion Inn, Bowness. 
 
 P. 37, 1. 333, " A Friend." The Rev. John Fleming, of 
 Rayrigg, Windermere. 
 
 P. 62, 1. 21, " Snow-white church." Hawkshead 
 church. 
 
 P. 63, 1. 28, " My old Dame." Anne Tyson, who 
 died in 1789, aged 83. 
 
 P. 88, 11. 364-388. See vol. ii. pp. 86, 87, and nole, 
 vol. ii. pp. 284-286. 
 
 P. 89, 1. 393, " The village school." Hawkshead Free 
 Grammar School. 
 
 P. 103, 1. 205, "That monastic castle." Brougham 
 Castle. 
 
 P. 104, 1. 224, "Another maid." Mary Hutchinson. 
 
 P. 104, 1. 233, " Border Beacon." A hill north-east of 
 Penrith. 
 
 P. 107, 1. 323, " A youthful friend." Robert Jones, to 
 whom " Descriptive Sketches " is dedicated. 
 
 P. 116, 11. 621-640. See vol. ii. pp. 93, 94, and note, 
 vol. ii. pp. 289, 290. 
 
 P. 144, 11. 722-730. The original of some of these 
 lines is found in a MS. book of Dorothy Wordsworth, on 
 the cover of which is written " May to Dec, 1802," but 
 which contains writing of an earlier date : 
 
 " Shall he who gives his days to low pursuits, 
 
 Amid the undistinguishable crowd 
 
 Of cities, 'mid the same eternal flow 
 
 Of the same objects, melted and reduced 
 
 To one identity, by differences 
 
 That have no law, no meaning, and no end, 
 
 Shall he feel yearning to those lifeless forms, 
 
 And shall we think that Nature is less kind 
 
 To those, who all day long, through a long life 
 
 Have walked within her sight ? It cannot be." 
 
 This passage may have been originally intended to 
 form part of " Michael." 
 
 P. 148, 11. 48-52. Quoted from Joseph Cottle's poem, 
 " Malvern Hills." 
 
 P. 161, 1. 459, " Thurston-mere." Coniston Lake. See 
 vol. i. pp. 353, 354. 
 
 P. 167, 11. 661-664. From " Paradise Lost," Book XL, 
 11. 204-207. 
 
262 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 P. 173, 1. 139, " One." Michel Beaupuy, who at this 
 time was stationed at Blois. 
 
 P. 183, 1. 484, "A Lady." Claude, daughter of 
 Louis XII. 
 
 P. 185, 1. 547, "A tale." Vaudracour and Julia; see 
 vol. i. p. 279. 
 
 P. 197, 1. 315, " The proud fleet." Seen in 1793 from 
 the Isle of Wight. See the advertisement to " Guilt and 
 Sorrow," vol. i. p. 48. 
 
 P. 203, 1. 533. The Rev. William Taylor, Words- 
 worth's schoolmaster at Hawkshead, is buried at Cartmell. 
 
 P. 209, 11. 105-144. See vol. ii. pp. 151, 152, and note, 
 vol. ii. pp. 316, 317. 
 
 P. 219, 1. 437. Theocrit., Idyll, vii., 78. 
 
 P. 225, 1. 151, " A maid." Mary Hutchinson. 
 
 P. 230, 1. 287, " One Christmas-time." The Christmas 
 of 1783. 
 
 P. 237, 1. 186. This passage, with some various read- 
 ings, is found in a MS. book of Dorothy Wordsworth, 
 having on the cover " May to Dec, 1802." See note on 
 p. 144, 11. 722-730. 
 
 P. 243, 1. 353, "Unpremeditated strains"; i.e , "De- 
 scriptive Sketches." 
 
 P. 244, 1. 3, " A youthful friend." Robert Jones. 
 
 P. 252, 1. 267, "One whom with thee friendship had 
 early paired." Mary Hutchinson. Compare " She was 
 a Phantom of Delight," vol. ii. p. 94. 
 
 P. 256, 1. 419, " A private grief." Wordsworth's grief 
 for the loss of his brother John, in Feb., 1805. 
 
APPENDICES. 
 
AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 {Reprinted from the quarto of 1793; the errata of 
 that edition are here corrected in the text.) 
 
 An evening Walk. An epistle; in verse. Ad- 
 dressed to a Young Lady, from the Lakes of 
 the North of England. By W. Wordsworth, 
 B.A. of St. John's, Cambridge. London : 
 Printed for J. Johnson, St. Paul's Church- 
 yard. 1793. 
 
 argument. 
 
 General Sketch of the Lakes— Author's Regret of his Youth passed 
 amongst them— Short description of Noon — Cascade Scene — Noon- 
 tide Retreat — Precipice and Sloping Lights — Face of Nature as the 
 Sun declines — Mountain Farm, arid the Cock. — Slate Quarry — 
 Sunset — Superstition of the Country, connected with that Moment 
 — Swans — Female Beggar— Twilight Objects — Twilight Sounds — 
 Western Lights — Spirits — Night — Moonlight — Hope — Night 
 Sounds — Conclusion — 
 
 Far from my dearest friend, 'tis mine to rove 
 Thro' bare grey dell, high wood, and pastoral cove ; 
 His wizard course where hoary Derwent takes 
 Thro' craggs, and forest glooms, and opening lakes, 
 Staying his silent waves, to hear the roar 5 
 
 That stuns the tremulous cliffs of high Lodore : 
 Where silver rocks the savage prospect chear 
 Of giant yews that frown on Eydale's mere ; 
 Where peace to Grasmere's lonely island leads, 
 To willowy hedgerows, and to emerald meads ; 10 
 Leads to her bridge, rude church, and cottag'd 
 
 grounds, 
 Her rocky sheepwalks, and her woodland bounds ; 
 Where, bosom'd deep, the shy Winander 1 peeps 
 
 1 These lines are only applicable to the middle part of that lake. 
 
266 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 'Mid clust'ring isles, and holly-sprinkl'd steeps ; 
 Where twilight glens endear my Esthwaite's shore, 
 And memory of departed pleasures, more. 16 
 
 Fair scenes ! with other eyes, than once, I gaze, 
 The ever-varying charm your round displays, 
 Than when, erewhile, I taught, " a happy child," 
 The echoes of your rocks my carols wild : 20 
 
 Then did no ebb of chearfulness demand 
 Sad tides of joy from Melancholy's hand ; 
 In youth's wild eye the livelong day was bright, 
 The sun at morning, and the stars of night, 
 Alike, when first the vales the bittern fills, 25 
 
 Or the first woodcocks l roam'd the moonlight hills. 
 
 Return Delights ! with whom my road begun, 
 When Life rear'd laughing up her morning sun ; 
 When Transport kiss'd away my april tear, 
 " Rocking as in a dream the tedious year ; " 30 
 When link'd with thoughtless Mirth I cours'd the 
 
 plain, 
 And hope itself was all I knew of pain. 
 For then, ev'n then, the little heart would beat 
 At times, while young Content forsook her seat, 
 And wild Impatience, panting upward, show'd 35 
 Where tipp'd with gold the mountain-summits 
 
 glow'd. 
 Alas ! the idle tale of man is found 
 Depicted in the dial's moral round ; 
 With Hope Reflexion blends her social rays 
 To gild the total tablet of his days ; 40 
 
 Yet still, the sport of some malignant Pow'r, 
 He knows but from its shade the present hour. 
 
 While, Memory at my side, I wander here, 
 
 Starts at the simplest sight th' unbidden tear, 
 
 A form discover'd at the well-known seat, 45 
 
 A spot, that angles at the riv'let's feet, 
 
 The ray the cot of morning trav'ling nigh, 
 
 And sail that glides the well-known alders by. 
 
 l In the beginning of winter, these mountains, in the moonlight 
 nights, are covered with immense quantities of woodcocks; which, 
 in the dark nights, retire into the woods. 
 
APPENDICES. 267^ 
 
 But why, ungrateful, dwell on idle pain ? 
 To shew her yet some joys to me remain, 50 
 
 Say, will my friend, with soft affection's ear, 
 The history of a poet's ev'ning hear? 
 
 When, in the south, the wan noon brooding still, 
 Breath'd a pale steam around the glaring hill, 
 And shades of deep embattl'd clouds were seen 55 
 Spotting the northern cliffs with lights between ; 
 Gazing the tempting shades to them deny'd, 
 When stood the shorten'd herds amid the tide, 
 Where, from the barren wall's unshelter'd end, 
 Long rails into the shallow lake extend ; 60 
 
 When school-boys stretch'd their length upon the 
 
 green 
 And round the humming elm, a glimmering scene ! 
 In the brown park, in flocks, the troubl'd deer 
 Shook the still twinkling tail and glancing ear ; 
 When horses in the wall-girt intake l stood, 65 
 Unshaded, eying far below, the flood, 
 Crouded behind the swain, in mute distress, 
 With forward neck the closing gate to press ; 
 And long, with wistful gaze, his walk survey'd 
 Till dipp'd his pathway in the river shade ; 70 
 
 — Then Quiet led me up the huddling rill, 
 Bright'ning with water-breaks the sombrous gill ; 2 
 To where, while thick above the branches close, 
 In dark-brown bason its wild waves repose, 
 Inverted shrubs, and moss of darkest green, 75 
 Cling from the rocks, with pale wood-weeds 
 
 between ; 
 Save that, atop, the subtle sunbeams shine, 
 On wither'd briars that o'er the craggs recline ; 
 Sole light admitted here, a small cascade, 
 Illumes with sparkling foam the twilight shade. 80 
 Beyond, along the visto of the brook, 
 Where antique roots its bustling path o'erlook, 
 
 1 The word intake is local, and signifies a mountain-inclosure. 
 
 2 Grill is also, I believe, a term confined to this country. Glen, 
 gill, and dingle, have the same meaning. 
 
268 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 The eye reposes on a secret bridge l 
 
 Half grey, half shagg'd with ivy to its ridge. 84 
 
 — Sweet rill, farewel ! To-morrow's noon again, 
 Shall hide me wooing long thy wildwood strain ; 
 But now the sun has gain'd his western road, 
 And eve's mild hour invites my steps abroad. 
 
 While, near the midway cliff, the silver' d kite 
 In many a whistling circle wheels her flight ; 90 
 Slant wat'ry lights, from parting clouds a-pace, 
 Travel along the precipice's base ; 
 Chearing its naked waste of scatter'd stone 
 By lychens grey, and scanty moss o'ergrown, 
 "Where scarce the foxglove peeps, and thistle's 
 beard, 95 
 
 And desert stone- chat, all day long, is heard. 
 
 How pleasant, as the yellowing sun declines, 
 And with long rays and shades the landscape 
 
 shines ; 
 To mark the birches' sterns all golden light, 99 
 That lit the dark slant woods with silvery white ! 
 The willows weeping trees, that twinkling hoar, 
 Grlanc'd oft upturn'd along the breezy shore, 
 Low bending o'er the colour'd water, fold 
 Their moveless boughs and leaves like threads of 
 
 gold; 
 The skiffs with naked masts at anchor laid, 105 
 Before the boat-house peeping thro' the shade ; 
 Th' unwearied glance of woodman's echo'd stroke ; 
 And curling from the trees the cottage smoke. 
 
 Their pannier'd train a groupe of potters goad, 
 Winding from side to side up the steep road ; 110 
 The peasant from yon cliff of fearful edge 
 Shot, down the headiong pathway darts his sledge ; 
 Bright beams the lonely mountain horse illume, 
 Feeding 'mid purple heath, "green rings," 2 and 
 broom ; 
 
 i The reader, who has made the tour of this country, will recog- 
 nize in this description the features which characterize the lower 
 waterfall in the gardens of Eydale. 
 
 2 " Vivid rings of green." — Greenwood's Poem on Shooting. 
 
APPENDICES. 269 
 
 While the sharp slope the slacken'd team con- 
 founds, 115 
 Downward l the pond'rous timber-wain resounds ; 
 Beside their sheltering cross 2 of wall, the flock 
 Feeds on in light, nor thinks of winter's shock ; 
 In foamy breaks the rill, with merry song, 
 Dash'd down the rough rock, lightly leaps along; 
 From lonesome chapel at the mountain's feet, 121 
 Three humble bells their rustic chime repeat ; 
 Sounds from the water-side the hammer'd boat ; 
 And blasted quarry thunders heard remote. 
 
 Ev'n here, amid the sweep of endless woods, 125 
 Blue pomp of lakes, high cliffs, and falling floods, 
 Not undelightful are the simplest charms 
 Found by the verdant door of mountain farms. 
 
 Sweetly 3 ferocious round his native walks, 
 
 Gaz'd by his sister-wives, the monarch stalks ; 130 
 
 Spur clad his nervous feet, and firm his tread, 
 
 A crest of purple tops bis warrior head. 
 
 Bright sparks his black and haggard eye-ball 
 
 hurls 
 Afar, his tail he closes and unfurls ; 
 Whose state, like pine-trees, waving to and fro, 135 
 Droops, and o'er canopies his regal brow, 
 On tiptoe rear'd he blows his clarion throat, 
 Threaten'd by faintly answering farms remote. 
 
 Bright'ning the cliffs between where sombrous 
 
 pine, 
 And yew-trees o'er the silver rocks recline, 
 I love to mark the quarry's moving trains, 
 
 140 
 
 i " Down the rough slope the pondrous waggon rings." 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 2 These rude structures, to protect the flocks, are frequent in this 
 country: the traveller may recollect one in Withburne, another 
 upon Whinlatter. 
 
 3 "Dolcemente feroce."— Tasso. 
 
 In this description of the cock, I remembered a spirited one of the 
 same animal in the l'Agriculture, ou Les Georgiques Francoises of 
 M, Rossuet. 
 
270 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Dwarf paunier'd steeds, and men, and numerous 
 
 wains : 
 How busy the enormous hive within, 
 While Echo dallies with the various din ! 
 Some, hardly heard their chissel's clinking sound, 
 Toil, small as pigmies, in the gulph profound ; 146 
 Some, dim between th' aereal cliffs descry'd, 
 O'erwalk the viewless plank from side to side ; 
 These by the pale- blue rocks that ceaseless ring 
 Glad from their airy baskets hang and sing. 150 
 
 Hung o'er a cloud, above the steep that rears 
 It's edge all flame, the broadening sun appears ; 
 A long blue bar it's aegis orb divides, 
 And breaks the spreading of it's golden tides ; 
 And now it touches on the purple steep 155 
 
 That flings his shadow on the pictur'd deep. 
 Cross the calm lakes blue shades the cliffs aspire, 
 With tow'rs and woods a " prospect all on fire ; " 
 The coves and secret hollows thro' a ray 
 Of fainter gold a purple gleam betray ; 160 
 
 The gilded turf arrays in richer green 
 Each speck of lawn the broken rocks between ; 
 Deep yellow beams the scatter'd boles illume, 
 Far in the level forest's central gloom ; 
 Waving his hat, the shepherd in the vale 165 
 
 Directs his windiDg dog the cliffs to scale, 
 That, barking busy 'mid the glittering rocks, 
 Hunts, where he points, the intercepted flocks ; 
 Where oaks o'erhang the road the radiance shoots 
 On tawny earth, wild weeds, and twisted roots ; 
 The Druid 2 stones their lighted fane unfold, 171 
 And all the babbling brooks are liquid gold ; 
 Sunk 2 to a curve the day-star lessens still, 
 Gives one bright glance, and sinks behind the hill. 
 
 In these lone vales, if aught of faith may claim, 175 
 
 1 Not far from Broughton is a Druid monument, of which I do not 
 recollect that any tour descriptive of this country makes mention. 
 Perhaps this poem may fall into the hands of some curious traveller, 
 who may thank me for informing him, that up the Duddon, the river 
 which forms the aestuary at Broughton, may be found some of the 
 most romantic scenery of these mountains. 
 
 2 From Thomson : see Scott's Critical Essays. 
 
APPENDICES. 271 
 
 Thin silver hairs, and ancient hamlet fame ; 
 When up the hills, as now, retreats the light, 
 Strange apparitions mock the village sight. 
 
 A desperate form appears, that spurs his steed, 
 Along the midway cliffs with violent speed ; 180 
 Unhurt pursues his lengthen'd flight, while all 
 Attend, at every stretch, his headlong fall. 
 Anon, in order mounts a gorgeous show 
 Of horsemen shadows winding to and fro ; 
 And now the van is gilt with evening's beam, 185 
 The rear thro' iron brown betrays a sullen gleam, 
 Lost l gradual o'er the heights in pomp they go, 
 While silent stands th' admiring vale below ; 
 Till, but the lonely beacon all is fled, 
 That tips with eve's last gleam his spiry head. 190 
 Now while the solemn evening Shadows sail, 
 On red slow-waving pinions down the vale, 
 And, fronting the bright west in stronger lines, 
 The oak its dark'ning boughs and foliage twines, 
 I love beside the flowing lake to stray, 195 
 
 Where winds the road along the secret bay ; 
 By rills that tumble down the woody steeps, 
 And run in transport to the dimpling deeps ; 
 Along the " wild meand'ring shore " to view, 
 Obsequious Grace the winding swan pursue. 200 
 He swells his lifted chest, and backward flings 
 His bridling neck between his tow'ring wings ; 
 Stately, and burning in his pride, divides 
 And glorying looks around, the silent tides : 
 On as he floats, the silver'd waters glow, 205 
 
 Proud of the varying arch and moveless form of 
 
 snow. 
 While tender Cares and mild domestic Loves, 
 With furtive watch pursue her as she moves ; 
 The female with a meeker charm succeeds, 
 And her brown little ones around her leads, 210 
 Nibbling the water lilies as they pass, 
 Or playing wanton with the floating grass : 
 
 i See a description of an appearance of this kind in Clark's 
 " Survey of the Lakes," accompanied with vouchers of its veracity 
 that may amuse the reader. 
 
272 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 She in a mother's care, her beauty's pride 
 Forgets, unweary'd watching every side, 
 She calls them near, and with affection sweet 215 
 Alternately relieves their weary feet ; 
 Alternately l they mount her back, and rest 
 Close by her mantling wings' embraces prest. 
 
 Long may ye roam these hermit waves that sleep, 
 In birch besprinkl'd cliffs embosom'd deep ; 220 
 These fairy holms untrodden, still, and green, 
 "Whose shades protect the hidden wave serene ; 
 Whence fragrance scents the water's desart gale, 
 The violet, and the lily 2 of the vale ; 
 Where, tho' her far-off twilight ditty steal, 225 
 They not the trip of harmless milkmaid feel. 
 
 Yon tuft conceals your home, your cottage bow'r, 
 Fresh water rushes strew the verdant floor ; 
 Long grass and willows form the woven wall, 
 And swings above the roof the poplar tall. 230 
 
 Thence issuing oft, unwieldly as ye stalk, 
 Ye crush with broad black feet your flow'ry walk ; 
 Safe from your door ye hear at breezy morn, 
 The hound, the horse's tread, and mellow horn ;- 
 At peace inverted your lithe necks ye lave, 235 
 With the green bottom strewing o'er the wave ; 
 No ruder sound your desart haunts invades, 
 Than waters dashing wild, or rocking shades. 
 Ye ne'er, like hapless human wanderers, throw 
 Your young on winter's winding sheet of snow. 240 
 
 Fair swan ! by all a mother's joys caress'd, 
 Haply some wretch has ey'd, and call'd thee bless'd ; 
 Who faint, and beat by summer's breathless ray, 
 Hath dragg'd her babes along this weary way ; 
 "While arrowy fire extorting feverish groans, 245 
 Shot stinging through her stark o'erlabour'd bones. 
 — With backward gaze, lock'd joints, and step of 
 pain, 
 
 i This is a fact of which I have been an eye-M'itness. 
 2 The lily of the valley is found in great abundance in the smaller 
 islands of Winandermere. 
 
APPENDICES. 273 
 
 Her seat scarce left, she strives, alas ! in vain, 
 To teach their limbs along the burning road 
 A few short steps to totter with their load, 250 
 
 Shakes her numb arm that slumbers with its 
 
 weight, 
 And eyes through tears the mountain's shadeless 
 
 height ; 
 And bids her soldier come her woes to share, 
 Asleep on Bunker's charnel hill ' afar ; 
 For hope's deserted well why wistful look ? 255 
 Chok'd is the pathway, and the pitcher broke. 
 
 I see her now, deny'd to lay her head, 
 
 On cold blue nights, in hut or straw-built shed ; 
 
 Turn to a silent smile their sleepy cry, 
 
 By pointing to a shooting star on high : 260 
 
 I hear, while in the forest depth he sees, 
 
 The Moon's fix'd gaze between the opening trees, 
 
 In broken sounds her elder grief demand, 
 
 And skyward lift, like one that prays, his hand, 
 
 If, in that country, where he dwells afar, 265 
 
 His father views that good, that kindly star ; 
 
 — Ah me ! all light is mute amid the gloom, 
 
 The interlunar cavern of the tomb. 
 
 — When low-hung clouds each star of summer hide, 
 
 And fireless are the valleys far and wide, 270 
 
 Where the brook brawls along the painful road, 
 
 Dark with bat haunted ashes stretching broad, 
 
 The distant clock forgot, and chilling dew, 
 
 Pleas'd thro' the dusk their breaking smiles to view, 
 
 Oft has she taught them on her lap to play 275 
 
 Delighted, with the glow-worm's harmless ray 
 
 Toss'd light from hand to hand ; while on the 
 
 ground 
 Small circles of green radiance gleam around. 
 
 Oh ! when the bitter showers her path assail, 
 And roars between the hills the torrent gale, 280 
 —No more her breath can thaw their fingers cold, 
 Their frozen arms her neck no more can fold ; 
 
 1 So in Errata, replacing " Minden's charnel plain " of the text. 
 —Ed. 
 
 VII. T 
 
274 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Scarce heard, their chattering lips her shoulder 
 
 chill, 
 And her cold back their colder bosoms thrill ; 
 All blind she wilders o'er the lightless heath, 285 
 Led by Fear's cold wet hand, and dogg'd by Death ; 
 Death, as she turns her neck the kiss to seek, 
 Breaks off the dreadful kiss with angry shriek. 
 Snatch'd from her shoulder with despairing moan, 
 She clasps them at that dim-seen roofless stone. — 
 " Now ruthless Tempest launch thy deadliest dart I 
 Fall fires — but let us perish heart to heart." 292 
 Weak roof a cow'ring form two babes to shield, 
 And faint the fire a dying heart can yield ; 
 Press the sad kiss, fond mother ! vainly fears 295 
 Thy flooded cheek to wet them with its tears ; 
 Soon shall the Lightning hold before thy head 
 His torch, and shew them slumbering in their bed, 
 No tears can chill them, and no bosom warms, 
 Thy breast their death- bed, cofim'd in thine arms. 
 Sweet are the sounds that mingle from afar, 301 
 Heard by calm lakes, as peeps the folding star, 
 Where the duck dabbles mid the rustling sedge, 
 And feeding pike starts from the water's edge, 
 Or the swan stirs the reeds, his neck and bill 305 
 Wetting, that drip upon the water still ; 
 And heron, as resounds the trodden shore, 
 Shoots upward, darting his long neck before. 
 While, by the scene compos'd, the breast subsides, 
 ■/ Nought wakens or disturbs it's tranquil tides ; 310 
 Nought but the char that for the may-fly leaps, 
 And breaks the mirror of the circling deeps ; 
 Or clock, that blind against the wanderer born, 
 Drops at his feet, and stills his droning horn. 
 — The whistling swain that plods his ringing way 
 Where the slow waggon winds along the bay ; 316 
 The sugh 1 of swallow flocks that twittering sweep, 
 The solemn curfew swinging long and deep ; 
 The talking boat that moves with pensive sound, 
 Or drops his anchor down with plunge profound ; 
 
 1 " Sugh," a Scotch word, expressive, as Mr. Gilpin explains it, 
 of the sound of the motion of a stick through the air, or of the wind 
 passing through the trees. See Burn's Cotter's {sic) Saturday Night. 
 
APPENDICES. 275 
 
 Of boys that bathe remote the faint uproar, 321 
 And restless piper wearying out the shore ; 
 These all to swell the village murmurs blend, 
 That soften' d from the water-head descend. 
 While in sweet cadence rising small and still 325 
 The far-off minstrels of the haunted hill, 
 As the last bleating of the fold expires, 
 Tune in the mountain dells their water lyres. 
 
 Now with religious awe the farewell light 
 Blends with the solemn colouring of the night ; 
 Mid groves of clouds that crest the mountain's 
 
 brow, 331 
 
 And round the West's proud lodge their shadows 
 
 throw, 
 Like Una x shining on her gloomy way, 
 The half seen form of Twilight roams astray ; 
 Thence, from three paly loopholes mild and small, 
 Slow lights upon the lake's still bosom fall, 336 
 Beyond the mountain's giant reach that hides 
 In deep determin'd gloom his subject tides. 
 — Mid the dark steeps repose the shadowy streams, 
 As touch'd with dawning moonlight's hoary gleams, 
 Long streaks of fairy light the wave illume 341 
 With bordering lines of intervening gloom, 
 Soft o'er the surface creep the lustres pale 
 Tracking with silvering path the changeful gale. 
 — 'Tis restless magic all ; at once the bright 345 
 Breaks on the shade, the shade upon the light, 
 Fair Spirits are abroad ; in sportive chase 
 Brushing wiith lucid wands the water's face, 
 While music stealing round the glimmering deeps 
 Charms the tall circle of th ; enchanted steeps. 350 
 — As thro' th' astonish'd woods the notes ascend, 
 The mountain streams their rising song suspend ; 
 Below Eve's listening Star the sheep walk stills 
 It's drowsy tinklings on th' attentive hills ; 
 The milkmaid stops her ballad, and her pail 355 
 
 1 Alluding to this passage of Spenser — 
 
 " Her angel face 
 As the great eye of Heaven shined bright, 
 And made a sunshine in that shady place." 
 
276 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Stays it's low murmur in th' unbreathing vale ; 
 No night-duck clamours for his wilder'd mate, 
 Aw'd, while below the Genii hold their state. 
 — The pomp is fled, and mute the wondrous strains, 
 No wrack of all the pageant scene remains, 360 
 So 1 vanish those fair Shadows, human joys, 
 But Death alone their vain regret destroys. 
 Unheeded Night has overcome the vales, 
 On the dark earth the baffl'd vision fails, 
 If peep between the clouds a star on high, 365 
 
 There turns for glad repose the weary eye ; 
 The latest lingerer of the forest train, 
 The lone black fir, forsakes the faded plain ; 
 Last evening sight, the cottage smoke no more, 
 Lost in the deepen'd darkness, glimmers hoar; 370 
 High towering from the sullen dark-brown mere, 
 Like a black wall, the mountain steeps appear, 
 Thence red from different heights with restless 
 
 gleam 
 Small cottage lights across the water stream, 
 Nought else of man or life remains behind 375 
 To call from other worlds the wilder'd mind, 
 Till pours the wakeful bird her solemn strains 
 Heard 2 by the night-calm of the wat'ry plains. 
 — No purple prospects now the mind employ 
 Glowing in golden sunset tints of joy, 380 
 
 But o'er the sooth'd accordant heart we feel 
 A sympathetic twilight slowly steal, 
 And ever, as we fondly muse, we find 
 The soft gloom deep'ning on the tranquil mind. 
 Stay ! pensive, sadly-pleasing visions, stay ! 385 
 Ah no ! as fades the vale, they fade away. 
 Yet still the tender, vacant gloom remains, 
 Still the cold cheek its shuddering tear retains. 
 
 The bird, with fading light who ceas'd to thread 
 Silent the hedge or steaming rivulet's bed, 390 
 
 From his grey re-appearing tower shall soon 
 Salute with boding note the rising moon, 
 
 1 " So break those glittering shadows, human joys." — Young. 
 
 2 " Charming the night-calm with her powerful song." A line 
 of one of our older poets. 
 
APPENDICES. 277 
 
 Frosting with hoary light the pearly ground, 
 And pouring deeper blue to iEther's bound ; 
 Kejoic'd her solemn pomp of clouds to fold 395 
 In robes of azure, fleecy white, and gold, 
 While rose and poppy, as the glow-worm fades, 
 Checquer with paler red the thicket shades. 
 
 Now o'er the eastern hill, where Darkness 
 broods 399 
 
 O'er all its vanish'd dells, and lawns, and woods 
 Where but a mass of shade the sight can trace, 
 She lifts in silence up her lovely face ; 
 Above the gloomy valley flings her light, 
 Far to the western slopes with hamlets white ; 
 And gives, where woods the checquer'd upland 
 strew, 405 
 
 To the green corn of summer autumn's hue. 
 
 Thus Hope, first pouring from her blessed horn 
 Her dawn, far lovelier than the Moon's own morn ; 
 'Till higher mounted, strives in vain to chear 
 The weary hills, impervious, black'ning near ; 410 
 — Yet does she still, undaunted, throw the while 
 On darling spots remote her tempting smile. 
 — Ev'n now she decks for me a distant scene, 
 (For dark and broad the gulph of time between) 
 Gilding that cottage with her fondest ray, 415 
 
 (Sole bourn, sole wish, sole object of my way ; 
 How fair it's lawn and silvery woods appear ! 
 How sweet it's streamlet murmurs in mine ear !) 
 Where we, my friend, to golden days shall rise, 
 'Till our small share of hardly-paining sighs 420 
 (For sighs will ever trouble human breath) 
 Creep hush'd into the tranquil breast of Death. 
 
 But now the clear-bright Moon her zenith gains, 
 And rimy without speck extend the plains ; 424 
 The deepest dell the mountain's breast displays, 
 Scarce hides a shadow from her searching rays ; 
 From the dark-blue " faint silvery threads " divide 
 The hills, while gleams below the azure tide ; 
 The scene is waken'd, yet its peace unbroke, 
 By silver'd wreaths of quiet charcoal smoke, 430 
 That, o'er the ruins of the fallen wood, 
 Steal down the hills, and spread aloug the flood. 
 
278 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 The song of mountain streams unheard by day, 
 
 Now hardly heard, beguiles my homeward way. 
 
 All air is, as the sleeping water, still, 435 
 
 List'ning th' aereal music of the hill, 
 
 Broke only by the slow clock tolling deep, 
 
 Or shout that wakes the ferry-man from sleep, 
 
 Soon follow'd by his hollow-parting oar, 
 
 And echo'd hoof approaching the far shore ; 440 
 
 Sound of clos'd gate, across the water born, 
 
 Hurrying the feeding hare thro' rustling corn ; 
 
 The tremulous sob of the complaining owl ; 
 
 And at long intervals the mill-dog's howl ; 
 
 The distant forge's swinging thump profound ; 445 
 
 Or yell in the deep woods of lonely hound. 
 
 THE END. 
 
DESCRIPTIVE SKETCHES. 
 
 (Reprinted from the quarto of 1798; the errata of 
 that edition are here corrected in the text.) 
 
 Descriptive Sketches. In Verse. Taken during 
 a Pedestrian Tour in the Italian, Grison, 
 Swiss, and Savoyard Alps. By W. Wordsworth, 
 B.A., of St. John's, Cambridge. " Loca pas- 
 
 TORUM DESERTA ATQUE OTIA DIA." — Lucret. " CAS- 
 
 tella in tumulis — Et longe saltus LATEQUE 
 vacantes," — Virgil. London: Printed for J. 
 Johnson, St. Paul's Church-yard. 1793. 
 
 to the rev. robert jones, fellow of st john's 
 college, cambridge. 
 
 Dear Sir, — However desirous I might have been 
 of giving you proofs of the high place you hold in 
 my esteem, I should have been cautious of wound- 
 ing your delicacy by thus publicly addressing you, 
 had not the circumstance of my having accom- 
 panied you amongst the Alps, seemed to give this 
 dedication a propriety sufficient to do away any 
 scruples which your modesty might otherwise have 
 suggested. 
 
 In inscribing this little work to you I consult 
 my heart. You know well how great is the diffe- 
 rence between two companions lolling in a post 
 chaise, and two travellers plodding slowly along 
 the road, side by side, each with his little knapsack 
 of necessaries upon his shoulders. How much 
 more of heart between the two latter ! 
 
 I am happy in being conscious I shall have one 
 reader who will approach the conclusion of these 
 few pages with regret. You they must certainly 
 
280 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 interest, in reminding you of moments to which 
 you can hardly look back without a pleasure not 
 the less dear from a shade of melancholy. You 
 will meet with few images without recollecting the 
 spot where we observed them together, conse- 
 quently, whatever is feeble in my design, or spirit- 
 less in my colouring, will be amply supplied by 
 your own memory. 
 
 With still greater propriety I might have in- 
 scribed to you a description of some of the features 
 of your native mountains, through which we have 
 wandered together, in the same manner, with so 
 much pleasure. But the sea-sunsets which give 
 such splendour to the vale of Clwyd, Snowdon, 
 ihe chair of Idris, the quiet village of Bethkelert, 
 Menai and her druids, the Alpine steeps of the 
 Conway, and the still more interesting windings of 
 the wizard stream of the Dee remain yet untouched. 
 Apprehensive that my pencil may never be exercised 
 on these subjects, I cannot let slip this opportunity 
 of thus publicly assuring you with how much affec- 
 tion and esteem, I am Dear Sir, Your most 
 obedient very humble servant. W. Wordsworth. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Happiness (if she had been to be found on Earth) amongst the 
 Charms of Nature — Pleasures of the pedestrian Traveller — 
 Author crosses France to the Alps— Present state of the Grande 
 Chartreuse — Lake of Como — Time, Sunset — Same Scene, Twi- 
 light — Same Scene, Morniug, it's Voluptuous Character; Old 
 Man and Forest Cottage Music — River Tusa — Via Mala and 
 Grison Gypsey — Valley of Sekellenen-thal— Lake of Uri — Stormy 
 Sunset — Chapel of William Tell — force of Local Emotion — 
 Chamois Chaser — View of the higher Alps — Manner of Life of 
 a Swiss Mountaineer interspersed with Views of the higher Alps 
 —Golden Age of the Alps— Life and Views continued — Ranz des 
 Vaches famous Swiss Air — Abbey of Einsiedlen and it's Pilgrims 
 — Valley of Chamouny — Mont Blanc — Slavery of Savoy — In- 
 fluence of Liberty on Cottage Happiness — France — Wish for the 
 Extirpation of Slavery — Conclusion. 
 
 Were there, below, a spot of holy ground, 
 
 By Pain and her sad family unfound, 
 
 Sure, Nature's GOD that spot to man had giv'n, 
 
 Where murmuring rivers join the song of ev'n ; 
 
 Where falls the purple morning far and wide 5 
 
APPENDICES. 281 
 
 In flakes of light upon the mountain-side ; 
 
 Where summer Suns in ocean sink to rest, 
 
 Or moonlight Upland lifts her hoary breast; 
 
 Where Silence, on her night of wing, o'er-broods 
 
 Unfathom'd dells and undiscover'd woods ; 10 
 
 Where rocks and groves the power of waters shakes 
 
 In cataracts, or sleeps in quiet lakes. 
 
 But doubly pitying Nature loves to show'r 
 
 Soft on his wounded heart her healing pow'r, 
 
 Who plods o'er hills and vales his road forlorn, 15 
 
 Wooing her varying charms from eve to morn. 
 
 No sad vacuities his heart annoy, 
 
 Blows not a Zephyr but it whispers joy ; 
 
 For him lost flowers their idle sweets exhale ; 
 
 He tastes the meanest note that swells the gale ; 20 
 
 For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn, 
 
 And peeps the far-off spire, his evening bourn ! 
 
 Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head, 
 
 And dear the green -sward to his velvet tread ; 24 
 
 Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming eye ? 
 
 Upward he looks — and calls it luxury ; 
 
 Kind Nature's charities his steps attend, 
 
 In every babbling brook he finds a friend, 
 
 While chast'ning thoughts of sweetest use, bestow'd 
 
 By Wisdom, moralize his pensive road. 30 
 
 Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bow'r, 
 
 To his spare meal he calls the passing poor ; 
 
 He views the Sun uprear his golden fire, 
 
 Or sink, with heart alive like Memnon's 1 lyre ; 
 
 Blesses the Moon that comes with kindest ray 35 
 
 To light him shaken by his viewless way. 
 
 With bashful fear no cottage children steal 
 
 From him, a brother at the cottage meal, 
 
 His humble looks no shy restraint impart, 
 
 Around him plays at will the virgin heart. 40 
 
 While unsuspended wheels the village dance, 
 
 The maidens eye him with inquiring glance, 
 
 Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing Care 
 
 Or desperate Love could lead a wanderer there. 
 
 1 The lyre of Memnon is reported to have emitted melancholy or 
 chearful tones, as it was touched by the sun's evening or morning 
 rays. 
 
282 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Me, lur'd by hope her sorrows to remove, 45 
 A heart, that could not much itself approve, 
 O'er Gallia's wastes of corn dejected led, 
 Her l road elms rustling thin above my head, 
 Or through her truant pathway's native charms, 
 By secret villages and lonely farms, 50 
 
 To where the Alps, ascending white in air, 
 Toy with the Sun, and glitter from afar. 
 
 Ev'n now I sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom 
 Weeping beneath his chill of mountain gloom. 54 
 Where now is fled that Power whose frown severe 
 Tam'd " sober Eeason " till she crouch'd in fear? 
 That breath'd a death-like peace these woods 
 
 around, "| 
 
 Broke only by tb' unvaried torrent's sound, > 
 Or prayer-bell by the dull cicada drown'd. J 
 The cloister startles at the gleam of arms, 60 
 
 And Blasphemy the shuddering fane alarms ; 
 Nod the cloud-piercing pines their troubl'd heads, 
 Spires, rocks, and lawns, a browner night o'er- 
 
 spreads. 
 Strong terror checks the female peasant's sighs, 
 And start th' astonish'd shades at female eyes. 65 
 The thundering tube the aged angler hears, 
 And swells the groaning torrent with his tears. 
 From Bruno's forest screams the frighted jay, 
 And slow th' insulted eagle wheels away. 
 The cross with hideous laughter Demons mock, 70 
 By angels 2 planted on the aereal rock. 
 The " parting Genius" sighs with hollow breath 
 Along the mystic streams of Life and Death, 3 
 Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds 
 Portentous, thro' her old woods' trackless bounds, 
 Deepening her echoing torrents' awful peal 76 
 
 And bidding paler shades her form conceal, 
 Vallombre, 4 'mid her falling fanes, deplores, 
 
 i There are few people whom it maybe necessary to inform, that 
 the sides of many of the post-roads in France are planted with a 
 row of trees. 
 
 2 Alluding to crosses seen on the tops of the spiry rocks of the 
 Chartreuse, which have every appearance of being inaccessible. 
 
 3 Names of rivers at the Chartreuse. 
 
 4 Name of one of the vallies of the Chartreuse. 
 
APPENDICES. 283 
 
 For ever broke, the sabbath of her bow'rs. 
 
 More pleas'd, my foot the hidden margin roves 
 Of Como bosom'd deep in chestnut groves. 81 
 
 No meadows thrown between, the giddy steeps 
 Tower, bare or silvan, from the narrow deeps. 
 To towns, whose shades of no rude sound complain, 
 To ringing team unknown and grating wain, 85 
 To flat-roof 'd towns, that touch the water's bound, 
 Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound, 
 Or from the bending rocks obtrusive cling, 
 And o'er the whiten'd wave their shadows fling ; 
 Wild round the steeps the little T pathway twines, 
 And Silence loves it's purple roof of vines. 91 
 
 The viewless lingerer hence, at evening, sees 
 From rock-hewn steps the sail between the trees ; 
 Or marks, mid opening cliffs, fair dark-ey'd maids 
 Tend the small harvest of their garden glades, 95 
 Or, led by distant warbling notes, surveys, 
 "With hollow ringing ears and darkening gaze, 
 Binding the charmed soul in powerless trance, 
 Lip-dewing Song and ringlet-tossing Dance, 
 Where sparkling eyes and breaking smiles illume 
 The bosom'd cabin's lyre-enliven'd gloom ; 101 
 
 Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view 
 Stretch, o'er their pictur'd mirror, broad and blue, 
 Tracking the yellow sun from steep to steep, 
 As up th' opposing hills, with tortoise foot, they 
 creep. 105 
 
 Here half a village shines, in gold array'd, 
 Bright as the moon, half hides itself in shade. 
 From the dark sylvan roofs the restless spire, 
 Inconstant glancing, mounts like springing fire, 
 There, all unshaded, blazing forests throw 110 
 
 Bich golden verdure on the waves below. 
 Slow glides the sail along th' illumined shore, 
 And steals into the shade the lazy oar. 
 Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs, 
 And amourous music on the water dies. 115 
 
 i If any of my readers should ever visit the Lake of Como, I 
 recommend it to him to take a stroll along this charming little 
 pathway ; he must chuse the evening, as it is on the western side 
 of the Lake. We pursued it from the foot of the water to it's head : 
 it is once interrupted by a ferry. 
 
284 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Heedless how Pliny, niusing here, survey'd 
 Old Roman boats and figures thro' the shade, 
 Pale Passion, overpower'd, retires and woos 
 The thicket, where th' unlisten'd stock-dove coos. 
 
 How bless'd, delicious Scene ! the eye that greets 
 Thy open beauties, or thy lone retreats ; 121 
 
 Th' unwearied sweep of wood thy cliffs that scales, 
 The never-ending waters of thy vales ; 
 The cots, those dim religious groves embow'r, 
 Or, under rocks that from the water tow'r 125 
 
 Insinuated, sprinkling all the shore, 
 Each with his household boat beside the door, 
 Whose flaccid sails in forms fantastic droop, 
 Bright'ning the gloom where thick the forests 
 
 stoop ; 
 — Thy torrents shooting from the clear-blue sky, 
 Thy towns, like swallows' nests that cleave on 
 
 high; 131 
 
 That glimmer hoar in eve's last light, descry'd 
 Dim from the twilight water's shaggy side, 
 Whence lutes and voices down th' enchanted 
 
 woods 
 Steal, and compose the oar-forgotten floods, 135 
 While Evening's solemn bird melodious weeps, 
 Heard, by star-spotted bays, beneath the steeps ; 
 — Thy lake, mid smoking woods, that blue and 
 
 grey 
 Gleams, streak'd or dappled, hid from morning's 
 
 ray 
 Slow-travelling down the western hills, to fold 140 
 It's green- ting'd margin in a blaze of gold ; 
 From thickly-glittering sjDires the matin -bell 
 Calling the woodman from his desert cell, 
 A summons to the sound of oars, that pass, 
 Spotting the steaming deeps, to early mass ; 145 
 Slow swells the service o'er the water born, 
 While fill each pause the ringing woods of morn. 
 Farewel ! those forms that, in thy noon-tide 
 
 shade, 
 Rest, near their little plots of wheaten glade ; 
 Those stedfast eyes, that beating breasts inspire 
 To throw the " sultry ray " of young Desire ; 151 
 
APPENDICES. 285 
 
 Those lips, whose tides of fragrance come, and go, 
 Accordant to the cheek's unquiet glow ; 
 Those shadowy breasts in love's soft light array'd, 
 And rising, by the moon of passion sway'd. 155 
 —Thy fragrant gales and lute-resounding streams, 
 Breathe o'er the failing soul voluptuous dreams ; 
 While Slavery, forcing the sunk mind to dwell 
 On joys that might disgrace the captive's cell, 159 
 Her shameless timbrel shakes along thy marge, 
 And winds between thine isles the vocal barge. 
 Yet, arts are thine that rock th' unsleeping 
 
 heart, 
 And smiles to Solitude and Want impart. 
 I lov'd, mid thy most desert woods astray, 
 With pensive step to measure my slow way, 1 165 
 By lonely, silent cottage-doors to roam, 
 The far-off peasant's day-deserted home ; 
 Once did I pierce to where a cabin stood, 
 The red-breast peace had bury'd it in wood, 
 There, by the door a hoary-headed sire 170 
 
 Touch'd with his wither'd hand an aged lyre ; 
 Beneath an old-grey oak as violets lie, 
 Stretch'd at his feet with stedfast, upward eye, 
 His children's children join'd the holy sound, 
 A hermit — with his family around. 175 
 
 Hence shall we seek where fair Locarno smiles 
 Embower'd in walnut slopes and citron isles, 
 Or charms that smile on Tusa's evening stream, 
 While mid dim towers and woods her 2 waters 
 
 gleam : 
 From the bright wave, in solemn gloom, retire 180 
 The dull-red steeps, and darkening still, aspire, 
 To where afar rich orange lustres glow 
 Eound undistinguish'd clouds, and rocks, and 
 
 snow; 
 Or, led where Viamala's chasms confine 
 Th' indignant waters of the infant Rhine, 185 
 
 1 " Solo, e pensoso i piu deserti campi 
 
 V6 misurando a passi tardf, e lenti." — Pete ARCH. 
 
 2 The river along whose banks you descend in crossing the Alps 
 by the Semplon pass. From the striking contrast of it's features, 
 this pass I should imagine to be the most interesting among the 
 Alps. 
 
286 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Bend o'er th' abyss? — the else impervious gloom 
 His burning eyes with fearful light illume. 
 The Grison gypsey here her tent has plac'd, 
 Sole human tenant of the piny waste ; 
 Her tawny skin, dark eyes, and glossy locks, 190 
 Bend o'er the smoke that curls beneath the rocks. 
 
 — The mind condemn'd, without reprieve, to go 
 O'er life's long deserts with it's charge of woe, 
 With sad congratulation joins the train, \ 
 
 Where beasts and men together o'er the plain f 195 
 Move on, — a mighty caravan of pain ; J 
 
 Hope, strength, and courage, social suffering 
 
 brings, 
 Freshening the waste of sand with shades and 
 
 springs. 
 — She solitary through the desert drear 199 
 
 Spontaneous wanders, hand in hand with Fear. 
 A giant moan along the forest swells 
 Protracted, and the twilight storm foretells, 
 And, ruining from the cliffs their deafening load 
 Tumbles, the wildering Thunder slips abroad ; 204 
 On the high summits Darkness comes and goes, 
 Hiding their fiery clouds, their rocks, and snows ; 
 The torrent, travers'd by the lustre broad, 
 Starts like a horse beside the flashing road ; 
 In the roof d x bridge, at that despairing hour, 
 She seeks a shelter from the battering show'r, 210 
 — Fierce comes the river down ; the crashing 
 
 wood 
 Gives way, and half it's pines torment the flood ; 
 Fearful, 2 beneath, the Water-spirits call, 
 And the bridge vibrates, tottering to its fall. 
 — Heavy, and dull, and cloudy is the night, 215 
 No star supplies the comfort of it's light, 
 Glimmer the dim-lit Alps, dilated, round, 
 And one sole light shifts in the vale profound ; 
 While, opposite, the waning moon hangs still, 
 
 1 Most of the bridges among the Alps are of wood and covered : 
 these bridges have a heavy appearance, and rather injure the 
 effect of the scenery in some places. 
 
 2 " Ked came the river down, and loud, and oft 
 
 The angry Spirit of the water shriek'd." — Home's Douglas. 
 
APPENDICES. 287 
 
 And red, above her melancholy hill. 220 
 
 By the deep quiet gloom appall'd, she sighs, 
 Stoops her sick head, and shuts her weary eyes. 
 — Breaking th' ascending roar of desert floods, 
 And insect buzz, that stuns the sultry woods, 
 She hears, upon the mountain forest's brow, 225 
 The death-dog, howling loud and long, below ; 
 On viewless fingers counts the valley-clock, 
 Followed by drowsy crow of midnight cock. 
 — Bursts from the troubl'd Larch's giant boughs 
 The pie, and chattering breaks the night's repose. 
 Low barks the fox : by Havoc rouz'd the bear, 231 
 Quits, growling, the white bones that strew his 
 
 lair; 
 The dry leaves stir as with the serpent's walk, 
 And, far beneath, Banditti voices talk ; 
 Behind her hill the Moon, all crimson, rides, 235 
 And his red eyes the slinking water hides ; 
 Then all is hushed ; the bushes rustle near, 
 And with strange tinglings sings her fainting ear. 
 — Vex'd by the darkness, from the piny gulf 
 Ascending, nearer howls the famish'd wolf, 240 
 While thro' the stillness scatters wild dismay, 
 Her babe's small cry, that leads him to his prey. 
 
 Now, passing Urseren's open vale serene, 
 Her quiet streams, and hills of downy green, 
 Plunge with the Russ embrown'd by Terror's 
 
 breath, 245 
 
 Where danger roofs the narrow walks of death ; 
 By floods, that, thundering from their dizzy height, 
 Swell more gigantic on the stedfast sight ; 
 Black drizzling craggs, that beaten by the din, 
 Vibrate, as if a voice complain'd within ; 250 
 
 Bare steeps, where Desolation stalks, afraid, 
 Unstedfast, by a blasted yew upstay'd ; 
 By cells x whose image, trembling as he prays, 
 Awe struck, the kneeling peasant scarce surveys ; 
 Loose-hanging rocks the Day's bless'd eye that 
 
 hide, 255 
 
 i The Catholic religion prevails here. These cells are, as is well 
 known, very common in the Catholic countries, planted, like Eoman 
 tombs, along the road side. 
 
288 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 And crosses l rear'd to Death on every side, 
 Which with cold kiss Devotion planted near, 
 And, bending, water'd with the human tear, 
 Soon fading " silent " from her upward eye, 
 Unmov'd with each rude form of Danger nigh, 260 
 Fix'd on the anchor left by him who saves 
 Alike in whelming snows and roaring waves. 
 
 On as we move, a softer prospect opes, 
 Calm huts, and lawns between, and sylvan slopes. 
 While mists, suspended on th' expiring gale, 265 
 Moveless o'er-hang the deep secluded vale, 
 The beams of evening, slipping soft between, 
 Light up of tranquil joy a sober scene ; 
 Winding it's dark-green wood and emerald glade, 
 The still vale lengthens underneath the shade ; 270 
 While in soft gloom the scattering bowers recede, 
 Green dewy lights adorn the freshen'd mead, 
 Where solitary forms illumined stray 
 Turning with quiet touch the valley's hay, 
 On the low 2 brown wood-huts delighted sleep 275 
 Along the brighten'd gloom reposing deep. 
 While pastoral pipes and streams the landscape 
 
 lull, 
 And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull, 
 In solemn shapes before th' admiring eye 
 Dilated hang the misty pines on high, 280 
 
 Huge convent domes with pinnacles and tow'rs, 
 And antique castles seen thro' drizzling show'rs. 
 
 From such romantic dreams my soul awake, 
 Lo ! Fear looks silent down on Uri's lake, 
 By whose unpathway'd margin still and dread 285 
 Was never heard the plodding peasant's tread. 
 Tower like a wall the naked rocks, or reach 
 Far o'er the secret water dark with beach, 
 More high, to where creation seems to end, 
 Shade above shade the desert pines ascend, 290 
 And still, below, where mid the savage scene 
 
 1 Crosses commemorative of the deaths of travellers by the fall 
 of snow, and other accidents very common along this dreadful 
 road. 
 
 2 The houses in the more retired Swiss valleys are all built of 
 wood. 
 
APPENDICES. 289 
 
 Peeps out a little speck of smiling green, 
 There with his infants man undaunted creeps 
 And hangs his small wood-hut upon the steeps. 
 A garden-plot the desert air perfumes, 295 
 
 Mid the dark pines a little orchard blooms, 
 A zig-zag path from the domestic skiff 
 Threading the painful cragg surmounts the cliff. 
 — Before those hermit doors, that never know 
 The face of traveller passing to and fro, 300 
 
 No peasant leans upon his pole, to tell 
 For whom at morning toll'd the funeral bell, 
 Their watch-dog ne'er his angry bark forgoes, 
 Touch'd by the beggar's moan of human woes, 
 The grassy seat beneath their casement shade 305 
 The pilgrim's wistful eye hath never stay'd. 
 — There, did the iron Genius not disdain 
 The gentle Power that haunts the myrtle plain, 
 There might the love-sick maiden sit, and chide 
 Th' insuperable rocks and severing tide, 310 
 
 There watch at eve her lover's sun-gilt sail 
 Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale, 
 There list at midnight till is heard no more, 
 Below, the echo of his parting oar, 314 
 
 There hang in fear, when growls the frozen stream, 
 To guide his dangerous tread the taper's gleam. 
 
 'Mid stormy vapours ever driving by, 
 Where ospreys, cormorants, and herons cry, 
 Where hardly giv'n the hopeless waste to chear 
 Deny'd the bread of life the foodful ear, 320 
 
 Dwindles the pear on autumn's latest spray, 
 And apple sickens pale in summer's ray, 
 Ev'n here Content has fix'd her smiling reign 
 With Independance child of high Disdain. 
 Exulting mid the winter of the skies, ^ 325 
 
 Shy as the jealous chamois, Freedom flies, Y 
 And often grasps her sword, and often eyes, J 
 Her crest a bough of Winter's bleakest pine, 
 Strange "weeds" and alpine plants her helm 
 
 entwine, 
 And wildly-pausing oft she hangs aghast, 330 
 
 While thrills the " Spartan fife " between the blast.. 
 
 VII. i: 
 
290 woridsworth\s poems. 
 
 'Tis storm ; and hid in mist from hour to hour 
 All day the floods a deeper murmur pour, 
 And mournful sounds, as of a Spirit lost, 
 Pipe wild along the hollow-blustering coast, 335 
 'Till the Sun walking on his western field 
 Shakes from behind the clouds his flashing shield. 
 Triumphant on the bosom of the storm, 
 Glances the fire-clad eagle's wheeling form ; 
 Eastward, in long perspective glittering, shine 340 
 The wood-crown'd cliffs that o'er the lake recline ; 
 Wide o'er the Alps a hundred streams unfold, 
 At once to pillars turn'd that flame with gold ; 
 Behind his sail the peasant strives to shun 
 The west that burns like one dilated sun, 345 
 
 Where in a mighty crucible expire 
 The mountains, glowing hot, like coals of fire. 1 
 But lo ! the boatman, over-aw'd, before 
 The pictur'd fane of Tell suspends his oar ; 
 Confused the Marathonian tale appears, 350 
 
 While burn in his full eyes the glorious tears. 
 And who but feels a power of strong controul, 
 Felt only there, oppress his labouring soul, 
 Who walks, where honour'd men of ancient days 
 Have wrought with god-like arm the deeds of 
 praise ? 355 
 
 Say, who, by thinking on Canadian hills, 
 Or wild Aosta lull'd by Alpine rills, 
 On Zutphen's plain ; or where with soften'd gaze 
 The old grey scones the plaided chief surveys, 
 Can guess the high resolve, the cherish'd pain 360 
 Of him whom passion rivets to the plain, 
 
 1 I had once given to these sketches the title of Picturesque ; but 
 the Alps are insulted in applying to them that term. Whoever, in 
 attempting to describe their sublime features, should confine him- 
 self to the cold rules of painting would give his reader but a very 
 imperfect idea of those emotions which they have the irresistible 
 power of communicating to the most impassive imaginations. The 
 fact is, that controuling influence, which distinguishes the Alps 
 from all other scenery, is derived from images which disdain the 
 pencil. Had I wished to make a picture of this scene I had thrown 
 much less light into it. But I consulted nature and my feelings. 
 The ideas excited by the stormy sunset I am here describing owed 
 their sublimity to that deluge of light, or rather of fire, in which 
 nature had wrapped the immense forms around me ; any intrusion 
 of shade, by destroying the unity of the impression, had necessarily 
 diminished it's grandeur. 
 
APPENDICES. 291 
 
 Where breath'd the gale that caught Wolfe's 
 
 happiest sigh, 
 And the last sun-beam fell on Bayard's eye, 
 Where bleeding Sydney from the cup ratir'd, 
 And glad Dundee in " faint huzza's " expir'd. 365 
 
 But now with other soul I stand alone 
 Sublime upon this far-surveying cone, 
 And watch from pike 1 to pike amid the sky 
 Small as a bird the chamois-chaser fly. 
 'Tis his with fearless step at large to roam 370 
 
 Thro' wastes, of Spirits wing'd the solemn home, 
 Thro' 2 vacant worlds where Nature never gave 
 A brook to murmur or a bough to wave, 
 Which unsubstantial Phantoms sacred keep ; 
 Thro' worlds where Life and Sound, and Motion 
 sleep, 375 
 
 Where Silence still her death-like reign extends, 
 Save when the startling cliff unfrequent rends : 
 In the deep snow the mighty rain drown'd, 
 Mocks the dull ear of Time with deaf abortive 
 
 sound ; 
 — To mark a planet's pomp and steady light 380 
 In the least star of scarce -appearing night, 
 And neighbouring moon, that coasts the vast pro- 
 found, 
 Wheel pale and silent her diminish'd round, 
 While far and wide the icy summits blaze 
 Rejoicing in the glory of her rays ; 385 
 
 The star of noon that glitters small and bright, 
 Shorn of his beams, insufferably white, 
 And flying fleet behind his orb to view 
 Th' interminable sea of sable blue. 
 — Of cloudless suns no more ye frost-built spires 
 Refract in rainbow hues the restless fires ! 391 
 
 Ye dewy mists the arid rocks o'er-spread 
 Whose slippery face derides his deathful tread ! 
 — To wet the peak's impracticable sides 
 
 1 Pike is a word very commonly used in the north of England, to 
 signify a high mountain of the conic form, as Langdale pike, etc. 
 
 2 For most of the images in the next sixteen verses I am in- 
 debted to M. Eaymond's interesting observations annexed to his 
 translation of Coxe's Tour in Switzerland. 
 
292 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 He opens of his feet the sanguine tides, 395 
 
 Weak and more weak the issuing current eyes 
 
 Lapp'd by the panting tongue of thirsty skies. 1 
 
 — At once bewildering mists around him close, 
 
 And cold and hunger are his least of woes ; 
 
 The Demon of the snow with angry roar 400 
 
 Descending, shuts for aye his rmson door. 
 
 Craz'd by the strength of hope at morn he eyes 
 
 As sent from heav'n the raven of the skies, 
 
 Then with despair's whole weight his spirits sink, 
 
 No bread to feed him, and the snow his drink, 405 
 
 While ere his eyes can close upon the day, 
 
 The eagle of the Alps o'ershades his prey. 
 
 — Meanwhile his wife and child with cruel hope 
 
 All night the door at every moment ope ; 
 
 Haply that child in fearful doubt may gaze, 410 
 
 Passing his father's bones in future days, 
 
 Start at the reliques of that very thigh, 
 
 On which so oft he prattled when a boy. 
 
 Hence shall we turn where, heard with fear afar, 
 Thunders thro' echoing pines the headlong Aar ? 
 Or rather stay to taste the mild delights 416 
 
 Of pensive Underwalden's 2 pastoral heights ? 
 — Is there who mid these awful wilds has seen 
 The native Genii walk the mountain green ? 
 Or heard, while other worlds their charms reveal, 
 Soft music from th' aereal summit steal? 421 
 
 While o'er the desert, answering every close, 
 Rich steam of sweetest perfume comes and goes. 
 — And sure there is a secret Power that reigns 
 Here, where no trace of man the spot profanes, 425 
 Nought but the herds that pasturing upward creep, 
 Hung dim-discover'd from the dangerous steep, 
 Or summer hamlet, 3 flat and bare, on high 
 
 1 The rays of the sun drying the rocks frequently produce on 
 their surface a dust so subtile and slippery, that the wretched 
 chamois-chasers are obliged to bleed themselves in the legs and 
 feet in order to secure a footing. 
 
 2 The people of this Canton are supposed to be of a more melan- 
 choly disposition than the other inhabitants of the Alps : this, if 
 true, may proceed from their living more secluded. 
 
 3 These summer hamlets are most probably (as I have seen ob- 
 served by a critic in the Gentleman's Magazine) what Virgil 
 alludes to in the expression "Castella in tumulis." 
 
APPENDICES. 293 
 
 Suspended, mid the quiet of the sky. 
 
 How still ! no irreligious sound or sight 430 
 
 Rouzes the soul from her severe delight. 
 
 An idle voice the sabbath region fills 
 
 Of Deep that calls to Deep across the hills, 
 
 Broke only by the melancholy sound 
 
 Of drowsy bells for ever tinkling round ; 485 
 
 Faint wail of eagle melting into blue 
 
 Beneath the cliffs, and pine-woods steady sugh ; l 
 
 The solitary heifer's deepen'd low ; 
 
 Or rumbling heard remote of falling snow. 
 
 Save that, the stranger seen below, the boy 440 
 
 Shouts from the echoing hills with savage joy. 
 
 "When warm from myrtle bays and tranquil seas, 
 Comes on, to whisper hope, the vernal breeze, 2 
 When hums the mountain bee in May's glad ear, 
 And emerald isles to spot the heights appear, 445 
 When shouts and lowing herds the valley fill, 
 And louder torrents stun the noon-tide hill, 
 When fragrant scents beneath th' enchanted tread 
 Spring up, his little all around him spread, 
 The pastoral Swiss begins the cliffs to scale, 450 
 To silence leaving the deserted vale, 
 Up the green mountain tracking Summer's feet, 
 Each twilight earlier call'd the Sun to meet, 
 With earlier smile the ray of morn to view 
 Fall on his shifting hut that gleams mid smoking 
 dew ; 455 
 
 Bless'd with his herds, as in the patriarch's age, 
 The summer long to feed from stage to stage ; 
 O'er azure pikes serene and still, they go, 
 And hear the rattling thunder far below ; 
 Or lost at eve in sudden mist the day 460 
 
 Attend, or dare with minute- steps their way ; 
 Hang from the rocks that tremble o'er the steep, 
 And tempt the icy valley yawning deep, 
 O'er-walk the chasmy torrent's foam-lit bed, 
 Rock'd on the dizzy larch's narrow tread, 405 
 
 1 Sugh, a Scotch word expressive of the sound of the wind through 
 the trees. 
 
 2 This wind, which announces the spring to the Swiss, is called 
 in their language Foen ; and is according to M. Raymond the 
 Syroco of the Italians. 
 
294 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Whence Danger leans, and pointing ghastly, joys 
 To mock the mind with " desperation's toys " ; 
 Or steal beneath loose mountains, half-deterr'd, 
 That sigh and shudder to the lowing herd. 
 — I see him, up the midway cliff he creeps 470 
 To where a scanty knot of verdure peeps, 
 Thence down the steep a pile of grass he throws 
 The fodder of his herds in winter snows. 
 Far different life to what tradition hoar 
 Transmits of days more bless'd in times of yore. 1 475 
 Then Summer lengthen'd out his season bland, 
 And with rock-honey flow'd the happy land. 
 Continual fountains welling chear'd the waste, 
 And plants were wholesome, now of deadly taste. 
 Nor Winter yet his frozen stores had pil'd 480 
 
 Usurping where the fairest herbage smil'd ; 
 Nor Hunger forc'd the herds from pastures bare 
 For scanty food the treacherous cliffs to dare. 
 Then the milk-thistle bad those herds demand 
 Three times a day the pail and welcome hand. 485 
 But human vices have provok'd the rod 
 Of angry Nature to avenge her God. 
 Thus does the father to his sons relate, 
 On the lone mountain top, their chang'd estate. 
 Still, Nature, ever just, to him imparts 490 
 
 Joys only given to uncorrupted hearts. 
 — 'Tis morn: with gold the verdant mountain 
 
 glows, 
 More high, the snowy peaks with hues of rose. 
 Far stretch'd beneath the many-tinted hills, 
 A mighty waste of mist the valley fills, 495 
 
 A solemn sea ! whose vales and mountains round 
 Stand motionless, to awful silence bound. 
 A gulf of gloomy blue, that opens wide 
 And bottomless, divides the midway tide. 
 
 1 This tradition of the golden age of the Alps, as M. Raymond 
 observes, is highly interesting, interesting not less to the philoso- 
 pher than to the poet. Here I cannot help remarking, that the 
 superstitions of the Alps appear to be far from possessing that 
 poetical character -which so eminently distinguishes those of Scot- 
 land and the other mountainous northern countries. The Devil with 
 his horns, etc., seems to be, in their idea, the principal agent that 
 brings about the sublime natural revolutions that take place daily 
 before their eyes. 
 
APPENDICES. 295 
 
 Like leaning masts of stranded ships appear 500 
 The pines that near the coast their summits rear 
 Of cabins, woods, and lawns a pleasant shore 
 Bounds calm and clear the chaos still and hoar ; 
 Loud thro' that midway gulf ascending, sound 
 Unnumber'd streams with hollow roar profound. 
 Mounts thro' the nearer mist the chaunt of birds, 
 And talking voices, and the low of herds, 507 
 
 The bark of dogs, the drowsy tinkling bell, 
 And wild-wood mountain lutes of saddest swell. 
 Think not, suspended from the cliff on high 510 
 He looks below with undelighted eye. 
 — No vulgar joy is his, at even tide 
 Stretch'd on the scented mountain's purple side. 
 For as the pleasures of his simple day 
 Beyond his native valley hardly stray, 515 
 
 Nought round it's darling precincts can he find 
 But brings some past enjoyment to his mind, 
 While Hope that ceaseless leans on Pleasure's urn 
 Binds her wild wreathes, and whispers his return. 
 
 Once Man entirely free, alone and wild, 520 
 
 Was bless'd as free— for he was Nature's child. 
 He, all superior but his God disdain'd, 
 Walk'd none restraining, and by none restrain'd, 
 Confess'd no law but what his reason taught, 
 Did all he wish'd, and wish'd but what he ought. 
 As Man in his primaeval dower array'd 526 
 
 The image of his glorious sire display 'd, 
 Ev'n so, by vestal Nature guarded, here 
 The traces of primaeval Man appear. 
 The native dignity no forms debase, 530 
 
 The eye sublime, and surly lion-grace. 
 The slave of none, of beasts alone the lord, 
 He marches with his flute, his book, and sword, 
 Well taught by that to feel his rights, prepar'd 
 With this " the blessings he enjoys to guard." 535 
 
 And as on glorious ground he draws his breath, 
 Where Freedom oft, with Victory and Death, 
 Hath seen in grim array amid their Storms 
 Mixed with auxiliar Rocks, three hundred Forms ; l 
 
 l Alluding to several battles which the Swiss in very small 
 numbers have gained over their oppressors, the house of Austria; 
 
296 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 While twice ten thousand corselets at the view 540 
 Dropp'd loud at once, Oppression shriek'd, and 
 
 flew. 
 Oft as those sainted Bocks before him spread, 
 An unknown power connects him with the dead. 
 For images of other worlds are there, 
 Awful the light, and holy is the air. 545 
 
 Uncertain thro' his fierce uncultur'd soul 
 Like lighted tempests troubled transports roll ; 
 To viewless realms his Spirit towers amain, 
 Beyond the senses and their little reign. 
 And oft, when pass'd that solemn vision by, 550 
 He holds with God himself communion high, 
 When the dread peal of swelling torrents fills 
 The sky-roof'd temple of the eternal hills, 
 And savage Nature humbly joins the rite, 
 While flash her upward eyes severe delight. 555 
 Or gazing from the mountain's silent brow, 
 Bright stars of ice and azure worlds of snow, 
 Where needle peaks of granite shooting bare 
 Tremble in ever-varying tints of air, 
 Great joy by horror tam'd dilates his heart, 5G0 
 And the near heav'ns their own delights impart. 
 — When the Sun bids the gorgeous scene farewell, 
 Alps overlooking Alps their state upswell ; 
 Huge Pikes of Darkness named, of Fear 1 and 
 
 Storms, 
 Lift, all serene, their still, illumin'd forms, 565 
 
 In sea-like reach of prospect round him spread, 
 Ting'd like an angel's smile all rosy red. 
 
 When downward to his winter hut he goes, 
 Dear and more dear the lessening circle grows, 
 The hut which from the hills his eyes employs 570 
 So oft, the central point of all his joys. 
 And as a swift by tender cares oppress'd 
 
 and in particular, to one fought at Naeffels near Glarus, -where 
 three hundred and thirty men defeated an army of between fifteen 
 and twenty thousand Austrians. Scattered over the valley are to 
 be found eleven stones, -with this inscription 1388, the year the 
 battle was fought, marking out as I was told upon the spot, the 
 several places where the Austrians attempting to make a stand 
 were repulsed anew. 
 
 1 As Sehreck-Horn, the pike of terror. Wetter-Horn the pike of 
 storms, etc. etc. 
 
APPENDICES. 297 
 
 Peeps often ere she dart into her nest, 
 
 So to th' untrodden floor, where round him looks 
 
 His father helpless as the babe he rocks, 575 
 
 Oft he descends to nurse the brother pair, 
 
 Till storm and driving ice blockade him there ; 
 
 There hears, protected by the woods behind, 
 
 Secure, the chiding of the baffled wind, 
 
 Hears Winter, calling all his Terrors round, 580 
 
 Rush down the living rocks with whirlwind sound. 
 
 Thro' Nature's vale his homely pleasures glide 
 
 Unstain'd by envy, discontent, and pride, 
 
 The bound of all his vanity to deck 
 
 "With one bright bell a favourite heifer's neck ; 585 
 
 Content upon some simple annual feast, 
 
 Remember'd half the year, and hop'd the rest, 
 
 If dairy produce, from his inner hoard, 
 
 Of thrice ten summers consecrate the board. 
 
 — Alas ! in every clime a flying ray 590 
 
 Is all we have to chear our wintry way, 
 
 Condemn'd, in mists and tempests ever rife, 
 
 To pant slow up the endless Alp of life. 
 
 " Here," cried a swain, whose venerable head 
 
 Bloom'd with the snow-drops of Man's narrow bed, 
 
 Last night, while by his dying fire, as clos'd 596 
 
 The day, in luxury my limbs repos'd, 
 
 " Here Penury oft from misery's mount will guide 
 
 Ev'n to the summer door his icy tide, 
 
 And here the avalanche of Death destroy 600 
 
 The little cottage of domestic Joy. 
 
 But, ah ! th' unwilling mind may more than trace 
 
 The general sorrows of the human race : 
 
 The churlish gales, that unremitting blow 
 
 Cold from necessity's continual snow, 605 
 
 To us the gentle groups of bliss deny 
 
 That on the noon-day bank of leisure lie. 
 
 Yet more ; the tyrant Genius, still at strife 
 
 With all the tender Charities of life, 
 
 When close and closer they begin to strain, 610 
 
 No fond hand left to staunch th' unclosing vein, 
 
 Tearing their bleeding ties leaves Age to groan 
 
 On his wet bed, abandon'd and alone. 
 
 For ever, fast as they of strength become 
 
298 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 To pay the filial debt, for food to roam, 615 
 
 The father forc'd by Powers that only deign 
 That solitary Man disturb their reign, 
 From his bare nest amid the storms of heaven 
 Drives, eagle-like, his sons as he was driven, 
 His last dread pleasure ! watches to the plain — 
 And never, eagle-like, beholds again." 621 
 
 When the poor heart has all its joys resign'd, 
 "Why does their sad remembrance cleave behind ? 
 Lo ! by the lazy Seine the exile roves, 
 Or where thick sails illume Batavia's groves ; 625 
 Soft o'er the waters mournful measures swell, 
 Unlocking bleeding Thought's " memorial cell ; " 
 At once upon his heart Despair has set 
 Her seal, the mortal tear his cheek has wet ; 
 Strong poison not a form of steel can brave 630 
 Bows his young hairs with sorrow to the grave. 1 
 
 Gay lark of hope thy silent song resume ! 
 Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume ! 
 Soft gales and dews of life's delicious morn, 
 And thou ! lost fragrance of the heart return ! 635 
 Soon 2 flies the little joy to man allow'd, 
 And tears before him travel like a cloud. 
 For come Diseases on, and Penury's rage, 
 Labour, and Pain, and Grief, and joyless Age, 
 And Conscience dogging close his bleeding way 
 Cries out, and leads her Spectres to their prey, 641 
 'Till Hope-deserted, long in vain his breath 
 Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death. 
 — Mid savage rocks and seas of snow that shine 
 Between interminable tracts of pine, 645 
 
 Round a lone fane the human Genii mourn, 
 Where fierce the rays of woe collected burn. 
 — From viewless lamps a ghastly dimness falls, 
 And ebbs uncertain on the troubled walls, 
 Dim dreadful faces thro' the gloom appear, 650 
 Abortive Joy, and Hope that works in fear, 
 
 i The effect of the famous air, called in French Eanz des Vaches, 
 upon the Swiss troops removed from their native country is -well 
 known, as also the injunction of not playing it on pain of death, 
 before the l'egiments of that nation, in the service of France and 
 Holland. 
 
 2 Optima quseque dies, etc. 
 
APPENDICES. 299 
 
 While strives a secret Power to hush the croud, 
 Pain's wild rebellious burst proclaims her rights 
 
 aloud. 
 Oh give not me that eye of hard disdain 654 
 
 That views undimm'd Einsiedlen's wretched fane. 1 
 Mid muttering prayers all sounds of torment meet, 
 Dire clap of hands, distracted chase of feet, 
 While loud and dull ascends the weeping cry, 
 Surely in other thoughts contempt may die. 
 If the sad grave of human ignorance bear 660 
 
 One flower of hope — Oh pass and leave it there. 
 — The tall Sun, tip-toe on an Alpine spire, 
 Flings o'er the desert blood-red streams of fire. 
 At such an hour there are who love to stray, 
 And meet the gladdening pilgrims on their way. 
 — Now with joy's tearful kiss each other greet, 666 
 Nor longer naked be your way-worn feet, 
 For ye have reach'd at last the happy shore, 
 Where the charm'd worm of pain shall gnaw no 
 
 more. 
 How gayly murmur and how sweetly taste 670 
 The fountains 2 rear'd for you amid the waste ! 
 Yes I will see you when ye first behold 
 Those turrets tipp'd by hope with morning gold, 
 And watch, while on your brows the cross ye make, 
 Bound your pale eyes a wintry lustre wake. 675 
 — Without one hope her written griefs to blot, 
 Save in the land where all things are forgot, 
 My heart, alive to transports long unknown, 
 Half wishes your delusion were it's own. 
 Last let us turn to where Chamouny 3 shields, 680 
 Bosom'd in gloomy woods, her golden fields, 
 Five streams of ice amid her cots descend, 
 And with wild flowers and blooming orchards blend, 
 A scene more fair than what the Grecian feigns 
 
 i This shrine is resorted to, from a hope of relief, by multitudes, 
 from every corner of the Catholick world, labouring under mental or 
 bodilv afflictions. 
 
 2 Eude fountains built and covered with sheds for the accommo- 
 dation of the pilgrims, in their ascent of the mountain. Under 
 those sheds the sentimental traveller and the philosopher may find 
 interesting sources of meditation. 
 
 3 This word is pronounced upon the spot Chamouny, I have 
 taken the liberty of reading it long thinking it more musical. 
 
300 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Of purple lights and even vernal plains. 685 
 
 Here lawns and shades by breezy rivulets fann'd, 
 Here all the Seasons revel hand in hand. 
 — Red stream the cottage lights ; the landscape 
 
 fades, 
 Erroneous wavering mid the twilight shades. 
 Alone ascends that mountain nam'd of white 1 690 
 That dallies with the Sun the summer night. 
 Six thousand years amid his lonely bounds 
 The voice of Ruin, day and night, resounds. 
 Where Horror-led his sea of ice assails, 
 Havoc and Chaos blast a thousand vales, 695 
 
 In waves, like two enormous serpents, wind 
 And drag their length of deluge train behind. 
 Between the pine's enormous boughs descry'd 
 Serene he towers, in deepest purple dy'd ; 
 Glad Day-light laughs upon his top of snow, 700 
 Glitter the stars above, and all is black below. 
 
 At such an hour I heav'd the human sigh, 
 When roar'd the sullen Arve in anger by, 
 That not for thee, delicious vale ! unfold 
 Thy reddening orchards, and thy fields of gold ; 705 
 That thou, the slave of slaves, 2 art doom'dto pine,"! 
 While no Italian arts their charms combine j- 
 
 To teach the skirt of thy dark cloud to shine ; J 
 For thy poor babes that, hurrying from the door, 
 With pale-blue hands, and eyes that fix'd implore, 
 Dead muttering lips, and hair of hungry white, 711 
 Besiege the traveller whom they half affright. 
 — Yes, were it mine, the cottage meal to share 
 Forc'd from my native mountains bleak and bare ; 
 O'er Anet's 3 hopeless seas of marsh to stray, 715 
 Her shrill winds roaring round my lonely way ; 
 To scent the sweets of Piedmont's breathing rose, 
 And orange gale that o'er Lugano blows ; 
 In the wide range of many a weary round, 
 Still have my pilgrim feet unfailing found, 720 
 
 1 It is only from the higher part of the valley of Chamouny that 
 Mont Blanc is visible. 
 
 2 It is scarce necessary to observe that these lines were written 
 before the emancipation of Savoy. 
 
 3 A vast extent of marsh so called near the lake of Neufchatel. 
 
APPENDICES. 301 
 
 As despot courts their blaze of gems display, ^ 
 
 Ev'n by the secret cottage far away j- 
 
 The lily of domestic joy decay ; J 
 
 While Freedom's farthest hamlets blessings share, 
 
 Found still beneath her smile, and only there. 725 
 
 The casement shade more luscious woodbine binds, 
 
 And to the door a neater pathway winds, 
 
 At early morn the careful housewife, led 
 
 To cull her dinner from it's garden bed, 
 
 Of weedless herbs a healthier prospect sees, 730 
 
 While hum with busier joy her happy bees ; 
 
 In brighter rows her table wealth aspires, 
 
 And laugh with merrier blaze her evening fires ; 
 
 Her infant's cheeks with fresher roses glow, 
 
 And wilder graces sport around their brow ; 735 
 
 By clearer taper lit a cleanlier board 
 
 Receives at supper hour her tempting hoard ; 
 
 The chamber hearth with fresher boughs is spread, 
 
 And whiter is the hospitable bed. 
 
 — And thou ! fair favoured region ! which my soul 
 
 Shall love, 'till Life has broke her golden bowl, 741 
 
 Till Death's cold touch her cistern- wheel assail, 
 
 And vain regret and vain desire shall fail ; 
 
 Tho' now, where erst the grey-clad peasant stray 'd, 
 
 To break the quiet of the village shade 745 
 
 Gleam war's x discordant habits thro' the trees, 
 
 And the red banner mock the sullen breeze ; 
 
 'Tho' now no more thy maids their voices suit 
 
 To the low-warbled breath of twilight lute, 
 
 And heard, the pausing village hum between, 750 
 
 No solemn songstress lull the fading green, 
 
 Scared by the fife, and rumbling drum's alarms, 
 
 And the short thunder, and the flash of arms ; 
 
 While, as Night bids the startling uproar die, 
 
 Sole sound, the sourd 2 renews his mournful cry : 
 
 Yet, hast thou found that Freedom spreads her 
 
 pow'r 756 
 
 Beyond the cottage hearth, the cottage door : 
 
 1 This, as may be supposed, was written before France became 
 the seat of war. 
 
 2 An insect so called, which emits a short, melancholy cry, heard, 
 at the close of the summer evenings, on the banks of the Loire. 
 
302 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 All nature smiles ; and owns beneath her eyes 
 Her fields peculiar, and peculiar skies. 
 Yes, as I roam'd where Loiret' s l waters glide 760 
 Thro' rustling aspins heard from side to side, 
 When from October clouds a milder light 
 Fell, where the blue flood rippled into white, 
 Me thought from every cot the watchful bird 
 Crowed with ear-piercing power 'till then unheard ; 
 Each clacking mill, that broke the murmuring 
 
 streams, 766 
 
 Eock'd the charm 'd thought in more delightful 
 
 dreams, 
 Chasing those long long dreams the falling leaf 
 Awoke a fainter pang of moral grief; 
 The measured echo of the distant flail 770 
 
 Winded in sweeter cadence down the vale ; 
 A more majestic tide the water 2 roll'd 
 And glowed the sun-gilt groves in richer gold : 
 — Tho' Liberty shall soon, indignant, raise 
 Eed on his hills his beacon's comet blaze ; 775 
 
 Bid from on high his lonely cannon sound, 
 And on ten thousand hearths his shout rebound ; 
 His larum-bell from village-tow r to tow'r 
 
 1 The river Loiret, which has the honour of giving name to a 
 department, rises out of the earth at a place, called La Source, a 
 league and a half south-east of Orleans, and taking at once the 
 character of a considerable stream, winds under a most delicious 
 bank on its left, with a flat country of meadows, woods, and vine- 
 yards on its right, till it falls into the Loire about three or four 
 leagues below Orleans. The hand of false taste has committed on 
 its banks those outrages which the Abbe de Lille so pathetically 
 deprecates in those charming verses descriptive of the Seine, visiting 
 in secret the retreat of his friend Watelet. Much as the Loiret, in 
 its short course, suffers from injudicious ornament yet are there 
 spots to be found upon its banks as soothing as meditation could 
 wish for : the curious traveller may meet with some of them where 
 it loses itself among the mills in the neighbourhood of the villa 
 called La Fontaine. The walks of La Source, where it takes its 
 rise, may, in the eyes of some people, derive an additional interest 
 from the recollection that they were the retreat of Bolingbroke 
 during his exile, and that here it was that his philosophical works 
 were chiefly composed. The inscriptions of which he speaks in one 
 of his letters to Swift descriptive of this spot, are not, I believe, 
 now extant. The gardens have been modelled within these twenty 
 years according to a plan evidently not dictated by the taste of the 
 friend of Pope. 
 
 2 The duties upon many of the French rivers were so exorbitant 
 that the poorer people, deprived of the benefit of water carriage, 
 were obliged to transport their goods by land. 
 
APPENDICES. 303 
 
 Swing on th' astounded ear it's dull undying roar : 
 Yet, yet rejoice, tho' Pride's perverted ire 780 
 
 Bouze Hell's own aid, and wrap thy hills in fire. 
 Lo ! from th' innocuous flames, a lovely birth I 
 With it's own Virtues springs another earth : 
 Nature, as in her prime, her virgin reign 
 Begins, and Love and Truth compose her train ; 
 With pulseless hand, and fix'd unwearied gaze, 786 
 Unbreathing Justice her still beam surveys : 
 No more, along thy vales and viny groves, 
 Whole hamlets disappearing as he moves, 
 With cheeks o'erspread by smiles of baleful glow, 
 On his pale horse shall fell Consumption go. 791 
 
 Oh give, great God, to Freedom's waves to ride 
 Sublime o'er Conquest, Avarice, and Pride, 
 To break, the vales where Death with Famine 
 
 scow'rs, 
 And dark Oppression builds her thick-ribb'd 
 
 tow'rs ; 795 
 
 Where Machination her fell soul resigns, 
 Fled panting to the centre of her mines ; 
 Where Persecution decks with ghastly smiles 
 Her bed, his mountains mad Ambition piles ; 
 Where Discord stalks dilating, every hour, 800 
 And crouching fearful at the feet of Pow'r, 
 Like Lightnings eager for th 1 almighty word, 
 Look up for sign of havoc, Fire and Sword, 1 
 — Give them, beneath their breast while Gladness 
 
 springs, 
 To brood the nations o'er with Nile-like wings ; 
 And grant that every sceptred child of clay, 806 
 Who cries, presumptuous, "here their tides shall 
 
 stay," 
 Swept in their anger from th' affrighted shore, 
 With all his creatures sink — to rise no more. 
 
 To-night, my friend, within this humble cot 810 
 Be the dead load of mortal ills forgot, 
 Eenewing, when the rosy summits glow 
 At morn, our various journey, sad and slow. 
 
 And, at his heels, 
 
 Leash'd in like hounds, should Famine, Sword, and Fire, 
 Crouch for employment. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 
 
 VII. 
 
A NOTE TOWARDS THE BIBLIO- 
 GRAPHY OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 [Though more nearly complete than any existing bibliography of 
 Wordsworth, this note does not profess to be more than a con- 
 tribution towards a bibliography. I limit myself to editions of 
 works by Wordsworth from 1793 to " The Prelude," 1850 (exclud- 
 ing American editions). Where I obtained my information at 
 secondhand I indicate the fact by an asterisk, and give a reference 
 to my source. In the description of sizes I have generally followed 
 the catalogue of the British Museum Library and I have verified 
 the descriptions.] 
 
 (l.) 
 
 An / Evening Walk. / An Epistle ; / In Verses/ 
 Addressed To A Yoimg Lady,/ From The / Lake. / 
 Of The / North of England. / By / W. Words- 
 worth, B.A. / Of St. John's, Cambridge. / London : / 
 Printed For J. Johnson, St. Paul's Church-Yard./ 
 1793. 
 
 Quarto. Title, 1 leaf; Argument, 1 leaf; Errata, 
 1 leaf; 27 pp. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 Descriptive Sketches. / In Verse. / Taken During 
 A / Pedestrian Tour / In The / Italian, Grison, 
 Swiss, And Savoyard / Alps. / By W. Wordsworth, 
 B.A. / Of St. John's, Cambridge./ — Loca pastorum 
 deserta atque otia dia. / Lucret. / Castella in tumu- 
 lis / — Et longe saltus lateque vacantes. / Virgil. / 
 London : / Printed for J. Johnson, St. Paul's 
 Church-Yard./ 1793. 
 
 Quarto. Title, lleaf; Errata, 1 leaf; Dedication, 
 1 leaf; Argument, 1 leaf; pp. 55. 
 
 (3.) 
 Lyrical Ballads, / with / A few Other Poems. / 
 Bristol: / Printed by Biggs & Cottle, for T. N. 
 Longman, Paternoster Row, London. 1798. 8vo. 
 
308 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 In some copies in place of " Printed by Biggs 
 & Cottle," etc., is found "London: Printed for 
 J. & A. Arch, Gracechurch-Street, 1798." "The 
 sale was so slow that Cottle parted with the larger 
 number of the 500 copies printed to Arch, a London 
 bookseller. The copyright was purchased in a lot 
 by Longman, but as it was considered of no value, 
 Cottle begged that it might be restored to him. 
 His request was granted, whereupon Cottle pre- 
 sented the copyright to Wordsworth. 
 
 " In a copy — formerly Southey's — bearing the 
 
 „ Biggs and Cottle imprint, in the British Museum 
 
 Library, in the ' Contents ' appears Coleridge's 
 1 Lewti ; or the Circassian Love Chant,' where 
 1 The Nightingale ' by Coleridge ordinarily 
 stands. In the text of the same copy'The 
 Nightingale ' is given ; and after ' The Nightin- 
 gale ' appear cancelled leaves (pp. 63-67) which 
 give ' Lewti ' in its earlier text. Southey has 
 
 .. written in the volume: — 'The Advertisement and 
 
 the Circassian Love Chant in this volume were can- 
 celled, E^-S.,' I cannot find that the Advertise- 
 ment was cancelled ; it is ordinarily given, though 
 possibly it may be absent from some copies of the 
 ook. When ' The Nightingale ' was substituted 
 for 'Lewti ' an additional leaf had to be inserted. 
 Signature e p. 65 is wanting, and from d to f are 
 34 pages instead of 32. A leaf was inserted, and 
 two pages following p. 69 are not numbered nor 
 counted in the pagination. In the • Contents ' 
 1 The Female Vagrant ' is said to begin on p. 69 ; 
 in fact, p. 69 gives the end of ' The Nightingale.' 
 Possibly a copy of ' Lyrical Ballads ' containing 
 the cancelled * Lewti ' alone may hereafter come 
 to light." — From Preface to a reprint of "Lyrical 
 Ballads" (2nd edition of reprint) edited by the pre- 
 sent Editor, published by David Nutt, 1891. 
 
 Four poems in the volume are by S. T. Cole- 
 ridge, viz., " The Ancyent Marinere," " The Foster- 
 Mother's Tale," "The Nightingale," and "The 
 Dungeon." 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 309 
 
 (4.) 
 
 [* Lyrical Ballads," in two volumes, 1800.] 
 
 Lyrical Ballads, / with / Other Poems. / In 
 Two Volumes. / By W. Wordsworth. / Quam 
 nihil ad genium, Papiniane, tuum ! / Vol. I / 
 Second Edition./ London : / Printed for T. N. 
 Longman and 0. Eees, Paternoster-Row, / By 
 Biggs and Co. Bristol. / 1800. 
 
 The title of vol. ii. is identical except that "Vol. 
 II." stands in the place of "Vol. I." and that 
 " Second Edition " is absent. 
 
 ^«vo. vol. i., Title, Contents, and Preface, pp. 
 xlvi ; a blank leaf; Poems, pp. 1-210; Notes, five 
 unnumbered pages. 
 
 Vol. ii., Title and Contents, 2 leaves ; Poems, 
 1-225 ; Notes, pp. 226, 227 ; Errata, 1 page. 
 
 The first volume reprints with some alterations 
 all Wordsworth's Poems of the 1798 volume except 
 "The Convict"; the "Lines written near Rich- 
 mond " of 1798 is divided so as to make two poems, 
 " Lines written when sailing in a Boat at Evening" 
 and " Lines written near Richmond " ; " Old Man 
 Travelling" of 1798 is re-named "Animal Tran- 
 quillity and Decay, a Sketch." Coleridge's contribu- 
 tions to the 1798 volume reappear with the addition 
 of " Love." The order of contents is much altered ; 
 " The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere," placed first 
 in 1798, now is placed last but one, with the title 
 "The Ancient Mariner, A Poet's Reverie.' 
 "Lines written above Tintern Abbey" concludes 
 the poems as in 1798. The " Advertisement " of \ 
 1798 is replaced by a long Preface in which Words- \ 
 worth sets forth his poetical doctrines. 
 
 The second volume opens with " Hart-Leap 
 Well " and closes with "Michael." Possessors of 
 copies of this edition should look at vol. ii. p. 210, 
 where in most copies half the page is blank, through 
 an omission of several lines (see notes on 
 "Michael"). It would be interesting to hear of a 
 copy containing the omitted lines. 
 
310 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 (5.) 
 
 Lyrical Ballads, / with / Pastoral / And Other / 
 Poems, / In Two Volumes. / By W. Wordsworth. / 
 Quam nihil ad genium, Papiniane, tuum ! / Vol. I. / 
 Third Edition. / London : Printed for T. N. Long- 
 man and 0. Kees, Paternoster-Kow, / By Biggs and 
 Cottle, Crane-Court, Fleet- Street. / 1802. 
 
 The second volume has an identical title-page 
 except that "Vol. II. / Second Edition." appears in 
 place of " Vol. I. / Third Edition." | [^1 
 
 8vo. Vol. i., Title, Contents 8 loa ves ; Preface, 
 pp. i-lxiv ; half-title, one leaf, with motto, " Pectus 
 enim id est quod disertos facit et vis mentis ; 
 ideoque imperitis quoquo [sic], si modo sint aliquo 
 affectu concitati, verba non desunt ; Poems, 1-200 ; 
 Notes, 2 leaves unnumbered. 
 
 Vol. ii. Title, Contents, 2 leaves ; Poems pp. 
 1-236 ; Appendix [on Poetic Diction], pp. 237-247 ; 
 Notes, pp. 249, 250. 
 
 The Preface having grown to greater length, 
 some poems given in 1800 in vol. i. are now, pro- 
 bably to equalize the volumes, transferred to vol. ii. 
 " The Dungeon ", by Coleridge, is now omitted ; so 
 also is Wordsworth's " A Character." The arrange- 
 ment of poems is somewhat altered from 1800 ; 
 and there are considerable alterations in the text. A 
 reproduction of this edition in one volume— which I 
 have not been fortunate enough to see — appeared 
 in 1802 at Philadelphia, U.S.A. 
 
 (6.) 
 
 Lyrical Ballads, / with / Pastoral / And Other / 
 Poems. / In two volumes. / By W. Wordsworth./ 
 Quam nihil ad genium, Papiniane, tuum ! / Vol. I./ 
 Fourth Edition. / London : / Printed for Long- 
 man, Hurst, Bees, and Orme, / By B. Taylor and 
 Co., 38 Shoe-Lane. / 1805. 
 
 The second volume has an identical title-page, 
 except that "Vol. II." stands in place of "Vol. I." 
 This volume, like the first, is called " Fourth 
 Edition." 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 311 
 
 i 
 
 8vo. Vol. i., Title, Contents, "£ leaves ; Pre- 
 face, pp. i-lxiv ; half-title, 1 leaf; Poems, pp. 1-200 ; 
 Notes, 2 leaves unnumbered. 
 
 Vol. ii., Title and Contents, 2 leaves ; Poems, 
 pp. 1-236 ; Appendix, pp. 237-247 ; Notes, p. 248. 
 
 The poems and their arrangement are identical 
 with those of edition 1802 ; the text was somewhat 
 altered. 
 
 (7.) 
 
 Poems, / in / Two Volumes, / By / William 
 Wordsworth, / Author of / The Lyrical Ballads. / 
 Posterius graviore sono tibi Musa loquetur / Nostra : 
 dabunt cum securos mihi tempora fructus. / Vol. I. / 
 London : / Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and 
 Orme, / Paternoster-Row. / 1807. [Imprint on 
 verso of half-title : " Wood & Innes, Printers, 
 Poppin's Court, Fleet Street."] 
 
 The title-page of the second volume is identical 
 except that " Vol. II." replaces " Vol. I." 
 
 12mo. Vol. i., Half-title, Title, Contents, >*- Z- 
 leaves (unnumbered) ; Poems, pp. 1-152 ; Notes, 
 pp. 153-158 ; Erratum, one page. T- 
 
 Vol. ii., Half-title, Title, Contents, Cleaves (un- 
 numbered) ; Poems, 1-158 ; Notes, pp. 159-170. 
 
 The Poems are arranged as follows : 
 
 Vol. i., first a number of poems, beginning with 
 " To the Daisy " and closing with " Ode to Duty," 
 having no general heading ; " %)ems, composed 
 during a Tour, chiefly on foot " ; " Sonnets," '* Pre- 
 fatory Sonnet," "Part the First. — Miscellaneous 
 Sonnet." "Part the Second. — Sonnets Dedicated 
 to Liberty." 
 
 Vol. ii., " Poems written during a Tour in Scot- 
 land"; "Moods of My Own Mind"; "The Blind 
 Highland Boy " ; a number of poems with no 
 general heading, closing with "Ode" [i.e., on 
 " Intimations of Immortality," etc.). 
 
 Owners of copies of this edition should see 
 whether the cancelled form of the " Ode to Duty," 
 discovered in one copy by Mr. Tutin (see notes on 
 " Ode to Duty ") is given. 
 
 VVt,^ .f>'3tf 
 
312 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 (8.) 
 
 Concerning / The Relations / of / Great Britain, 
 Spain, and Portugal, / To Each Other, And To The 
 Common Enemy, / At this Crisis ; / And Specifically 
 As Affected By / The / Convention of Cintra: / The 
 whole brought to the test of those Principles, by which / 
 alone, the Independence and Freedom of Nations / 
 can be Preserved or Recovered. / Qui didicit patriae 
 
 quid debeat ; / Quod sit conscripti, quod 
 
 judicis omcium ; quae / Partes in bellum missi ducis. / 
 By William Wordsworth. / London: / Printed for 
 Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, / Paternoster- 
 Row. / 1809. 
 
 8vo. Title, Errata, Advertisement, 3 leaves ; 
 Text, pp. 2-191 ; Appendix, pp. 193-216. Imprint 
 on last page, " C. and R. Baldwin, Printers, New 
 Bridge- Street, London." 
 
 (9.) 
 
 The Excursion, / Being a Portion of / The 
 Recluse, / A Poem. / By / William Wordsworth. / 
 London : / Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, 
 Orme, and Brown, / Paternoster-Row. / 1814. 
 [Imprint on verso of title, "T. Davison, Lombard- 
 Street, Whitefriars, London."] 
 
 Quarto. Title, Dedicatory Sonnet, Preface, Sum- 
 mary of Contents, pp. i-xx ; Errata, 1 leaf; Text, 
 pp. 1-423 ; Notes, pp. 425-447. The notes include 
 the " Essay upon Epitaphs," reprinted from " The 
 Friend " of Feb. 22, 1810. 
 
 (10.) 
 
 Poems / By / William Wordsworth : / including / 
 Lyrical Ballads, / and the / Miscellaneous Pieces of 
 the Author. / With Additional Poems, / A New 
 Preface, and a Supplementary Essay. / In Two 
 Volumes. / Vol. I. / London : Printed for Long- 
 man, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, / Paternoster- 
 Row. / 1815. 
 
 The title-page of the second volume is identical, 
 except that " Vol. II." stands in place of " Vol. I." 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 313 
 
 8vo. Imprint on verso of title-page, " T. Davison, 
 Lombard-street, Whitefriars, London." 
 
 Vol. i., Title, Dedication (to Sir G. Beaumont), 
 Preface, Contents (of both volumes), Errata and 
 Corrections (of both volumes), pp. i-lii ; Poems, 
 pp. 1-337 ; Notes, pp. 339-375. 
 
 Vol. ii., Title, 1 leaf; Half-title and Poems, 
 pp. 1-355; Notes, pp. 357-400 [misprinted 440]. 
 
 Vol. i. has for frontispiece an engraving by 
 Bromley, from a picture by Sir G. Beaumont, 
 illustrating " Lucy Gray " ; Vol. ii. has for frontis- 
 piece an engraving by Reynolds, from Sir G. Beau- 
 mont's picture of Peel [sic] Castle. This is the first 
 collected edition of Wordsworth's Poems, but it 
 does not include " The Excursion." The classifica- 
 tion and arrangement are as follows : Poems refer- 
 ring to the Period of Childhood ; Juvenile Pieces ; 
 Poems Founded on the Affections ; Poems of the 
 Fancy ; Poems of the Imagination ; Poems Pro- 
 ceeding from Sentiment and Reflection ; Miscel- 
 laneous Sonnets ; Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty. 
 First Part. Published in 1807 ; Sonnets Dedicated 
 to Liberty. Second Part. From the year 1807 to 
 1813; Poems on the Naming of Places; Inscrip- 
 tions ; Poems Referring to the Period of Old Age ; 
 Epitaphs and Elegiac Poems ; Ode. — Intimations, 
 etc. In the " Contents " some dates of composition 
 and of publication are given in parallel columns. 
 The new preface is largely occupied with the psycho- 
 logical classification, and the distinction between 
 Fancy and Imagination. The " Essay, supple- 
 mentary to the Preface" (at end of vol. i.) is 
 partly a philosophical reply to adverse criticism and 
 partly a historical survey of English poetry. The 
 Preface to "Lyrical Ballads" closes the second 
 volume, and is followed by " Appendix " (on " Poetic 
 Diction,") reprinted from "Lyrical Ballads." 
 
 (11.) 
 The / White Doe / of / Rylstone ; / or / The Fate 
 of the Nortons. / A Poem. / By / William Words- 
 worth. / London : / Printed for / Longman, Hurst, 
 
314 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Bees, Orme, and Brown, / Paternoster-Row, / By 
 James Ballantyne & Co., Edinburgh. / 1815. 
 
 Quarto. Frontispiece, Title, Advertisement, Mot- 
 toes, Dedicatory Stanzas (•' In trelhVd shed," etc.), 
 pp. i-xi ; Half-title and Poems, pp. 1-138 ; Notes, 
 pp. 139-162. "The White Doe" ends on p. 130; 
 it is followed by "The Force of Prayer ; or the 
 Founding of Bolton Priory.' 1 The frontispiece is 
 an engraving by«J5romley, from Sir George Beau- 
 mont's painting of Bolton Abbey, with the White 
 Doe and figures of woman and children. 
 
 (12.) 
 
 A / Letter / to / A Friend of Eobert Burns : / 
 Occasioned by / an Intended Republication / of / 
 The Account of the Life of Burns, / By Dr. Currie ; / 
 And / Of the Selection made by him from / his 
 Letters. / By William Wordsworth : / London : / 
 Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and 
 Brown, / Paternoster-Row. / 1816. 
 
 8vo. Imprint (on half-title), " T. Davison, Lom- 
 bard-street, Whitefriars, London." Half-title, Title, 
 2 leaves ; Text, pp. 1-37. The Letter is addressed 
 to James Gray, Esq., Edinburgh, and is dated (at 
 end) Rydal Mount, January, 1816. 
 
 (13.) 
 
 Thanksgiving Ode, / January 18, 1816. / With / 
 Other Short Pieces, / Chiefly referring to Recent 
 Public Events. / By William Wordsworth. / 
 London : / Printed by Thomas Davison, White- 
 friars ; / For Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and 
 Brown, / Paternoster-Row. / 1816. 
 
 8vo. Title and Advertisement, pp. i-x ; Contents 
 and Poems, pp. 1-52. 
 
 (14.) 
 
 Two / Addresses / to the / Freeholders / of / 
 Westmoreland. / Kendal : / Printed by Airy and 
 Bellingham. / 1818. 
 
 8vo. Pp. 74 and 2 leaves of Notes. The letter 
 is dated (at end) Westmorland, February 24, 1818. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 315 
 
 (15.) 
 
 Peter Bell, / A / Tale in Verse, / By / William 
 Wordsworth. / London : / Printed by Strahan and 
 Spottiswoode, / Printers-Street ; / For Longman, 
 Hurst, Eees, Orme, and Brown, / Paternoster-Row. / 
 1819. 
 
 8vo. Half-title, 1 leaf; Title, Dedication (to 
 Robert Southey), 3 leaves ; Poems, pp. 1-88. The 
 volume beside " Peter Bell " contains four sonnets, 
 which had " lately appeared in Periodical Publi- ^ 
 cations." The frontispiece is an engraving by J >*" 
 Bromley, from a picture by Sir G. Beaumont, on 
 which the date of publication — March 1, 1819 — is 
 given. The Dedication is dated April 7, 1819. 
 
 (16.) 
 " Peter Bell," second edition, 1819 ; title as in first 
 edition, except that " Second Edition " is added 
 after " William Wordsworth." Collation identical 
 with first edition. A few errors are corrected, and 
 some very slight alterations are made. This second 
 edition preceded the publication of "The Wag- 
 goner," which it announces on verso of half-title, 
 " In a few days will be published, Benjamin the 
 Waggoner." As a fact when it was published the 
 name " Benjamin " did not appear. 
 
 (17.) 
 
 The / Waggoner, / A Poem. / To which are 
 added, / Sonnets. / By / William Wordsworth. / 
 " What's in a Name ? " / . . . . / " Brutus will start 
 a Spirit as soon as Caesar ! " / London : / Printed by 
 Strahan and Spottiswoode, Printers-Street; / For 
 Longman, Hurst, Bees, Orme, and Brown, / Pater- 
 noster-Row. / 1819. 
 
 8vo. Title and Dedication (to Charles Lamb), 
 pp. i-iv ; Poems, pp. 1-68. 
 
 (18.) 
 The / River Duddon, / A Series of / Sonnets : / 
 Vaudracour and Julia : / and / Other Poems. / To 
 
y 
 
 316 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 which is annexed, / A Topographical Description / 
 Of the / Country of the Lakes, / In the North of 
 England. / By William Wordsworth. / London : / 
 Printed for Longman, Hurst, Kces, Orme, and 
 Brown, / Paternoster-Row / 1820. 
 
 8vo. Imprint on verso of title, " Printed by 
 A. and R. Spottiswoode, Printers-Street, London." 
 Title, Dedication, Advertisement, Contents, pp. 
 i-viii ; Poems, pp. 1-212; Topographical Descrip- 
 tion, pp. 213-321. Errata on verso of last leaf. 
 
 The Topographical Description first appeared as 
 an Introduction to " Select Views in Cumberland, 
 Westmoreland, and Lancashire," by the Rev. 
 Joseph Wilkinson (Folio, 1810). 
 
 In 1820 a third volume of Poems by William 
 Wordsworth, to match the two volumes of 1815, 
 was made up by binding together, with their sepa- 
 rate title-pages, the Duddon volume, " Peter Bell," 
 "The Waggoner," and "A Thanksgiving Ode." 
 The title was as follows : Poems / by / William 
 Wordsworth : / including / The River Duddon ; / 
 Vaudracour and Julia ; / Peter Bell ; The Wag- 
 goner ; /A Thanksgiving Ode ; / and / Miscellaneous 
 Pieces. / Vol. III. / London : / Printed for Longman, 
 Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, / Paternoster- 
 Row. / 1820. The paging is as in the separate 
 issues. 
 
 (19.) 
 
 The / Miscellaneous / Poems / of / William 
 Wordsworth. / In Four Volumes. / Vol. I. [Vol II., 
 Vol. III., Vol. IV.] / London : / Printed for Long- 
 man, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, / Paternos- 
 ter-Row. / 1820. 
 
 12mo. Imprint : " Printed by A. and R. 
 Spottiswoode, Printers-Street, London." 
 
 Vol. i., Title, Dedication (to Sir G. H. Beau- 
 mont), Advertisement, Preface, Contents, pp. 
 i-xlvii ; Poems, pp. 1-316 ; Note, p. 317 ; Errata (of 
 the four volumes). 
 
 Vol. ii., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-vii; 
 Poems, pp. 1-342 ; Notes, pp. 343-347. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 317 
 
 Vol. iii., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-xi ; 
 Poems, pp. 1-298 ; Essay ; Supplement to the Pre- 
 face, pp. 299-338. 
 
 Vol. iv., Title, Contents, pp. i-viii ; Poems, pp. 
 1-284; Notes, p. 285; Preface [to "Lyrical 
 Ballads"] and Appendix [on "Poetic Diction "1, 
 pp. 287-331. 
 
 " The Excursion " is not included. The Adver- 
 tisement is dated " London, July 8, 1820.' ; This 
 edition appeared after the " River Duddon " 
 volume, and the text of some poems in that volume 
 is here retouched. Each volume has a frontispiece 
 after Sir G. Beaumont, those which had already 
 appeared (viz., "Lucy Gray," " Peter Bell," "The 
 White Doe," " Peele Castle.") 
 
 " This edition was republished at Boston, U.S.A., 
 in 1824, in 4 vols. 12mo."— J. R. Tutin. 
 
 (20.) 
 
 The Excursion, / Being a Portion of / The Re- 
 cluse, / A Poem. / By / William Wordsworth. / 
 Second Edition. / London:/ Printed for Long- 
 man, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, / Paternoster- 
 Row. / 1820. 
 
 8vo. Imprint, " Printed by A. and R. Spottis- 
 woode, Printers-street, London." Title, Dedica- 
 tion, Preface, Contents, pp. i-xx; Text of Poem, 
 pp. 1-423 ; Notes (including " Essay on Epitaphs"), 
 pp. 425-452. 
 
 (21.) 
 
 Memorials / of a / Tour on the Continent, / 1820./ 
 By William Wordsworth. / London : / Printed 
 for / Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, / 
 Paternoster-Row. / 1822. 
 
 8vo. Imprint, " London : Printed by A. and 
 R. Spottiswoode, New- Street- Square." Half-title, 
 Title, Dedication, Contents, p. i-viii ; Poems, 
 pp. 1-79 ; Notes, pp. 81-91 ; Desultory Stanzas, 
 pp. 93-100 ; Notes, pp. 101-^03. 
 
 One Sonnet in this volume, " Author's Voyage 
 Down the Rhine (Thirty Years Ago,)" was never 
 reprinted by Wordsworth. The Dedication is dated 
 
318 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 January, 1822, and the volume was published early 
 in that year. 
 
 (22.) 
 
 Ecclesiastical / Sketches / By / William Words- 
 worth. / London : / Printed for / Longman, Hurst, 
 Eees, Orme, and Brown, / Paternoster- Row. / 1822. 
 8vo. Imprint, " London : Printed by A. arid E. 
 Spottiswoode, New- Street- Square." 
 
 Half-title, Title, Advertisement, Contents, pp. 
 i-x ; Poems, pp. 1-108 ; Notes, pp. 109-123. The 
 Advertisement is dated " Rydal Mount, January 
 24th, 1822"; the volume was published early in 
 the year. The number of the Sonnets, in this the 
 first form, is 102. 
 
 (23.) 
 
 * A / Description / of the / Scenery of the Lakes / 
 in / The North of England. / Third Edition, / (now 
 first published separately) / With Additions, / and 
 Illustrative Remarks upon the / Scenery of the 
 Alps. / By William Wordsworth. / London: / 
 Printed for / Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and 
 Brown, / Paternoster-Row. / 1822. 
 
 " 12mo. Title and Contents, pp. i-iv ; Text, pp. 
 1-156."— J. R. Tutin. See No. 18. A map of the 
 Lake District faces the title-page. 
 
 1 (24.) 
 In 1823 No. 23. appeared in the fourth edition: 
 12mo. ; title as in third edition ; Title and Con- 
 tents, pp. i-iv ; Text, pp. 1-144. Imprint, " Lon- 
 don : Printed by A. and R. Spottiswoode, New- 
 Street- Square." 
 
 (25.) 
 
 The / Poetical Works / of / William Wordsworth./ 
 In Five Volumes./ Vol. I. [Vol. II., Vol. III., 
 Vol. IV., Vol. V.] / London : / Printed for Longman, 
 Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, / Paternoster- 
 Row. / 1827. 
 
 12mo. Imprint, " London : Printed by A. & 
 R. Spottiswoode, New- Street- Square." 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 319 
 
 Vol. i., Title, Dedication (to Sir G. H. Beau- 
 mont), Advertisement, Preface, Contents, pp. 
 i-xlvii ; Poems, pp. 1-354 ; slip of " Errata in 
 vol. i." 
 
 Vol. ii., Title, Contents, pp. i-viii ; Poems, pp. 
 1-349 ; Notes to vol. ii., pp. 351-356 ; Essay, sup- 
 plementary to the Preface, pp. 357-391 ; slip of 
 " Errata in vol. ii." 
 
 Vol. iii., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-xvi ; 
 Poems, pp. 1-444 ; Notes, pp. 445-455 ; slip of 
 " Errata in vol. iii." 
 
 Vol. iv., Title, Contents, pp. i-vii; Poems, pp. 
 1-355 ; Preface to the Second Edition of the 
 "Lyrical Ballads," pp. 357-389; Appendix [on 
 " Poetic Diction "] pp. 391-397 ; slip of " Errata in 
 vol. iv." 
 
 Vol. v., Half-title, Title, Preface, Contents, pp. 
 i-xvii ; " The Excursion," pp. 1-391 ; Notes, pp. 
 393-421 ; slip of Erratum in vol. v. This is the 
 first collected edition of Wordsworth's complete 
 Poetical Works, including " The Excursion." See 
 No. 26. 
 
 (26.) 
 
 The / Poetical Works /of/ William Wordsworth. / 
 Complete in One Volume. / Paris / Published by 
 A. and W. Galignani, / N° 18 Kue Vivienne. / 1828. 
 
 8vo. Title, Advertisement, Contents, Memoir 
 of William Wordsworth, Esq., pp. i-xvi ; Preface, 
 Poems and Notes, pp. 1-340. 
 
 This is an unauthorised reprint of No. 25, ed. 
 1827. A portrait of Wordsworth, engraved by 
 Wedgewood after the painting by Carruthers, 
 appears as frontispiece. The text is in double 
 columns. 
 
 (27.) 
 Selections / from the Poems / of / William 
 Wordsworth, Esq. / Chiefly for the use of / Schools 
 and Young Persons. / " Wherever I went I found 
 that Poetry was considered as the highest learning:/ 
 and regarded with a veneration somewhat ap- 
 proaching to that which Man would pay / to the 
 
) 320 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Angelic nature." — Kasselas. / London : / Edward 
 Moxon, 64, New Bond Street. / 1831. 
 
 12mo. Imprint, "London: Bradbury and 
 Evans, Printers, Bouverie Street.' 1 Title, Dedica- 
 tion (" To the Admirers of Mr. Wordsworth's 
 Poetry," signed " J. Hine ") ; Preface (by J. Hine), 
 Contents, pp. i-xvi ; Poems, pp. 1-365. See No. 29. 
 
 (28.) 
 \Y The / Poetical Works / of / William Words- 
 
 worth. / A New Edition. / In Four Volumes. / 
 Vol. I. [Vol. II., Vol. III., Vol. IV.] London: / 
 Printed for / Longman, Bees, Orme, Brown, Green, 
 & Longman, Paternoster-Bow. / 1832. 
 
 8vo. Imprint, " London : Printed by A. and 
 R. Spottiswoode, New-Street-Square. " 
 
 Vol. i., Title, Dedication, Advertisement, Pre- 
 face, Contents, pp. i-xlvii ; slip of " Errata in 
 vol. i." ; Poems, pp. 1-310 ; Essay, supplementary 
 to the Preface, pp. 311-342 ; Note to Volume I., 
 p. 343. 
 
 Vol. ii., Title, Contents, pp. i-xv; slip of "Errata 
 in vol. ii." ; Poems, pp. 1-364 ; Notes to Volume II., 
 pp. 365-377. 
 
 Vol. iii., Title, Contents, pp. i-xi ; slip of " Er- 
 rata in vol. iii." ; Poems, pp. 1-322 ; Preface to 
 the Second Edition of "Lyrical Ballads," pp. 323- 
 352 ; Appendix [on " Poetic Diction"], pp. 353-358. 
 
 Vol. iv., Title, Contents, 2 leaves; slip of 
 " Errata in vol. iv." ; " The Excursion," pp. 1-326 ; 
 Notes, including Essay upon Epitaphs, pp. 327- 
 357. 
 
 The Advertisement is as follows : " The Contents 
 of the last Edition in five volumes are compressed 
 into the present of four ; with some additional 
 Pieces reprinted from miscellaneous Publications." 
 
 (29.) 
 Selections [as in No. 27 with " A new Edition " 
 added on title-page.] London : Edward Moxon, 
 Dover Street, mdcccxxxiv. §vo. pp. xvi, 326. A 
 republication of No. 27. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 321 
 
 (30.) 
 The Memorial Lines " Written after the Death 
 of Charles Lamb " were issued privately without 
 title or date, probably late in 1835 or early in 1836. 
 8vo., pp. 7. 
 
 (31.) 
 Yarrow Eevisited, / and / Other Poems. / By / 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 " — Poets . . . dwell on earth 
 To clothe whate'er the soul admires and loves ; 
 With language and with numbers." 
 
 AKKNSIDE. 
 
 London : / Printed for / Longman, Kees, Orme, 
 Brown, Green, & Longman, / Paternoster-Row ; 
 And / Edward Moxon, Dover-Street. / 1835. 
 
 12mo. Imprint, " London : Printed by A. 
 Spottiswoode, New-Street-Square." 
 
 Title, Dedication [to Samuel Rogers, dated Dec. 
 11, 1834], Advertisement. Contents, Errata, and 
 Emendations, pp. i-xvi ; Poems, pp. 1-322 ; Post- 
 script, pp. 323-349. 
 
 The Advertisement is as follows : " It was the 
 Author's intention to reserve the contents of this 
 Volume to be interspersed in some future edition 
 of his miscellaneous Poems ; but it is obvious that, 
 by so doing, the purchasers of his former works, 
 who might wish for these Pieces also, would have 
 reason to complain if they could not purchase them 
 without being obliged to re-purchase what they 
 already possessed : from this consideration, and at 
 the request of many of his friends, they are now 
 published in a separate volume, uniform with 
 former editions." 
 
 (32.) 
 *A / Guide / Through the / District of the 
 Lakes / in / The North of England, / with / A 
 Description of the Scenery, &c. / For the Use 
 of / Tourists and Residents. / Fifth Edition, with 
 considerable additions. / By William Wordsworth. / 
 Kendal: / Published by Hudson and Nicholson, / 
 
 VII. T 
 
322 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 and in London by / Longman & Co., Moxon, and 
 Whittaker and Co. / 1835. 
 
 12mo. Title and Contents, 2 leaves ; Directions 
 and Information for the Tourist, pp. i-xxiv ; Text, 
 pp. 1-139. " Map of the Lakes" faces the title-page. 
 (J. R. Tutin.) I am acquainted only with Grosart's 
 reprint of this edition. 
 
 (33.) 
 
 * Yarrow Revisited and Other Poems. [Title as 
 in first edition except that the words " Second 
 Edition " appear, and date 1836.] 
 
 8vo. Title, Dedication, Advertisement, Con- 
 tents, pp. i-xii ; Poems and Postscript, pp. 1-323. 
 (J. R. Tutin.) 
 
 (34.) 
 
 * The Excursion. A Poem. By William Words- 
 worth. A New Edition. London : Edward Moxon, 
 Dover Street, mdcccxxxvi. 
 
 8vo. Preface and Contents, pj). xv ; Poem 
 and Notes, pp. 1-374. Identical in all respects 
 with vol. vi. of the 1836-1837 edition of Poetical 
 Works. Reprinted in 1841, 1844, 1847. (J. R. 
 Tutin.) 
 
 (35.) 
 The / Poetical Works / of / William Words- 
 worth. / A New Edition / In Six Volumes. / 
 Vol. I. [Vol. II., Vol III., Vol. IV., Vol. V., 
 Vol. VI.] / London : Edward Moxon, Dover Street. / 
 
 MDCCCXXXVI. 
 
 8vo. Imprint, " London : Bradbury and Evans 
 Printers, Whitefriars." Vols. i. and ii. have the 
 date 1836 ; vols, iii.-vi. the date 1837. 
 
 Vol. i. [Portrait engraved by Watt after Pickers- 
 gill faces title]. Title, Dedication, Advertisement, 
 Preface, Contents, pp. i-xlviii ; slip of Emenda- 
 tions and Errata ; Poems, pp. 1-310 : Notes, pp. 
 311-313. 
 
 Vol. ii., Title, Contents, pp. i-viii ; Poems, pp. 
 1-302; Preface (to Lyrical Ballads, second ed.), 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 323 
 
 pp. 303-337 ; Appendix [on "Poetic Diction"], pp. 
 339-345 ; Notes, pp. 347-351. 
 
 Vol. iii., Title and Contents, pp. i-xii ; Poems, 
 pp. 1-313 ; Essay, supplementary to the Preface, 
 pp. 315-352 ; Notes, pp. 353-355. 
 
 Vol. iv., Title, Contents, pp. i-xi ; Poems, pp. 
 1-310; Postscript [to "The Eiver Duddon "] and 
 Notes, pp. 311-364. 
 
 Vol. v., Title, Contents, pp. i-xi; Poems, pp. 
 1-345 ; Postscript, 1835, pp. 347-373 ; Notes, pp. 
 375-388 ; Index to the Poems, pp, 389-396 ; Index 
 to the First Lines, pp. 397-412. 
 
 Vol. vi., Title, Half-title, Dedication, Preface, 
 Contents, pp. i-xv ; slip of Errata ; " The Excur- 
 sion," pp. 1-343 ; Notes [including " Essay on 
 Epitaphs"], pp. 345-374. 
 
 The Advertisement is as follows : " An alphabe- 
 tical list of the Miscellaneous Poems (the Sonnets 
 only excepted) will be given at the close of the fifth 
 volume. As this edition is stereotyped, the Author 
 has thought it proper carefully to revise the whole. 
 Two short pieces only are added, which will be 
 found among the Elegiac Poems." The contents of 
 " Yarrow Revisited," etc., are included, being dis- 
 tributed in their proper places. This stereotyped 
 edition was reprinted in 1840, 1841, 1842, 1843, 
 1846, 1849 (of which I know only edd. 1840 and 
 1843) ; the " Poems chiefly of Early and Late 
 Years" 1842 was added as a seventh volume. See 
 No. 36. 
 
 (36.) 
 
 The / Sonnets / of / William Wordsworth. / Col- 
 lected in One Volume, / with / A Few Additional 
 Ones, Now First Published. / London : / Edward 
 Moxon, Dover Street. / mdcccxxxviii. 
 
 8vo. Imprint, " London : Bradbury and Evans, 
 Printers to the Queen, Whitefriars." Title-page, 
 Advertisement, Contents, pp. i-xi ; Sonnets, pp. 
 1-448 ; Notes, pp. 449-477. 
 
 The Advertisement, which is dated " Rydal Mount, 
 May 21st, 1838," mentions that twelve new sonnets 
 are included which were composed while the sheets 
 
/< 
 
 X 
 
 324 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 were going through the press." Eleven of these 
 are distinguished in the Table of Contents by an 
 asterisk; the twelfth is "At Dover (from the 
 Pier's Head," etc.) ; a thirteenth (" Said Secrecy to 
 Cowardice "), which I believe to be of the same 
 date, appears in a note, p. 450. 
 
 A supplement of 32 pages to the stereotyped 
 edition of the Poetical Works was issued with an 
 Advertisement dated '' Kydal Mount, Nov. 20, 
 1839," and this was added to vol. v. of ed. 1840. 
 It contains the twelve sonnets written while " The 
 Sonnets," 1838, was going through the press (includ- 
 ing "At Dover"), and in the notes gives "Said 
 Secrecy,"etc. There follow certain Latin translations 
 of poems of Wordsworth by his son the Kev. John 
 Wordsworth of which Wordsworth writes in the 
 Advertisement to the supplement : " For my own 
 satisfaction, and in the hope, I acknowledge, of 
 gratifying some readers, I have added Latin Trans- 
 lations, by a near relative of mine, of the two Odes 
 to May, and also of the ' Somnambulist' ; with an 
 account, by the Translator, in an Elegiac epistle to 
 a friend, of the circumstances under which the 
 Translations were made." 
 
 (37.) 
 
 * Yarrow Eevisited ; and Other Poems. By 
 William Wordsworth. London : Edward Moxon, 
 Dover Street, mdcccxxxix. 
 
 18mo. Titles and Contents, pp. i-xi ; Text, pp. 
 1-249. The sheets are marked vol. v., as if this 
 were intended as a fifth volume added to the four 
 ofed. 1832. (J. E. Tutin.) 
 
 (38.) 
 
 Poems, / Chiefly of Early and Late Years; / 
 including / The Borderers, / A Tragedy. / By Wil- 
 liam Wordsworth. / London : / Edward Moxon, 
 Dover Street. / mdcccxlii. 
 
 «vo. Title, Contents, Prelude ("In desultory 
 walk"), Erratum, pp. i-xii; Poems, pp. 1-397; 
 Notes, pp- 399-405. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 325 
 
 The " Prelude " to this volume is dated March 
 26, 1842. This volume was also issued with the 
 title The / Poetical Works / of / William Words- 
 worth. / Vol. VII. / London : Edward Moxon, 
 Dover Street. / mdcccxlii. 
 
 (39.) 
 
 * Select Pieces from the Poems of William Words- 
 worth. London: James Burns. 1843. 
 
 Sq. 12mo. Pp. viii, 240. (J. R. Tutin). The 
 British Museum catalogue describes it as 16mo. 
 
 (40.) 
 The lines on " Grace Darling," vol. v. pp. 55-58, 
 were privately printed — as I believe in the year 
 1843. I have not seen a copy. 
 
 (41.) 
 
 Kendal and Windermere / Railway. / Two Let- 
 ters / Re-printed from The Morning Post. / Revised, 
 with Additions. / Kendal : / Printed by R. Bran- 
 thwaite and Son. (No date). No signatures and 
 no water-mark to determine size. 
 
 Pp. 1-3, Title and " Sonnet on the projected 
 Kendal and Windermere Railway." Letters (which 
 include two Sonnets), pp. 5-23. 
 
 The first letter is dated Dec. 9, 1844, and on p. 14 
 there is a reference to an Essay in " The Morning 
 Post," of Dec. 18, 1844. Hence, if this pamphlet 
 was published in 1844 it must have been at the 
 close of the year. 
 
 (42.) 
 The / Poems / of/ William Wordsworth, D.C.L., / 
 Poet Laureate, Etc., Etc. / A New Edition. / 
 London : / Edward Moxon, Dover Street. / 
 
 MDCCCXLV. 
 
 Royal 8vo. Imprint, " London : Bradbury and 
 Evans, Printers, Whitefriars." Title, " If thou 
 indeed derive thy light," etc. ; Contents, pp. xxiv ; 
 Poems, pp. 1-535 ; Notes, pp. 536-566 ; Appendix, 
 Prefaces, etc., pp. 567-608 ; Index to the Poems, 
 pp. 609-612 ; Index to the First Lines, pp. 613-619. 
 
326 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Republished 1846, 1847, 1849, 1851. " The Pre- 
 lude " was added in later editions, and a leaf giving 
 nine additional poems — eight of these being dated 
 1846. An engraving by Finden, from Chantrey's 
 bust of Wordsworth, is given in ed. 1845, with an 
 engraved title giving a print of Rydal Mount, by 
 Howse, after Finden. In some later editions the 
 Pickersgill portrait, engraved by J. Skelton, re- 
 places Chantrey's bust. The poems were to some 
 extent rearranged (on suggestions derived from 
 Professor Reed) for this edition of 1845. 
 
 (43.) 
 
 * Ode, performed in the Senate-House, Cambridge, 
 on the sixth of July, mdcccxlvii. At the first com- 
 mencement after the Installation of his Royal 
 Highness the Prince Albert, Chancellor of the 
 University. Cambridge : printed at the University 
 Press. 1847. 
 
 4to. Pp. 8, including Title. (J. R. Tutin). 
 
 (44.) 
 
 Ode / On the Installation / of / His Royal High- 
 ness Prince Albert / as / Chancellor of the University 
 of Cambridge, / By William Wordsworth, / Poet 
 Laureate. / London: Printed, by permission, by 
 Vizetelly Brothers and Co. / Published by George 
 Bell, Fleet Street. / [Price 3s. 6<2.] 
 
 4to. Cover with Title; Woodcut portrait of 
 Prince Albert in his Robes as Chancellor, and text 
 within illuminated borders, 12 pp. (including cover). 
 
 I have not seen No. 43, and I cannot tell for cer- 
 tain whether it preceded or followed No. 44 ; but I 
 suppose it was the earlier of the two and used on 
 the occasion of the performance of the Ode, July 6, 
 1847. 
 
 ^45.) 
 The / Poetical Works / of / William Wordsworth, 
 D.C.L., / Poet Laureate, Etc., Etc. / In six volumes. / 
 Vol. I. [Vols. II.-VL] / A New Edition. / London : / 
 Edward Moxon, Dover Street. / mdcccxlix. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY. 327 
 
 12mo. Imprint, " London, Bradbury and Evans, 
 Printers, Whitefriars." 
 
 Vol. i., Half-title, Title, " If thou indeed derive 
 thy light," etc., Contents, pp. i-xii ; Poems, pp. 
 1-297 ; Notes, pp. 298, 299. 
 
 vol. ii., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-xii; 
 Poems, pp. 1-321 ; Notes, pp. 322-327. 
 
 Vol. iii., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-xiv ; 
 Poems, pp. 1-238; Notes, pp. 239-271. 
 
 Vol. iv., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-xvi ; 
 Poems, pp. 1-272; Notes, pp. 273-292, and Addi- 
 tional note on next page (unnumbered). 
 
 Vol. v., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-viii ; 
 Poems, pp. 1-154; Notes, pp. 155, 156 ; Appendix, 
 Prefaces, etc., pp. 157-279 ; Index to the Poems, 
 pp. 281-290 ; Index to the First Lines, pp. 291-307. 
 
 Vol. vi., Half-title, Title, Contents, pp. i-vi ; 
 " The Excursion," pp. 1-281 ; Notes, pp. 283-301. 
 
 Vols, i., ii. are dated 1849 ; vols, iii.-vi. are dated 
 1850. In the one volume ed. of 1845, " Yarrow 
 Kevisited," follows the " Ecclesiastical Sonnets," 
 and precedes "Evening Voluntaries"; in ed. 
 1849-50, "Yarrow Eevisited " follows the " Biver 
 Duddon," and precedes " The White Doe." 
 
 (46.) 
 
 The Prelude, / or / Growth of a Poet's Mind ; / An 
 Autobiographical Poem ; / by / William Words- 
 worth. / London : / Edward Moxon, Dover Street. / 
 1850. 
 
 8vo. Imprint, " London : Bradbury and Evans, 
 Printers, Whitefriars." Half-title, Title, Advertise- 
 ment, Contents, pp. i-x ; Text of Poem, pp. 1-372 ; 
 Notes, pp. 373, 374. 
 
 # <( rp^ e p r elude" appeared in 1851 in Fcap. 
 8vo. ; it was issued uniform with the seven vol. 
 edition of the " Poetical Works," and formed vol. 
 viii. (J. E. Tutin). 
 
 It should be mentioned that " The First Book 
 of the Becluse" was also a posthumous publication 
 (Macmillan, 1888.) 
 
 Of American reprints the edition by Professor 
 
328 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Henry Reed, 1837, is to be noted as important, and 
 one put forth after the poet's death by the same 
 editor. Henry Reed also superintended a selection 
 from Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 In 1857 the notes dictated to Miss Fenwick first 
 appeared, being prefixed to the poems to which 
 they refer, in a six volume edition published by 
 Moxon. 
 
 Of recent editions the most important is that by 
 Professor Knight, in eight volumes (Edinburgh : 
 William Paterson, 1882-1886). An edition of 1888 
 in one volume (Macmillan), attempts — with many 
 failures and errors — to give the poems in chrono- 
 logical order. 
 
 Wordsworth's Prose Works were collected and 
 edited by Dr. Grosart, in three volumes (Edward 
 Moxon, Son, and Co., 1876). 
 
 Of volumes of selections the following may be 
 mentioned: "The Earlier Poems of William 
 Wordsworth," edited, with variations of text in 
 footnotes, by William Johnston (Moxon, 1857) ; " A 
 Selection from the Works of William Wordsworth. 
 Selected and arranged by Francis Turner Palgrave " 
 (Moxon and Co. 1865) ; " Poems of Wordsworth, 
 chosen and edited by Matthew Arnold " (Macmillan, 
 1879) ; " Selections from Wordsworth," by William 
 Knight and other members of the Wordsworth 
 Society (Kegan Paul, Trench and Co., 1888) ; and 
 a little volume of selections edited by Clement K. 
 Shorter (published by Stott), which aims at bringing 
 out Wordsworth's interpretation of human life and 
 character, as well as his interpretation of Nature. 
 A volume of selections has been edited, with notes, 
 by W. J. Rolfe (New York, Harper and Brothers, 
 1889) ; and a volume of selections, in chronological 
 order, has been edited, with notes, by A. J. George 
 (Boston, Heath and Co., 1889). Mr. George has 
 also edited "The Prelude," with notes (same pub- 
 lishers, 1888), and "Wordsworth's Prefaces and 
 Essays on Poetry" (same publishers, 1892). 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 [This table represents the present state of our knowledge ; but it is far 
 from attaining complete certainty. Wordsworth's dates, on which 
 we have often to rely, when admitting of a test have had in not 
 a few instances to be corrected.] 
 
 1784 to 1797. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 
 1784-85 1851 Written as a School Exercise at 
 
 Hawkshead ..... 
 1786 1815 Extract from the Conclusion of a 
 
 Poem composed in anticipation 
 
 of leaving School 
 Written in very Early Youth 
 Sonnet, on seeing Miss H. M. Wil 
 
 liams weep .... 
 An Evening Walk . 
 Lines written while sailing in 
 
 Boat at Evening . 
 Remembrance of Collins 
 Descriptive Sketches 
 Sonnet sent from Forncett 
 Guilt and Sorrow . 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 1786 (?) 1807 
 
 1787 1787 
 
 1787-89 1793 
 1789 1798 
 
 1789 1798 
 
 1791-92 1793 
 
 1792 1883 
 
 1791-94 1842 
 
 [Part of this poem was published under the title of 
 "The Female Vagrant," in 1798.] 
 
 1795 1798 Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew- 
 tree 
 
 [Part written before Oct., 1787.] 
 1795 (?) 1795 The Birth of Love .... 
 1795-96 1842 The Borderers .... 
 
 1795-97 1814 Margaret, or the Ruined Cottage 
 
 [Afterwards incorporated in "The Excursion," Book I.] 
 1797 1800 The Reverie of Poor Susan . . ii 
 
 173 
 
 i 
 
 3 
 
 i 
 
 4 
 
 .- 
 
 V 
 
 176 
 
 i 
 
 4 
 
 a 
 
 i 
 
 18 
 
 i 
 
 19 
 
 i 
 
 20 
 
 V 
 
 177 
 
 i 
 
 48 
 
 i 46 
 
 v 177 
 
 i 76 
 
 vi 27-40 
 
 98 
 
 1798. 
 
 (?) 
 
 1798 The Convict 
 
 v 179 
 
VOL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ii 
 
 88 
 
 ii 
 
 182 
 
 i 
 
 188 
 
 " w 
 
 
 ii 
 
 125 
 
 V 
 
 45 
 
 i 
 
 335 
 
 iv 
 
 203 
 
 iv 
 
 199 
 
 iv 
 
 201 
 
 330 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 Jan. 25, 
 
 1798 1815 ANight-Piece 
 
 1798 1798 We are Seven 
 
 1798 1798 Anecdote for Fathers . 
 
 IMarch 18 
 
 1798 ' '1800 " A whirlblast from behind the h: 
 
 1798 x 1798 The Thorn . 
 
 1798 1798 Goody Blake and Harry Gill . 
 
 1798 1798 Her eyes are Wild . 
 
 1798 1798 Simon Lee ... 
 
 1798 1798 Lines written in Early Spring 
 
 1798 1798 To my Sister .... 
 
 1798 1814 (?) A portion, 706 lines, of "The 
 
 Recluse" vi 
 
 [Probably afterwards embodied in "The Excursion."] 
 
 1798 1798 Expostulation and Reply . . iv 197 
 
 1798 1798 The Tables Turned . iv 198 
 
 1 798 1 798 The Complaint of a Forsaken Indian 
 
 Woman i 258 
 
 1798 1798 The Last of the Flock . . i 261 
 
 1798 1798 The Idiot Boy . . . i 289 
 
 1798 2 1819 Peter Bell. A Tale . ii 219 
 July 13, 
 
 1798 1798 Lines composed a few miles above 
 
 Tintern Abbey . . . ii 145 
 
 1798 3 1800 The Old Cumberland Beggar . v 113 
 1798 1798 Animal Tranquillity and Decay . v 128 
 1798 1800 There was a Boy . . . . ii 86 
 1798 1842 Address to the Scholars of the 
 
 Village School of . . . v 138 
 
 u .-v 
 
 1799. 
 
 1798 or 1800 Written in Germany, on one of the 
 
 1799 coldest days of the Century . iv 206 
 
 1799 1800 "Strange fits of passion have I 
 
 known" i 245 
 
 1799 1800 "She dwelt among the untrodden 
 
 ways" i 246 
 
 1799 1807 " I travelled among unknown men" i 247 
 1799 1800 " Three years she grew in sun and 
 
 shower" ii 96 
 
 i Begun March 19. 2 Begun Apri 20. 
 
 3 Begun at Racedown, and therefore before the end of July, 1797 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 331 
 
 Com- 
 posed. 
 1799 
 1799 
 1799 
 1799 
 1799 
 1799 
 1799 
 
 1799 
 1799 
 
 1799 
 1799 
 1799 
 
 First 
 Published. 
 
 1800 
 1800 
 1800 
 1800 
 1800 
 1800 
 1850 
 
 1800 
 1809 
 
 1800 
 1800 
 1800 
 
 A slumber did my spirit seal" 
 
 A Poet's Epitaph . ' . 
 
 To a Sexton .... 
 
 The Danish Boy. A Fragment 
 
 Lucy Gray ; or, Solitude 
 
 Rutli .'.... 
 
 The Prelude (begun in this year) 
 Book I. (?) .... 
 
 Nutting ..... 
 
 Influence of Natural Objects in call- 
 ing forth and strengthening the 
 imagination in Boyhood and early 
 Youth 
 
 Matthew 
 
 The two April Mornings 
 
 The Fountain. A Conversation . 
 
 VOL. 
 
 . ii 
 iv 
 ii 
 ii 
 i 
 ii 
 
 vii 
 ii 
 
 iv 
 iv 
 
 iv 
 
 PAGE 
 
 97 
 
 207 
 
 14 
 
 39 
 
 180 
 
 110 
 
 1-1 
 i 
 
 91 
 
 197 
 210 
 212 
 214 
 
 1800. 
 
 1800 1800 Ellen Irwin; or, the Braes of Kirtle 
 1800 1800 Hart-Leap Well . 
 1800 1800 The Brothers .... 
 1800 1800 The Idle Shepherd-boys ; or, Dun 
 
 geon-Ghyll Force. A Pastoral 
 1800 1800 The Pet-Lamb. A Pastoral . 
 
 111 
 ii 
 
 81 
 133 
 214 
 
 185 
 192 
 
 1800 
 
 1800 
 1800 
 
 Oct. 10, 
 1800 
 
 1800 
 
 Poems on the Naming of Places. 1 
 
 1800 "It was an April morning: fresh 
 
 and clear " . 
 
 1800 To Joanna 
 
 1800 " There is an Eminence, — of these 
 
 our hills" 
 
 1800 "A narrow girdle of rough stones 
 
 and crags " . 
 1800 To M. H 
 
 1800 1800 The Waterfall and the Eglantine . 
 
 1800 1800 The Oak and the Broom. A Pastoral 
 
 1800 1800 " 'Tis said that some have died for 
 
 love" 
 
 11 
 ii 
 
 339 
 341 
 
 344 
 
 344 
 347 
 
 8 
 10 
 
 250 
 
 1 See also under 1802, " When to the attractions of the busy world," 
 belonging in part to 1800. 
 
332 
 
 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 
 1800 1800 The Childless Father . 
 
 1800 1800 Song for the Wandering Jew 
 
 1800 (?) 1800 Rural Architecture 
 
 1800 x (?) 1807 The Seven Sisters .... 
 
 1800 1800 Andrew Jones . 
 
 1800 1800 The Two Thieves; or, The Last 
 Stage of Avarice 
 
 A Character 
 
 Inscription for the Spot where the 
 Hermitage stood on St. Herbert's 
 Island, Derwentwater 
 Written with a Pencil upon a Stone 
 in the Wall of the House (an Out- 
 house) on the Island at Gfasmere 
 
 1800 1800 Written with a Slate Pencil upon a 
 Stone, the largest of a heap lying 
 near a deserted Quarry, upon one 
 of the Islands at Rydal 
 
 1800 
 1800 
 
 1800 
 
 1800 
 1800 
 
 1800 
 
 Oct. -Dec, 
 1800 1800 
 1800 1889 
 1800 (?) 1888 
 
 Michael. A Pastoral Poem . 
 Fragments intended for Michael 
 The Recluse. Book I. 2 
 
 OL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 i 
 
 275 
 
 ii 
 
 41 
 
 i 
 
 190 
 
 ii 
 
 27 
 
 V 
 
 181 
 
 V 
 
 125 
 
 iv 
 
 200 
 
 83 
 
 76 
 
 304 
 182 
 
 1801 
 1801 
 
 1807 
 1815 
 
 1820 
 
 1801 3 
 
 Dec, 
 
 1801 1841 
 
 1801(?) 1841 
 Dec 22, 
 
 1801- 1814 
 March 9, 1802. 
 Dec. 26, 
 1801 1850 
 
 1801. 
 
 The Sparrow's Nest 
 
 " Pelion and Ossa nourish side by 
 
 side'; 
 
 The Prioress' Tale (from Chaucer) . 
 
 The Cuckoo and the Nightingale 
 
 (from Chaucer) .... 
 
 Troilus and Cresida (from Chaucer) 
 
 "The Pedlar" {i.e., "The Excur- 
 sion," Books I., II., partly) 
 
 Part of " The Prelude" . 
 
 171 
 
 iii 
 
 6 
 
 V 
 
 85 
 
 V 
 
 94 
 
 V 
 
 107 
 
 vi 
 
 11 
 
 vii 
 
 
 i Certainly before Aug. 17, 1800. 
 
 2 It is not possible to fix the date of " The Recluse," Book I. (which 
 being copyright is not included in this edition). The poem purports to 
 be written in 1800, but it may in fact be much later. Professor Knight 
 seems to suppose that it was written in 1805, after the completion of 
 " The Prelude." A passage of " The Recluse," Book I. ("Water-fowl") is 
 dated by Wordsworth 1812. 
 
 3 Finished Dec. 5. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 333 
 
 1802. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 
 1802 1889 Fragments— (1) " Along the mazes 
 (?1800) of this song" . 
 
 (2) " The rains at length have 
 
 ceas'd " 
 
 (3) ''Witness thou" 
 March 11, 12, 
 
 1802 1807 The Sailor's Mother 
 March 12, 13, 
 
 1802 1807 Alice Fell ; or, Poverty 
 March 13, 14, 
 
 1802 1807 Beggars . 
 March 14, 
 
 1802 1807 To a Butterfly (" Stay near me") 
 March 16, 17, 
 
 1802 1807 The Emigrant Mother . 
 March 23-26 
 
 1802 ' 1807 To the Cuckoo ("O blithe New 
 
 coiner !") 
 March 26 
 
 1802 ' 1807 "My heart leaps up when I behold " 
 
 April 12, 
 
 1802 1807 " Among all lovely things my Love 
 had been " 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 v 187 
 
 April 16, 
 
 1802 
 
 April 18, 
 1802 
 April 20, 
 1802 
 
 April 28, 
 1802 
 April 30, 
 1802 
 
 May 1, 
 1802 
 
 1807 Written in March, while resting on 
 the Bridge at the foot of Brother's 
 Water 
 
 1807 The Redbreast chasing the Butterfly 
 
 1807 To a Butterfly (" I've watched you 
 now") 
 
 1807 Foresight .... 
 
 1807 To the Small Celandine (" Pansies 
 lilies") .... 
 
 1807 To the same Flower ("Pleasures 
 newly found") 
 
 May 3-July 4, 
 
 1802 1807 Resolution and Independence 
 
 May 9-11, 
 
 1802 1815 Stanzas written in my Pocket-copy 
 of Thomson's " Castle of Indo 
 lence" .... 
 
 187 
 187 
 
 i 273 
 
 i 178 
 
 ii 
 
 106 
 
 i 
 
 170 
 
 i 
 
 276 
 
 ii 
 
 87 
 
 i 
 
 170 
 
 v 188 
 
 ii 
 
 104 
 
 ii 
 
 30 
 
 i 
 
 239 
 
 i 
 
 172 
 
 ii 22 
 
 ii 25 
 
 ii 119 
 
 i 242 
 
334 
 
 WORDSWORTH S POEMS. 
 
 Com- First 
 posed. Published. 
 May 21, 
 1802 1807 
 
 il I grieved for Buonaparte, with a 
 vain " . 
 
 May 29, 
 1802 
 June 8, 
 1802 
 July 31, 
 1802 
 August, 
 1802 
 
 1815 A Farewell 
 
 1807 " The Sun has long been set " 
 
 1 807 Composed upon Westminster Bridge 
 
 1807 Calais, August, 1802 
 
 1807 Composed by the Sea-side, near 
 
 Calais 
 
 August, 
 
 1802 
 
 August 7, 
 
 1802 1807 Composed near Calais, on the Road 
 
 leading to Ardres, August 7, 1802 
 August 15, 
 
 1802 1807 Calais, August 15, 1802 . 
 August, 
 1802 1807 "It is a beauteous evening, calm 
 
 and free " 
 
 Probably August, 
 
 1802 1807 On the Extinction of the Venetian 
 
 Republic ..... 
 Probably August, 
 1802 1807 
 Probably August, 
 1802 1803 To Toussaint L'Ouverture 
 August 30, 
 1802 1807 Composed in the Valley near Dover 
 
 The King of Sweden 
 
 Sept., 
 
 1802 
 
 Sept., 
 
 1802 
 
 Sept., 
 
 1802 
 
 1802 
 
 1802 (? 
 
 1807 September 1, 1802 . 
 
 1807 September, 1802. Near Dover 
 
 1807 Written in London, September, 1802 
 
 1807 London, 1802 
 
 1807 " Great men have been among us ; 
 hands that penned " . 
 
 1802 or 1803 " It is not to be thought of that the 
 
 1803 Flood" . . . . 
 
 1802 or 1803 " When I have borne in memory" . 
 1803 
 
 Oct. 4, 
 
 1802 
 1802 
 
 1807 Composed after a Journey across 
 the Hambleton Hills, Yorkshire . 
 1807 To H. C. Six years old 
 
 VOL. PAGK 
 
 iii 128 
 
 i 239 
 
 iv 145 
 
 iii 42 
 
 iii 126 
 
 iii 127 
 
 iii 127 
 
 iii 128 
 
 iii 20 
 
 iii 
 
 129 
 
 iii 
 
 129 
 
 iii 
 
 130 
 
 iii 
 
 131 
 
 iii 
 
 131 
 
 iii 
 
 132 
 
 iii 
 
 133 
 
 iii 
 
 133 
 
 iii 
 
 134 
 
 iii 
 
 135 
 
 iii 
 
 135 
 
 iii 
 
 28 
 
 i 
 
 196 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 335 
 
 Com- 
 posed. 
 1802 
 
 1802 1807 
 
 1802 1807 
 1800-2(?) 1815 
 
 First 
 Published. 
 1807 To the Daisy ("In youth from rock 
 to rock I went ") . 
 To the same Flower ("With little 
 
 here to do or see ") 
 To the Daisy (" Bright Flower ! ") . 
 "When to the attractions of the 
 busy world " 
 
 Jan., 
 1803 
 1803 
 1803 
 1803 
 1803 
 
 1803. 
 
 1850 Part of " The Prelude 
 
 1807 The Green Linnet .... 
 
 1815 Yew-trees 
 
 1807 ' ' Who fancied what a pretty sight " 
 
 1807 "It is no Spirit who from heaven 
 
 hath flown " .... 
 
 VOL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ii 
 
 15 
 
 ii 
 
 18 
 
 iv 
 
 209 
 
 348 
 
 Vll 
 
 
 ii 
 
 20 
 
 ii 
 
 90 
 
 ii 
 
 29 
 
 ii 150 
 
 Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803. 1 
 1842 
 
 1803(?) 
 (or later.) 
 
 (?) 2 
 
 In part 
 1803 
 
 1842 
 
 Part 
 1807 
 
 At the Grave of Burns, 1803. Seven 
 years after his death . 
 
 Thoughts suggested the Day fol- 
 lowing, on the Banks of Nith, 
 near the Poet's Residence . 
 
 To the Sons of Burns, after visiting 
 and part 1827. the Grave of their Father . 
 1803 1807 To a Highland Girl 
 
 Probably 
 1803 1807 
 1803 (?) 1807 
 certainly before 
 
 May, 1805. 
 Between 
 1803 1807 
 and 1805. 
 Three lines 
 1803 ; 1827 
 the rest many 
 
 years after. 
 Perhaps 
 1803 ; 1807 
 certainly before 
 
 April 11, 1805. 
 
 Glen Almain ; or, The Narrow Glen 
 Stepping Westward 
 
 The Solitary Reaper 
 
 Address to Kilchurn Castle 
 
 Rob Roy's Grave 
 
 in 
 
 in 
 
 in 
 iii 
 
 in 
 iii 
 
 in 
 
 in 
 
 m 
 
 73 
 
 76 
 
 79 
 83 
 
 85 
 86 
 
 87 
 
 89 
 
 91 
 
 i Poems of this group written after 1803, but of uncertain date, I leave 
 (with the doubt indicated) in the group. 
 -.: Certainly many years after 1803. 
 
336 
 
 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 Sept. 18, 
 
 1803 1807 Sonnet. Composed at Castle 
 
 1803 1807 Yarrow Unvisited . 
 
 After Sept., 
 
 1803 1807 The Matron of Jedborough and her 
 
 and before Husband 
 
 May, 1805. 
 
 Sept. 25, 
 
 1803 1815 " Fly, some kind Harbinger to 
 
 Grasmere-dale ! " 
 (?) Between Sept., 
 
 1803 1807 The Blind Highland Boy 
 and Feb., 1807. 
 October, 
 1803 1807 October, 1803 (" One might believe 
 
 VOL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 iii 
 
 95 
 
 in 
 
 96 
 
 111 
 
 1803 (?) 1807 
 
 October, 
 1803 
 
 that natural miseries ") 
 " There is a bondage worse, far 
 worse, to bear " . 
 
 1807 October, 1803 ("These times strike 
 monied worldlings with dismay") 
 1803 (?) 1807 " England ! the time is come when 
 thou should 'st wean " . 
 
 October, 
 1803 
 
 October, 
 
 1803 
 
 October, 
 
 1803 
 
 October, 
 
 1803 
 
 1803 
 
 1803 
 
 99 
 
 iii 
 
 102 
 
 iii 
 
 102 
 
 iii 
 
 136 
 
 iii 
 
 136 
 
 iii 
 
 137 
 
 iii 
 
 137 
 
 1807 October, 1803 (" When, looking on 
 
 the present face of thins ") . iii 138 
 
 1807 To the Men of Kent. October, 1803 iii 138 
 
 1807 In the Pass of Killicranky . . iii 98 
 
 1807 Anticipation. October, 1803 . iii 140 
 
 1842 Lines on the expected Invasion . iii 139 
 
 1815 1 The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale . v 119 
 
 Feb. -May, 
 1804 1850 
 
 1804 
 1804 
 1804 
 1804 
 1804 
 
 1807 
 1807 
 1807 
 1842 
 1820 
 
 1804. 
 
 The Prelude. Books III., IV., V., 
 
 VI. and (?) Book VII. 
 " She was a Phantom of delight " 
 " I wandered lonely as a cloud " 
 
 The Affliction of Margaret 
 
 The Forsaken .... 
 Repentance. A Pastoral Ballad 
 
 vn 
 
 ii 
 
 ii 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 42 
 
 94 
 
 97 
 
 267 
 
 249 
 
 265 
 
 Previously published in a newspaper. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 337 
 
 VOL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ii 
 
 57 
 
 ii 
 
 53 
 
 V 
 
 124 
 
 iii 
 
 5 
 
 V 
 
 189 
 
 ii 
 
 93 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 Sept. 16, 
 
 1804 1815 Address to my Infant Daughter, 
 Dora 
 
 1804 1807 The Kitten and Falling Leaves . 
 
 1804 1807 The Small Celandine (" There is a 
 Flower, the lesser Celandine ") . 
 
 1804 1842 At Applethwaite, near Keswick, 
 1804 
 
 1804 1887 Inscription for a Summer House . 
 
 1804 1845 The Simplon Pass .... 
 
 (possibly 1799.) 
 
 1804 or 1820 Vaudracour and Julia 1 . . i 279 
 
 1805 
 
 1804 or 1809 French Revolution, as it appeared 
 1805 to Enthusiasts at its Commence- 
 
 ment {first published in " The 
 Friend," Oct. 26, 1809] . . ii 151 
 
 Oct. -Dec. 
 
 1804 1850 The Prelude, Books VIII., IX., X., 
 
 XI vii 147 
 
 1805. 
 
 A T)t*il - "\I sl v 
 
 1805 1850 The Prelude, Books XII., XIII., 
 
 XIV 
 
 1805 1807 Ode to Duty 
 
 1805 1807 To a Skylark (" Up with me ! ") . 
 
 After July 20, 
 
 1805 1807 Fidelity 
 
 1805 1807 Incident characteristic of a Fa- 
 vourite Dog .... 
 
 1805 1807 Tribute to the Memory of the same 
 Dog 
 
 1805 1815 To the Daisy (" Sweet Flower ! ") . 
 
 1805 1807 Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a 
 Picture of Peele Castle in a 
 Storm 
 
 1805 1842 Elegiac Verses in memory of my 
 Brother, John Wordsworth 
 
 1805 or 1807 Louisa. After accompanying her 
 1803 on a Mountain Excursion . 
 
 1805 or 1807 To a Young Lady, who had been 
 1803 reproached for taking long Walks 
 
 in the Country .... 174 
 
 vii 
 
 221 
 
 iv 
 
 226 
 
 ii 
 
 21 
 
 iv 
 
 224 
 
 iv 
 
 221 
 
 iv 
 
 222 
 
 V 
 
 143 
 
 V 
 
 141 
 
 V 
 
 145 
 
 i 
 
 245 
 
 VII. 
 
 1 See vol. i. Preface, pp. xv, xvi. 
 Z 
 
338 
 
 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 1805 1815 The Cottager to her Infant, by my 
 
 Sister i 270 
 
 1805 1807 From the Italian of Michael An- 
 
 gelo. I iii 16 
 
 1805 1807 From the Italian of Michael An- 
 
 gelo. II iii 17 
 
 1805 1807 From the Italian of Michael An- 
 
 gelo. Ill iii 17 
 
 1805 1819 The Waggoner . . . . ii 60 
 
 180G 
 
 1807 
 
 1806 
 
 1807 
 
 1806 
 
 1807 
 
 1806 
 
 1807 
 
 1806 
 
 1807 
 
 1806 
 
 1807 
 
 1806 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 Dec, 
 
 
 1806 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 1806. 
 
 Character of the Happy Warrior 
 
 The Horn of Egremont Castle 
 
 A Complaint .... 
 
 Stray Pleasures 
 
 Power of Music 
 
 Star-gazers .... 
 
 " Yes, it was the mountain Echo " 
 
 " Nuns fret not at their convent's 
 
 narrow room " 
 Personal Talk 
 Admonition . 
 "Beloved Vale! 
 
 shall con " . 
 
 iv 
 
 228 
 
 V 
 
 42 
 
 i 
 
 252 
 
 ii 
 
 42 
 
 ii 
 
 99 
 
 ii 
 
 102 
 
 • ■ 
 
 n 
 
 152 
 
 s 
 . iii 
 
 3 
 
 . iv 
 
 216 
 
 . iii 
 
 4 
 
 I said, " when I 
 
 (?) 
 
 1807 
 
 " How sweet it is, when mother 
 
 Fancy rocks " 
 " Those words were uttered as in 
 
 pensive mood " . 
 " With how sad steps, O Moon, 
 
 thou climb'st the sky " 
 " The world is too much with us ; 
 
 late and soon " 
 ' ' With Ships the sea was sprinkled 
 
 far and nigh " 
 ' ' Where lies the Land to which yon 
 
 Ship must go ? " . . . 
 To Sleep (" O gentle Sleep ! ") 
 To Sleep (" Fond words ") . 
 To Sleep ( " A flock of sheep ") 
 "O Mountain Stream! the Shep- 
 herd and his Cot "... 
 To the Memory of Raisley Calvert 
 
 in 
 
 iii 
 
 iii 
 
 iii 
 
 iii 
 
 iii 
 
 iii 
 iii 
 iii 
 iii 
 
 24 
 
 29 
 
 35 
 
 21 
 
 21 
 
 20 
 9 
 
 10 
 10 
 
 iii 290 
 iii 23 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 339 
 
 Com- 
 posed. 
 
 (?) 
 
 First 
 Published. 
 
 1807 " Methought I saw the footsteps of 
 a throne " 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 m 
 
 IS 
 
 These sonnets placed conjecturally under 1806 may have been written 
 earlier. Their appearance in the vols, of 1807 (which were in preparation 
 for the press in Nov., 1806) fixes a downward limit of date. 
 
 July, 
 
 1806 
 
 Sept., 
 
 1806 1807 
 
 1889 To the Evening Star 
 
 1806 1807 
 
 Nov., 
 
 1806 (?) 1807 
 
 1806 1815 
 
 1803-6 or 1807 
 1802-6 
 
 1806 
 
 180 1 ; 
 
 Loud 
 
 Lines composed at Grasmere | 
 
 is the Vale!") . v 
 
 November, 1806 (" Another year ! — 
 
 another deadly blow ") . . iii 
 
 To the Spade of a Friend 
 
 Address to a Child, during a boiste- 
 rous winter Evening, by my Sister 
 
 Ode. Intimations of Immortality 
 from Recollections of Early Child- 
 hood ...... 
 
 " O Nightingale ! thou surely art" 
 
 v 
 ii 
 
 189 
 
 149 
 141 
 
 iv 219 
 
 174 
 
 163 
 95 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 (or late in 1806.) 
 
 Feb., 
 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 March, 
 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 Spring, 
 
 
 1807 
 
 1815 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1807 
 
 1819 
 
 (after Aug. 7.) 
 
 Sept., 
 
 
 1807-8 
 
 1815 
 
 1807-8 
 
 1815 
 
 1807. 
 
 To Lady Beaumont 
 Thought of a Briton on the Subju- 
 gation of Switzerland . 
 
 A Prophecy. February, 1807 
 
 To Thomas Clarkson . . . 
 
 The Mother's Return, by my Sister 
 Gipsies ...... 
 
 " Though narrow be that old Man's 
 
 cares, and near " . 
 Song at the Feast of Brougham 
 
 Castle 
 
 Composed by the side of Grasmere 
 
 Lake 
 
 The Force of Prayer ; or, The 
 Founding of Bolton Priory. A 
 tradition ..... 
 
 The White Doe of Rylstone . 
 
 iii 
 
 32 
 
 iii 
 
 132 
 
 iii 
 
 146 
 
 iii 
 
 145 
 
 i 
 
 176 
 
 ii 
 
 109 
 
 iii 
 
 38 
 
 ii 
 
 140 
 
 iii 
 
 146 
 
 iv 
 
 231 
 
 iv 
 
 3 
 
340 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 1808. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 April, 
 
 1808 1839 George and Sarah Green . . v 190 
 
 Nov. or Dec, 
 
 1808 1815 Composed while the Author was 
 engaged in Writing a Tract occa- 
 sioned by the Convention of Cintra iii 1 47 
 
 Nov. or Dec, 
 
 1808 1815 Composed at the same Time and on 
 
 the same Occasion . . .iii 148 
 
 1809. 1 
 
 1809 1809 Hoffer iii 148 
 
 1809 1809 "Advance — come forth from thy 
 
 Tyrolean ground "... 
 
 1809 1809 Feelings of the Tyrolese 
 
 1809 1809 "Alas! what boots the long labo- 
 rious quest " 
 
 1809 1809 " And is it among rude untutored 
 Dales" 
 
 1809 1809 "O'er the wide earth, on mountain 
 and on plain " 
 
 1809 1809 On the Final Submission of the 
 Tyrolese 
 
 1809 1815 " Hail, Zaragoza ! If with unwet 
 eye" 
 
 1809 (?) 1815 "Say, what is honour ?— 'Tis the 
 finest sense " 
 
 1809 1815 " The martial courage of a day is 
 vain " 
 
 1809 1815 " Brave Schill ! by death delivered, 
 take thy flight 
 
 1809 1815 "Call not the royal Swede unfor- 
 tunate " 
 
 1809 1815 " Look now on that Adventurer 
 who hath paid " . 
 
 Probably 
 
 1809 1815 "Is there a power that can sustain 
 
 and cheer " iii 155 
 
 i Within the year, Wordsworth's order for these Sonnets is preserved 
 without regard to their having been written in the earlier or later months 
 of the year. 
 
 iii 
 
 149 
 
 iii 
 
 150 
 
 iii 
 
 150 
 
 iii 
 
 151 
 
 iii 
 
 151 
 
 iii 
 
 152 
 
 iii 
 
 152 
 
 iii 
 
 153 
 
 iii 
 
 153 
 
 iii 
 
 154 
 
 iii 
 
 154 
 
 iii 
 
 155 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 341 
 
 Epitaphs Translated from Chiabrera — 
 
 Com- First * 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 (?) 1837 "Weep not, beloved Friends! nor 
 
 let the air" v 129 
 
 Probably Feb., 
 
 1809 1810 " Perhaps some needful service of 
 
 the State" v 129 
 
 Probably Feb., 
 
 1809 1810 " O Thou who movest onward with 
 
 a mind" v 130 
 
 Dec, 
 1809 1809 " There never breathed a man who, 
 
 when his life" . . . . v 131 
 (?) 1837 "TrueisitthatAmbrosioSalinero" v 132 
 Dec, 
 1809 1809 " Destined to Avar from very in- 
 fancy" v 133 
 
 (?) 1837 "O flower of all that springs from 
 
 gentle blood" . . . . v 133 
 Jan. 4, 
 1809 1810 " Not without heavy grief of heart 
 
 did He" v 134 
 
 Jan. 4, 
 1809 1810 " Pause, courteous Spirit ! — Balbi 
 
 supplicates . . . . v 135 
 
 1810. 
 
 1810 1815 " Ah ! where is Palafox? Nor tongue 
 
 nor pen " 
 
 1810 1815 "In due observance of an ancient 
 
 rite" 
 
 1810 1815 Feelings of a Noble Biscayan at one 
 
 of those Funerals 
 1810 (?) 1815 On a celebrated Event in Ancient 
 
 History 
 
 1810 (?) 1815 Upon the same Event . 
 1810 1815 The Oak of Guernica . 
 1810 1815 Indignation of a high-minded 
 
 Spaniard iii 158 
 
 Probably 
 
 1810 1815 " Avaunt all specious pliancy of 
 
 mind " iii 159 
 
 1810 1815 " O'erweening Statesmen have full 
 
 long relied " .... iii 159 
 
 iii 
 
 156 
 
 iii 
 
 156 
 
 iii 
 
 157 
 
 iii 
 
 144 
 
 iii 
 
 144 
 
 iii 
 
 157 
 
1 
 iii 
 
 173 
 161 
 
 iii 
 
 161 
 
 iii 
 
 162 
 
 V 
 
 11 
 
 iii 
 
 72 
 
 342 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 1810 or 1815 The French and the Spanish 
 
 1811 Guerillas . . * . . . iii 161 
 
 Probably about 
 
 1810 1842 Maternal Grief . . . i 270 
 
 1811. 
 
 1811 1815 Characteristics of a Child three 
 
 Years old ..... 
 
 1811 1815 Spanish Guerillas .... 
 
 1811 1815 " The power of Armies is a visible 
 thing" 
 
 1811 1815 "Here pause: the poet claims at 
 least this praise " 
 
 1811 1842 Epistleto Sir George Howland Beau- 
 mont, Bart. From the South- 
 West Coast of Cumberland 
 
 1811 1827 Departure from the vale of Gras- 
 mere, August 1803 
 [Originally part of Epistle to Sir G. Beaumont.] 
 
 1811 1815 Upon the sight of a Beautiful 
 Picture, painted by Sir G. H. 
 Beaumont, Bart. . . . iii 8 
 
 1808-11 1815 In the Grounds of Coleorton (" The 
 
 embowering rose") . . v 71 
 
 1811(?) 1815 In a Garden of the Same . . v 72 
 
 Nov. , 
 
 1811 1815 Writtenatthe Request of Sir George 
 Beaumont, Bart., and in his 
 Name, for an Urn . . v 72 
 
 Nov., 
 
 1811 1815 ForaSeatin the Groves of Coleorton v 73 
 
 Nov., 
 
 1811 1820 To the Poet, John Dyer . . iii 12 
 (or earlier.) 
 
 1812. 
 
 1812 1820 Song for the Spinning- Wheel . ii 31 
 1812 1815 Composed on the eve of the Mar- 
 riage of a Friend in the Vale of 
 Grasmere iii 16 
 
 1812 (?) x 1827 Water-Fowl ii 175 
 
 1812 (?) 1837 " Six months to six years added he 
 
 remained " v 136 
 
 See note vol. ii. pp. 325, 326. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 343 
 
 1813. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 1813 1815 View from the top of Black Comb . iii 176 
 1813 1815 Written with a Slate Pencil on a 
 Stone, on the Side of the Moun- 
 Nov., tain of Black Comb . . v 75 
 
 1813 1815 November, 1813 . . . .iii 165 
 
 1814. 
 
 1795- 1814 The Excursion . . . . vi 1 
 1814 
 
 1814 1815 Laodamia ii 154 
 
 Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1814 — 
 
 1814 (?) 1820 The Brownie's Cell . . . iii 112 
 
 1814 (?) 1820 Composed at Cora Linn . . . iii 116 
 1814 (?) 1827 Effusion in the Pleasure-ground on 
 the banks of the Bran, near 
 
 Dunkeld iii 118 
 
 1814 1815 Yarrow Visited, September, 1814 . iii 122 
 1814 1815 " From the dark chambers of dejec- 
 tion freed " iii 25 
 
 Nov. 13, 
 
 1814 1815 Lines written on a Blank Leaf in a 
 
 Copy of " The Excursion " . . v 151 
 
 1815. 
 
 1815 1820 Artegal and Elidure 
 Dec, 
 
 1815 1816 September, 1815 .... 
 Dec, 
 
 1815 1816 November 1 
 
 Dec, 
 
 1815 1816 To B. R. Haydon .... 
 
 (?) 1815 " The fairest, brightest, hues of 
 
 ether fade " . 
 (?) 1815 "Weak is the will of Man, his 
 
 judgment blind "... 
 (?) 1815 " Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one 
 
 peaceful hour ! " . 
 (?) 1815 " The Shepherd, looking eastward, 
 
 softly said " 
 
 i 
 
 230 
 
 iii 
 
 29 
 
 iii 
 
 30 
 
 iii 
 
 24 
 
 iii 
 
 7 
 
 iii 
 
 22 
 
 iii 
 
 34 
 
 iii 
 
 33 
 
344 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Coin- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 (?) 1815 " Even as a dragon's eye that feels 
 
 the stress " iii 35 
 
 (?) 1815 " Mark the concentred hazels that 
 
 enclose " iii 28 
 
 (?) 1815 "Brook! whose society the Poet 
 
 After June, seeks " iii 39 
 
 1812 1815 " Surprised by joy — impatient as 
 
 the Wind " . ' . . . . iii 18 
 
 1816. 
 
 Jan., 
 
 1816 1816 Ode.— The Morning of the Day ap- 
 pointed for a General Thanks- 
 giving, January 18, 1816 
 
 Jan., 
 
 1816 1816 Ode. 1815 
 
 Jan., 
 
 1816 1816 Ode, 1814 ("When the soft hand of 
 
 Feb., sleep") 
 
 1816 1816 Invocation to the Earth, February 
 1816 
 
 1816 (?) 1816 Ode (" Who rises on the banks of 
 Seine") 
 
 Feb., 
 
 1816 1816 The French Army in Russia, 
 1812-13 
 
 Feb., 
 
 1816 1816 On the same occasion 
 
 Feb., 
 
 1816 1816 Siege of Vienna raised by John 
 
 Sobieski iii 172 
 
 Feb., 
 
 1816 1816 Occasioned by the Battle of Water- 
 loo, February, 1816 . . . iii 171 
 
 1816 1816 Occasioned by the same battle . iii 173 
 
 1816 (?) 1827 "Emperors and Kings, how oft 
 
 have temples rung "... iii 173 
 
 1816 1816 Feelings of a French Royalist on 
 the Disinterment of the Remains 
 of the Duke d'Enghien . . iii 171 
 
 1816 1820 Dion ii 161 
 
 1816 (') 1832 Translation of part of the First 
 
 Book of the yEneid . . v 191 
 
 iii 
 
 178 
 
 iii 
 
 174 
 
 iii 
 
 166 
 
 V 
 
 150 
 
 iii 
 
 141 
 
 iii 
 
 162 
 
 iii 
 
 164 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 345 
 
 Com- 
 
 First 
 
 posed. 
 
 Published. vol. page 
 
 1816 
 
 1820 A Fact, and an Imagination; or, 
 
 
 Canute and Alfred, on the Sea- 
 
 
 shore iv 233 
 
 1816 
 
 1820 To Dora iv 235 
 
 1816 
 
 1820 To , on her First Ascent to 
 
 the Summit of Helvellyn 
 
 1817 
 May, 
 1817 
 1817 
 1817 
 
 1817 
 
 1817 
 1817 
 1817 
 
 1818 1820 
 1818 1820 
 1818 1820 
 
 Feb., 
 
 1819 1819 
 
 1819 or 1819 
 
 1818 
 1819 or 1819 
 
 1818 
 1819 or 1819 
 
 1818 
 (?) 1819 
 
 (?) 
 (?) 
 
 (?) 
 
 1817. 
 
 1820 Vernal Ode 
 
 1820 Ode to Lycoris. May, 1817 . 
 
 1820 To the same . . " . 
 
 1820 The Longest Day. Addressed to my 
 
 Daughter 
 
 1 820 Hint from the Mountains for certain 
 
 Political Pretenders . 
 1820 The Pass of Kirkstone . 
 1820 Lament of Mary Queen of Scots 
 1827 Sequel to the " Beggars" 
 
 1818. 
 
 The Pilgrim's Dream ; or, The Star 
 
 and the Glow-worm . 
 Inscriptions [I.-V.] supposed to be 
 
 found in and near a Hermit's Cell 
 Composed upon an Evening of 
 
 extraordinary Splendour and 
 
 Beauty 
 
 1819. 
 
 Composed during a Storm 
 " Pure element of waters " 
 
 Malham Cove .... 
 
 Gordale 
 
 " Aerial Rock — whose solitary 
 
 brow " 
 
 1819 The Wild Duck's Nest . 
 1819 Written upon a Blank Leaf in ' ' The 
 Complete Angler" 
 
 ii 173 
 
 ii 196 
 
 iv 
 
 iv 
 
 n 
 
 ii 
 
 i 
 
 ii 
 
 n 
 
 237 
 
 238 
 
 199 
 
 32 
 165 
 256 
 108 
 
 43 
 
 v 79-82 
 
 iv 146 
 
 1819 Captivity— Mary Queen of Scots . iii 
 
 iii 
 
 30 
 
 iii 
 
 40 
 
 iii 
 
 41 
 
 iii 
 
 41 
 
 iii 
 
 9 
 
 iii 
 
 11 
 
 iii 
 
 11 
 
 iii 
 
 37 
 
346 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 
 (?) 1819 To the River Derwent . 
 
 (?) 1819 To a Snowdrop .... 
 
 (?) 1819 1820 ' ' When haughty expectations pros- 
 
 or 1820 trate lie " 
 
 (?) 1819 Composed in one of the Valleys of 
 
 Westmoreland, on Easter Sunday iii 
 (?) 1819 " Grief, thou hast lost an ever-ready 
 
 friend" 
 
 (?) 1819 " I watch, and long have watched, 
 
 with calm regret " 
 (?) 1819 "I heard (alas ! 'twas only in a 
 
 dream ") 
 
 (?) 1819 " Fallen, and diffused into a shape- 
 less heap " 
 
 1819 1820 The Haunted Tree .... 
 1819 1820 September, 1819 . . 
 
 1819 1820 Upon the same Occasion 
 
 1820. 
 
 (?) 1820 " There is a little unpretending 
 Rill" 1 
 
 (?) 1820 Composed on the Banks of a Rocky 
 Stream 
 
 1820 1820 On the death of His Majesty 
 
 (George the Third) 
 (?) 1820 " The stars are mansions built by 
 
 Nature's hand " . 
 (?) 1820 To the Lady Mary Lowther . 
 
 1820 1820 On the Detraction which followed 
 the Publication of a certain Poem 
 1820 1820 Oxford, May 30, 1820 ("Ye sacred 
 
 Nurseries ") 
 
 1820 1820 Oxford, May 30, 1820 ("Shame on 
 this faithless heart ! ") 
 
 1820 1820 June, 1820 
 
 1820 1822 The Germans on the heights of 
 
 Hochheim iii 165 
 
 1820 The River Duddon. A Series of 
 
 Sonnets iii 281- 
 
 302 
 [We may for convenience date these sonnets 1820, the year of publi- 
 cation ; but they were in fact written at intervals during many years. 
 Sonnet xiv. was published in 1807, Sonnet xxvii. in 1819.] 
 
 1 Perhaps written as early as 1801. 
 
 VOL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 iv 
 
 159 
 
 iii 
 
 31 
 
 iii 
 
 34 
 
 iii 
 
 14 
 
 iii 
 
 13 
 
 iii 
 
 26 
 
 iii 
 
 26 
 
 iii 
 
 298 
 
 ii 
 
 178 
 
 ii 
 
 240 
 
 ii 
 
 241 
 
 iii 
 
 6 
 
 iii 
 
 40 
 
 iii 
 
 45 
 
 iii 
 
 36 
 
 iii 
 
 32 
 
 iii 
 
 13 
 
 iii 
 
 44 
 
 iii 
 
 44 
 
 iii 
 
 46 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 347 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 1820 1822 A Parsonage in Oxfordshire . 
 1820 (?) 1822 Inside of King's College Chapel 1 . 
 
 1820 or 1822 To Enterprise . 
 1821 
 
 1821. 
 
 1821 (?) 1822 The Monument commonly called 
 
 Long Meg and her Daughters 
 1821 1822 Memorials of a Tour on the Conti- 
 nent, 1820 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 iii 46 
 iv 133 
 ii 168 
 
 iv 189 
 
 . iii 187- 
 231 
 
 [These poems were in the main written during 1821 ; except " Incident 
 at Bruges*' (1828), " After- thought" (1832 and 1837), " At Dover" (" From 
 the Pier's head," etc., 1838)]. 
 
 1821 
 1821 
 
 1822 Sonnet. Author's Voyage down 
 the Rhine ..... 
 1822 Ecclesiastical Sonnets . 
 
 v 195 
 iv 61- 
 136 
 
 [Of these Sonnets 102 were published in 1822 ; 30 were added at later 
 dates, viz. : in 1827, Part II., Sonnets 30, 33, 34 ; Part III., Sonnets 7, 11, 
 
 12, 20, 23, 24, 25, 36 ; in 1832, Part III., Sonnet 21 ; in 1835, Part II., 
 Sonnets 4, 12, 13 ; in 1837, Part I., Sonnet 32 ; in 1842, Part III., Sonnets 
 
 13, 14, 15. In 1845, Part II., Sonnets 1, 2, 9, 10 ; Part III., Sonnets 16, 
 26-31 inclusive. Part II., Sonnets 9, 10, and Part III., 26, 27, 28, 31 
 were written in 1842.] 
 
 1822. 
 1822 (?) 1827 " By Moscow self-devoted " 
 
 iii 164 
 
 1823. 
 
 1823 1827 Memory iv 243 
 
 1823 1827 To the Lady Fleming, on seeing 
 the Foundation preparing for the 
 Erection of Rydal Chapel, West- 
 moreland . . . . v 37 
 1823 1827 On the same Occasion . . v 40 
 (?) 1823 " A volant Tribe of Bards on earth 
 
 are found " iii 22 
 
 (?) 1823 " Not Love, not War, nor the 
 
 tumultuous swell " . . . iii 27 
 
 1 See note, vol. iv. p. 332. 
 
348 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 1824 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 1824 1827 To ("Let other bards of angels 
 
 sing") 
 
 1824 1827 To (" dearer far than light 
 
 and life are dear ") 
 1824 1827 "How rich that forehead's calm 
 
 expanse" 
 
 1824 1827 To (" Look at the fate of sum- 
 mer flowers ") 
 1824 1827 A FlowerGarden at Coleorton Hall, 
 
 Leicestershire .... 
 1824 1827 To the Lady E. B. and the Hon. 
 
 Miss P 
 
 1824 1827 To the Torrent at the Devil's Bridge 
 1824 (?) 1827 Composed among the Ruins of a 
 
 Castle in North Wales 
 
 1824 (?) 1827 To in her seventieth year 
 
 [Final form 1827 (?).] 
 
 1824 or 1827 Elegiac Stanzas. Addressed to Sir 
 
 1825 G. H. B., upon the death of his 
 
 sister-in-law .... 
 
 1824 1842 Cenotaph 
 
 1824 1827 Written in a blank leaf of Mac- 
 
 pherson's Ossian . . . . iv 177 
 
 1825. 
 
 1825 1827 The Contrast. The Parrot and the 
 
 Wren ii 37 
 
 1825 1827 To a Sky-lark ("Ethereal min- 
 strel!") ii 153 
 
 1825 or 1827 The Pillar of Trajan . . . iii 264^ 
 1826 
 
 1826. 
 
 1826 1827 " Ere with cold beads of midnight 
 
 dew" 
 
 1826 1835 Ode, composed on May Morning . 
 
 1826-34 1835 To May 
 
 1826 1827 " Once I could hail (howe'er serene 
 
 the sky) " 
 
 1826 1835 " The massy Ways, carried across 
 
 these heights " . 
 
 i 
 
 253 
 
 i 
 
 255 
 
 i 
 
 254 
 
 i 
 
 248 
 
 ii 
 
 5 
 
 iii 
 
 47 
 
 iii 
 
 48 
 
 iii 
 
 47 
 
 iii 
 
 52 
 
 V 
 
 152 
 
 V 
 
 137 
 
 l 
 
 248 
 
 IV 
 
 260 
 
 IV 
 
 262 
 
 V 
 
 35 
 
 V 
 
 78 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 349 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 1826 1889 Composed when a Probability Exis- 
 ted of our being obliged to quit 
 Rydal Mount . . . v 196 
 
 [See as to Sonnets written in this year, footnote, p. 349.] 
 
 1827. 
 
 (?) After 
 
 1813 1827 " If thou indeed derive thy light 
 
 from Heaven " . . i after 
 
 title-page 
 1827 1827 On seeing a Needlecase in the Form 
 
 of a Harp ..... 
 (?)* 1827 Dedication. To ("Happy the 
 
 feeling") 
 
 (?) 1827 " Her only pilot the soft breeze, the 
 
 boat" 
 
 (?) 1827 "Why, Minstrel, these untuneful 
 
 murmurings — " .... 
 
 (?) 1827 To S. H 
 
 (?) 1827 Decay of Piety .... 
 
 (?) 1827 "Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you 
 
 have frowned " . 
 (?) 1827 ' ' Fair Prime of life ! were it enough 
 
 to gild" 
 
 (?) 1827 Retirement 
 
 (?) 1827 " There is a pleasure in "poetic 
 
 pains". ..... 
 
 (?) 1827 Recollection of the Portrait of King- 
 
 Henry Eighth .... 
 
 (?) 1827 " When Philoctetes in the Lemnian 
 
 isle " 
 
 (?) 1827 "While Anna's peers and early 
 
 playmates tread " 
 (?) 1827 To the Cuckoo .... 
 
 (?) 1827 The Infant M M . 
 
 (?) 1827 To Rotha Q .... 
 
 (?) 1827 To , in her seventieth year 
 
 [See under the year 1824.] 
 
 11 
 
 33 
 
 iii 
 
 3 
 
 iii 
 
 7 
 
 iii 
 
 8 
 
 in 
 
 14 
 
 in 
 
 15 
 
 iii 
 
 23 
 
 iii 
 
 25 
 
 in 
 
 27 
 
 iii 
 
 33 
 
 iii 
 
 45 
 
 iii 
 
 49 
 
 iii 
 
 50 
 
 in 
 
 50 
 
 in 
 
 52 
 
 in 
 
 53 
 
 m 
 
 52 
 
 1 Some of the Sonnets dated (?) and published in 1827 were doubtless 
 written in 1826. " My brother has lately written some very good 
 sonnets," Dorothy Wordsworth wrote on Dec. 18, 1826. The edition of 
 1827 was in the printer's hands in January of that year. 
 
350 
 
 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Corn- 
 
 First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 (?) 1827 " In my mind's eye a Temple, like 
 
 a cloud " 
 
 (?) 1827 " Go back to antique ages, if thine 
 
 eyes " 
 
 (?) 1827 In the Woods of Rydal . 
 
 (?) 1827 Conclusion, To 
 
 [For Sonnets added in ed. 1827 to " Ecclesiastical Sonnets," see note 
 on "Ecclesiastical Sonnets" under the year 1821.] 
 
 VOL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 iii 
 
 68 
 
 iii 
 
 147 
 
 iii 
 
 49 
 
 iii 
 
 42 
 
 1828 
 
 1832 
 
 1828 
 
 1829 
 
 1828 
 
 1829 
 
 3 828 
 
 1835 
 
 1828 
 
 1829 
 
 Dec, 
 
 
 1828 
 
 1835 
 
 1828 (?) 
 
 1835 
 
 (?) 
 
 1829 
 
 (?) 
 
 1829 
 
 1828 (?) 
 
 1829 
 
 About 
 
 
 1828 (?) 
 
 1842 
 
 1829 
 
 1889 
 
 (or earlier.) 
 
 1829 
 
 1835 
 
 1829 
 
 1835 
 
 1829 
 
 1835 
 
 1829 
 
 1835 
 
 1829 
 
 1835 
 
 1830 
 
 1835 
 
 1830 
 
 1835 
 
 1830 
 
 1835 
 
 1828. 
 
 A Morning Exercise ii 3 
 
 The Triad ii 179 
 
 The Wishing-gate . . . . ii 186 
 
 A Jewish Family ii 209 
 
 The Gleaner, suggested by a picture v 30 
 
 On the Power of Sound . . ii 211 
 Incident at Bruges . . . . iii 189 
 A Gravestone upon the Floor in 
 the Cloisters of Worcester Cathe- 
 dral iii 54 
 
 A Tradition of Oker Hill in Darley 
 
 Dale, Derbyshire . . .iii 55 
 
 Filial Piety iii 56 
 
 A Farewell ("High bliss") . . i 331 
 
 1829. 
 
 Written in the Strangers' Book at 
 
 "The Station" . 
 Gold and Silver Fishes in a Vase 
 Liberty (sequel to the above) . 
 Humanity . 
 
 " This Lawn, a carpet all alive " 
 Thought on the Seasons . 
 
 1830. 
 
 The Armenian Lady's Love . 
 The Russian Fugitive 
 The Egyptian Maid; or, The Ro- 
 mance of the Water Lily . . iii 267 
 
 V 
 
 201 
 
 V 
 
 21 
 
 V 
 
 23 
 
 iv 
 
 245 
 
 . iv 
 
 244 
 
 iv 
 
 249 
 
 i 
 
 322 
 
 V 
 
 58 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 351 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 1830 1835 The Poet and the Caged Turtledove ii 46 
 
 1830 1835 Presentiments . . . . ii 193 
 
 1830 or 1835 " In these fair vales hath many a 
 
 1831 Tree" ' . v 77 
 
 Nov., 
 
 1830 1835 Elegiac Musings in the grounds of 
 
 Coleorton Hall . . . v 154 
 
 Nov., 
 
 1830 1835 " Chatsworth ! thy stately man- 
 sion, and the pride " . . . iii 55 
 
 1831. 
 
 1831 1835 The Primrose of the Rock . . ii 191 
 
 1831 1835 Yarrow Revisited, and other Poems, 
 composed (two excepted) during 
 a Tour in Scotland, and on the 
 English Border, in the Autumn 
 
 of 1831 : iii 303- 
 
 325 
 
 June 11, 
 
 1831 1832 To B. R. Haydon, on seeing his 
 
 Picture of Napoleon Buonaparte iii 58 
 
 1831 1835 Composed after reading a News- 
 paper of the Day . . . . iv 274 
 
 1832. 
 
 1832 1835 Devotional Incitements . . ii 200 
 1832 1835 " Calm is the fragrant air, and loth 
 
 to lose n iv 137 
 
 1832 1835 Rural Illusions . . . . ii 52 
 
 1832 1835 Loving and Liking. (By my Sister) i 329 
 1832 1832 Upon the late General Fast, ' March, 
 
 1832 iv 275 
 
 1832 (?) 1835 To the Author's Portrait . . iii 56 
 
 [Sonnet 21 of Part III. of "Ecclesiastical Sonnets" was added 
 ined. 1S32.] 
 
 1 No 23, "Fancy and Tradition," probably belongs to the summer of 
 1S33. The two poems mentioned in the title as of another date than that 
 of the rest cannot be certainly identified. It has been conjectured that 
 they are " To the Planet Venus" and " The Highland Broach." 
 
VOL. 
 
 ii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 47 
 
 iv 
 
 250 
 
 iv 
 
 253 
 
 iv 
 
 258 
 
 iv 
 v 
 
 138 
 202 
 
 352 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 1833. . 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 1833 1835 A Wren's Nest .... 
 
 1833 ' 1835 To , on the birth of her First- 
 born Child 
 
 1833 1835 The Warning. A Sequel to the 
 foregoing 
 
 1833 1835 " If this great world of joy and 
 pain " 
 
 April 7, 
 
 1833 1835 On a high part of the coast of Cum- 
 berland 
 
 1833 1885 To the Utilitarians 
 
 1833 1835 By the Seaside ("The Sun is 
 
 couched ") iv 139 
 
 1833 1835 Poems Composed or Suggested 
 during a Tour in the Summer of 
 
 1833 l iv 157- 
 
 196 
 
 1833 1845 Composed by the Seashore ("What 
 
 mischief cleaves ") iv 149 
 
 1834. 
 
 1834 1835 " Not in the lucid intervals of life " 
 1834 1835 By the Side of Kydal Mere . 
 1834 1835 " Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge 
 
 —the Mere " 
 1834 1835 " The leaves that rustled on this 
 
 oak-crowned hill "... 
 1834 1835 The Labourer's Noon-day Hymn . 
 1834 1835 The Redbreast. (Suggested in a 
 
 Westmoreland Cottage) 
 1834 1835 Lines suggested by a Portrait from 
 
 the Pencil of F. Stone 
 1834 1835 The foregoing Subject resumed 
 1834 1835 To a Child. Written in her Album 
 Nov. 5 
 1834 ' 1835 Lines written in the Album of the 
 
 Countess of Lonsdale . . v 52 
 
 i This series originally included "Fancy and Tradition" of the 
 "Yarrow Revisited" series (vol. iii. p. 322). "To the River Derwent" 
 appeared in 1819 ; " Written in a blank leaf of Macpherson's Ossian " 
 was written in 1824. "The Monument commonly called Long Meg" 
 was written probably in 1821. 
 
 iv 
 iv 
 
 140 
 141 
 
 iv 
 
 143 
 
 iv 
 iv 
 
 144 
 
 258 
 
 i 
 
 332 
 
 iv 
 iv 
 
 V 
 
 265 
 
 269 
 
 51 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 353 
 
 1835. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol page 
 
 1835 1837 To the Moon. (Composed by the 
 Seaside, — on the Coast of Cum- 
 berland) 
 
 1835 1837 To the Moon. (Rydal) . 
 
 1835 1837 Upon seeing a coloured Drawing of 
 
 the Bird of Paradise . 
 
 Nov., 
 
 1835 1837 Written after the Death of Charles 
 Lamb 
 
 [Privately printed in 1835 (?).] 
 Nov., Dec, 
 
 1835 1835 Extempore Effusion upon the Death 
 
 of James Hogg .... 
 
 (?) 1835 A Cento 
 
 (?) 1835 " By a blest Husband guided, Mary 
 
 came " 
 
 (?) 1835 "Desponding Father! mark this 
 
 altered bough " . 
 (?) 1835 Roman Antiquities discovered at 
 
 Bishopstone, Herefordshire 
 (?) 1835 St. Catherine of Ledbury 
 
 (?) 1835 " Why art thou silent ! Is thy love 
 
 a plant " 
 
 (?) 1835 " Four fiery steeds impatient of the 
 
 rein "...... 
 
 (?) 1835 To ("Wait, prithee, wait !") . iii 
 
 [Sonnets 4, 12, 13 of Part II. of " Ecclesiastical Sonnets" were 
 first published in 1835.] 
 
 1836. 
 
 1836 ' 1889 Squib v 204 
 
 1836 1889 Epigram v 205 
 
 (?) 1842 To a Redbreast, by Sarah Hutchin- 
 son v 31 
 
 Nov., 
 
 1836 1837 November, 1836 ("Even so forme 
 
 a Vision sanctified ") . . . iii 19 
 
 1836 (?) 1883 Translations of a Quatrain by 
 Michelangelo, and from the Latin 
 of T. Warton . . . . v 205 
 VII. A A 
 
 iv 
 
 150 
 
 iv 
 
 153 
 
 iv 
 
 272 
 
 V 
 
 156 
 
 V 
 
 160 
 
 V 
 
 203 
 
 V 
 
 135 
 
 iii 
 
 36 
 
 iii 
 
 54 
 
 iii 
 
 37 
 
 iii 
 
 57 
 
 iii 
 
 39 
 
 iii 
 
 51 
 
354 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 1837. 1 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 
 1832- 1837 After-thought ("O Life!" etc.) . iii 198 
 
 1837 (?) 
 1837 (?) 1842 At Bologna, in Remembrance of the 
 
 late Insurrections, 1837 . . iv 279 
 1837 (?) 1842 II. Continued . . . . iv 280 
 
 1837 (?) 1842 III. Concluded . . . . iv 280 
 (?) 1837 ' ' What if our numbers barely could 
 
 defy" iii 139 
 
 1837 (?) 1842 The Widow of Windermere Side . i 320 
 (?) 1837 A Night Thought . . iv 220 
 
 1837 (?) 1838 " Oh what a wreck ! how changed 
 
 in mien and speech " . . . iii 63 
 
 [Sonnet 32 of Part I. of " Ecclesiastical Sonnets" was added 
 in ed. 1837.] 
 
 1838. 
 Jan., 
 
 1838 1838 To the Planet Venus . . .iii 66 
 1838 1838 Composed at Rydal on May Morn- 
 ing, 1838 iii 263 
 
 1838 1838 Composed on a May Morning, 1838 iii 60 
 1838 1838 ' ' Hark ! 'tis the Thrush, undaunted, 
 
 undeprest " . 
 1838 1838 '"Tis He whose yester-evening's 
 high disdain " 
 
 jVIfiLV 
 
 1838 1838 A Plea for Authors, May 1838 
 
 May 23, 
 
 1838 1838 A Poet to his Grandchild. (Sequel 
 
 to the foregoing) v 207 
 
 1838 1838 "Blest Statesman He, whose Mind's 
 
 unselfish will" . . . . v 276 
 1838 1838 At Dover 2 ("From the Pier's head") iii 227 
 1838 1838 Valedictory Sonnet . . .iii 65 
 
 1838 1838 Protest against the Ballot . v 206 
 
 1838 1838 "Said Secrecy to Cowardice and 
 
 Fraud" ... . iv 275 
 
 1838 1851 Inscription on a Rock at Rydal 
 
 Mount v 206 
 
 i For " Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837," see under the year of 
 publication 1842. 
 
 2 See Bibliographical Note on Sonnets, 1838, p. 324 of this volume. 
 
 iii 62 
 
 iii 63 
 
 iii 64 
 
V 
 
 207 
 
 V 
 
 208 
 
 V 
 
 28 
 
 iii 
 
 61 
 
 111 
 
 62 
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 355 
 
 1839. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol page 
 
 1839 1842 "Men of the Western World! in 
 
 Fate's dark book " . . iv 278 
 
 1840. 
 Dec, 
 1840 1 1841 Sonnets upon the Punishment of 
 
 Death v 3-10 
 
 Jan. 1, 
 
 1840 1851 Sonnet on a Portrait of I. F., 
 
 painted by Margaret Gillies 
 Feb. 1, 
 
 1840 1851 Sonnet to I. F 
 
 March, 
 
 1840 1842 Poor Robin 
 
 1840 1842 To a Painter 2 ("All praise the 
 
 Likeness") 
 1840 1842 On the same Subject . ! 
 Aug. 31, 
 
 1840 1842 On a Portrait of the Duke of Wel- 
 
 lington upon the Field of Water- 
 loo, by Haydon . . . . iii 59 
 
 1841. 
 
 1841 1842 Epitaph in the Chapel-Yard at 
 
 Langdale v 137 
 
 1841 1842 Upon perusing the foregoing Epistle 
 
 [to Sir G. H. Beaumont] . v 20 
 
 [Thirty sonnets of the volume of 1842 were written in 1841 ; of these 
 thirty sonnets seventeen belong to the "Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 
 1837."] 
 
 1842. 
 
 1837-42 1842 Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837 iii 232- 
 
 266 
 
 [Of these Memorials "The Cuckoo at Laverna" was actually written 
 in Italy, 1837. Several of the poems were written in the winter of 1838- 
 39 ; seventeen sonnets of the series were written in 1841. No. 27, as the 
 title states, was written on May morning, 1838. No. 28, "The Pillar of 
 Trajan," was written in 1825 or 1826. The Dedicatory lines to H. Crabb 
 Robinson are dated Feb. 14, 1842.] 
 
 1 Perhaps a few belong to 1839. 
 
 2 See p. 362 of this volume. 
 
356 Wordsworth's poems, 
 
 i 
 
 Com- First 
 
 Sosed. Published, 
 an. 23, 
 1 842 1 842 ' • When Severn's sweeping flood had 
 
 overthrown " 
 March 8, 
 
 1842 1842 " Intent on gathering wool from 
 hedge and brake " 
 
 Af&Ycli 26 
 
 1842 ' 'l842 Prelude, prefixed to the Volume 
 entitled " Poems chiefly of Early 
 and Late Years " 
 
 (?) 1842 Floating Island, by Dorothy Words- 
 
 worth . . . . ' . 
 
 (?) 1842 " The Crescent -moon, the Star of 
 Love" 
 
 (?) 1842 The Wishing-gate destroyed . 
 
 (?) 1842 The Cuckoo-clock .... 
 
 (?) 1842 " Though the bold wings of Poesy 
 affect" 
 
 (?) 1842 Suggested by a Picture of the Bird 
 
 Or i fl/ridisp 
 
 (?) 1842 "A Poet!— He hath put his heart 
 to school " 
 
 (?) 1842 "The most alluring clouds that 
 
 mount the sky " . 
 
 (?) 1842 " Feel for the wrongs to universal 
 ken" 
 
 (?) 1842 In allusion to various recent Histo- 
 ries and Notices of the French 
 Revolution 
 
 (?) 1842 Continued 
 
 (?) 1842 Concluded 
 
 (?) 1842 " Lo ! where she stands fixed in a 
 
 saint-like trance "... 
 
 (?) 1842 The Norman Bov .... 
 
 (?) 1842 The Poet's Dream, Sequel to the 
 
 Norman Boy .... 
 
 (?) 1842 Airey- Force Valley 
 
 (?) 1842 "Lyre! though such power do in 
 
 thy magic live " . 
 
 (?) 1842 To the Clouds .... 
 
 Dec 24 
 1842 ' 1845 "Wansfell! this Household has a 
 
 favoured lot " 
 1842 1842 The Eagle and the Dove 
 
 [Sonnets 13, 14, 15 of Part III. of " Ecclesiastical Sonnets" were first 
 published in 1842. Six additional sonnets of the series were written in 
 1842 ; see note on " Ecclesiastical Sonnets" under the year 1821.] 
 
 TOL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 V 
 
 209 
 
 iii 
 
 64 
 
 V 
 
 49 
 
 V 
 
 34 
 
 iv 
 ii 
 ii 
 
 150 
 189 
 203 
 
 ii 
 
 43 
 
 ii 
 
 208 
 
 iii 
 
 58 
 
 iii 
 
 59 
 
 iv 
 
 281 
 
 iv 
 iv 
 iv 
 
 276 
 
 277 
 277 
 
 ii 
 i 
 
 60 
 
 202 
 
 i 
 ii 
 
 204 
 89 
 
 ii 
 
 ii 
 
 105 
 205 
 
 iii 
 
 V 
 
 67 
 209 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 3S7 
 
 1843. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. 
 Jan 1, 
 1843 1845 " While beams of orient light shoot 
 
 wide and high " . 
 1843 1845 l Grace Darling 
 Dec. 11, 
 1843 1845 To the Rev. Christopher Words 
 
 worth, D.D. 
 1843 1845 Inscription for a Monument in 
 
 Crosthwaite Church . 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 in 
 v 
 
 in 
 
 67 
 55 
 
 65 
 162 
 
 July, 
 1844 
 
 1845 
 
 Oct., 
 1844 
 
 1844 
 
 1844 
 
 1844 
 
 1845 
 1845 
 
 1845 
 1845 
 
 1845 
 
 1845 
 
 June 6, 
 1845 
 1845 (?) 
 
 1845 
 
 June 21, 
 1845 
 
 1845 
 
 (?) 
 
 1845 
 
 (?) 
 
 1845 
 
 (?) 
 
 1845 
 
 1844. 
 
 " So fair, so sweet, withal so sensi- 
 tive" iv 271 
 
 On the projected Kendal and Win- 
 dermere Railway 
 
 " Proud were ye, Mountains, when, 
 in times of old " . 
 
 1845. 
 
 To the Pennsylvanians . 
 
 " Young England ! what is then be- 
 come of Old " 
 
 " Forth from a jutting ridge, around 
 whose base " 
 
 The Westmoreland Girl . 
 At Furness Abbey (" Here, where 
 of havoc tired ") . 
 
 At Furness Abbey ("Well have 
 yon Railway Labourers ") . 
 
 "Yes! thou art fair, yet be not 
 moved " ... . . 
 
 "What heavenly smiles! O Lady 
 mine " 
 
 To a Lady, in answer to a request 
 that I would write her a Poem 
 upon some Drawings that she had 
 made of flowers in the Island of 
 Madeira ii 35 
 
 i Privately printed in 1843. 
 
 iii 
 
 68 
 
 iii 
 
 69 
 
 V 
 
 279 
 
 V 
 
 281 
 
 i 
 
 351 
 
 i 
 
 210 
 
 iii 
 
 71 
 
 iii 
 
 71 
 
 i 
 
 253 
 
 i 
 
 254 
 
358 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Com- First 
 
 posed. Published. vol. page 
 (?) 1845 " Glad sight wherever new with 
 
 old" ii 36 
 
 (?) 1845 Love lies Bleeding . . . . ii 50 
 
 (?) 1845 Companion to the foregoing . ii 51 
 
 [Sonnets 1, 2, 9, 10 of Part II. of "Ecclesiastical Sonnets," and 
 Sonnets 16, 26-31 of Part III. of the same series were added in 1845. Of 
 these 9, 10 of Part II., and 26, 27, 28, 31 Part III. were written in 1842.] 
 
 1846. 
 
 Jan. 9, 
 
 1846 1889 Lines inscribed in a copy of his 
 
 Poems sent to the Queen . 
 1846 1850 Sonnet (" Why should we weep or 
 
 mourn, Angelic hoy") 
 1846 1850 "Where lies the truth? has Man, 
 
 in wisdom's creed "... 
 1846 1850 " I know an aged Man constrained 
 
 to dwell" 
 
 (?) 1850 " Howbeautiful the Queen of Night, 
 
 on high " 
 
 1846 1850 To Lucca Giordano 
 
 1846 1850 " Who but is pleased to watch the 
 
 moon on high " . 
 1846 1850 Illustrated Books and Newspapers iv 218 
 1846 1850 " The unremitting voice of nightly 
 
 streams" iv 249 
 
 1846 1850 Sonnet. To an Octogenarian . v 33 
 (?) After 
 
 1845 1850 l On the Banks of a Rocky Stream . v 84 
 
 1847. 
 
 1847 1847 Ode on the Installation of His 
 
 Royal Highness Prince Albert as 
 Chancellor of the University of 
 Cambridge, July, 1847 . . v 211 
 
 i Or 1S49, if Knight's date be correct. 
 
 V 
 
 210 
 
 V 
 
 148 
 
 V 
 
 156 
 
 V 
 
 32 
 
 V 
 
 35 
 
 iv 
 
 155 
 
 iv 
 
 155 
 
ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
 The portrait is from Lupton's engraving of Haydon's 
 painting of Wordsworth on Helvellyn. The date of the 
 portrait is 1842. 
 
 P. vi, 1. 5, reverse the order of the words " sullenly" 
 and " suddenly.'" 
 
 P. xxvii, and p. xli. Mary Hutchinson was remotely 
 connected with Wordsworth by the marriage of his uncle, 
 Dr. Cookson ; she was not Wordsworth's cousin. 
 
 Pp. xxix-xxx. Michel Beaupuy was stationed at Blois, 
 and it may have been there and not at Orleans that 
 Wordsworth made his acquaintance. See the article 
 " The Montaigne Tercentenary " in " The Times," Sept. 3, 
 1892, and an article in " The Athenseum" for March 5, 
 1891. 
 
 P. xxxiv, eleven lines from bottom, for " five- and -sixty " 
 read " five-aud-fifty." 
 
 P. xxxv. " It is probable that they [Wordsworth and 
 Coleridge] saw each other as early as March 1796."' The 
 accuracy of this statement has been questioned ; Mr. J. 
 Dykes Campbell and Mr. Ernest Coleridge believe that 
 the date should be September or October, 1796. See 
 Coleridge's "Poet. Works" (ed. Campbell) p. xxxii., n. 
 
 P. xl. A critic in "The Athenreum," Jan. 21, 1893, 
 p. 77, argues from the fact of the considerable interval 
 between the given date of Wordsworth's departure with 
 his sister from Goslar Feb. 10, and his sailing for Eng- 
 land from Hamburg (in April) that the date Feb. 10 may 
 be incorrect. 
 
 P. lxiv. There is also a reference to the Irish eagle in the 
 poem " On the Power of Sound." 
 
 P. 171, 1. 10, for " 1820" read " 1802." 
 
 P. 173, six lines from bottom, for " forth -started" read 
 " forth -star tied." 
 
 P. 230, 1. 10 of " Artegal and Elidure" delete comma, 
 after " springs." 
 
360 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 P. 367, add to note on " The Mother's Return." " This 
 poem was written by Miss Wordsworth on the eve of the 
 return of Wordsworth and his wife to Coleorton from 
 London in the spring of 1807." 
 
 P. 374,1. 14, after the word "art" insert "(practice 
 1800-1843)." 
 
 P. 375, 1. 3, for " and Turks," read " or Turks." 
 
 P. 377, in the last paragraph of note on " The Longest 
 Day," for " 1845 " read " 1849-50." 
 
 P. 382, in note on " To a Butterfly," for " I've watched 
 you here," read " I've watched you now." 
 
 P. 393, in the line " Such things as she unto this child 
 did say," read " might" for " did." 
 
 P. 406, 1. 8, for " L. 23 " read " L. 33." 
 
 Vol. II. 
 
 P. 266, add to note on " To a Skylark" the following : 
 " Wordsworth wrote to Barron Field : ' After having 
 succeeded so well in the second ' Skylark,' and in the con- 
 clusion of the poem entitled ' A Morning Exercise,' in my 
 notice of this bird, I became indifferent to this poem, which 
 Coleridge used severely to condemn, and to treat con- 
 temptuously. I like, however, the beginning of it so well, 
 that for the sake of that I tacked to it the respectably - 
 tame conclusion." 
 
 P. 275, 1. 13 from bottom, for " Laura's (1807-1843)" 
 read " Laura's (1807-1845)." 
 
 P. 286, 1, 4 and 1. 7, for " Rainock" read " Raincock." 
 
 P. 293, at end of note on "I wandered lonely as a 
 cloud," add the words, "i.e., to avoid a needless multipli- 
 cation of classes." 
 
 P. 297, note that "a Weed of glorious feature" is 
 from Spenser's " Fate of the Butterfly." 
 
 P. 316, add to the note on "Lines composed a few 
 miles above Tintern Abbey" the following: "In edd. 
 1802-1805 the following note appears: 'I have not 
 ventured to call this Poem an Ode; but it was written 
 with a hope that in the transitions and the impassioned 
 music of the versification, would be found the principal 
 requisites of that species of composition.' " 
 
 P. 327, 1. 1, " wearied of" is altered in the errata of 
 ed. 1827 to " wearied by." 
 
 P. 327, "The Triad" is called "The Promise" in a 
 letter of Wordsworth's written previous to its publication 
 in " The Keepsake." In the same letter (printed in " The 
 
ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS. 361 
 
 Cornhill Magazine," March 1893), the following version 
 of 11. 80-101 is given : 
 
 " Like notes of Birds that after showers 
 
 In April concert try their powers, 
 
 And with a tumult and a rout 
 
 Of warbling, force coy Phcebus out ; 
 
 Or bid some dark cloud's bosom show 
 
 That form divine, the many coloured Bow. 
 
 E'en so the thrill ings of the Lyre 
 
 Prevail to further our desire, 
 
 While to these shades a Nymph I call, 
 
 The youngest of the lovely three : 
 
 With glowing cheeks from pastimes virginal 
 
 Behold her hastening to the tents 
 
 Of nature, and the lonely elements ! 
 
 And as if wishful to disarm 
 
 Or to repay the tuneful charm, 
 
 She bears the stringed lute of old Romance," 
 
 LI. 166-169 are given thus in the same letter : 
 
 " Only ministers to quicken 
 Sallies of instinctive wit ; 
 Unchecked in laughter-loving gaiety 
 In all the motions of her spirit free," 
 
 P. 333, add to note on the poem " On the Power of 
 Sound": "On Dec. 15, 1828, Wordsworth wrote to G. 
 H. Gordon : ' During the last week I wrote some stanzas 
 on ' The Power of Sound/ which ought to find a place 
 in my larger work, if aught should ever come of that.' " 
 
 Vol. III. 
 
 P. v, in the title . " Composed in one of the Valleys of 
 Westmoreland on Easter Monday," read " Easter Sun- 
 day." 
 
 P. xiii, in the title, " Composed at Rydal on May Morn- 
 ing 1832," read " 1838." 
 
 P. 54, the sonnet, "A Grave-stone," etc., having ap- 
 peared in " The Keepsake " for 1829 cannot be later than 
 1828. So also with the sonnet pp. 55-56, " A Tradition 
 of OkerHill." 
 
 P. 57, last line, the date of Sonnet XXV. is 1835 (?). 
 
 P. 123 and p. 125, for the headline "Effusion" read 
 " Yarrow Visited." 
 
 P. 340, the sonnet " To B. R. Hay don" (" High is our 
 
362 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 calling, Friend") first appeared in "The Champion," 
 Feb. 4, 1816. 
 
 P. 359, add to note on " To a Painter" : " This and the 
 sonnet ' On the same subject,' belong to 1840, not 1841. 
 A letter of Wordsworth to his daughter (printed in ' The 
 Cornhill Magazine,' March, 1893), speaks of them thus: 
 ' Dearest Dora, your mother tells me she shrinks from 
 copies being spread of those sonnets ; she does not wish 
 one, at any rate, to be given to Miss Gillies, for that, 
 without blame to Miss G., would be like advertising them. 
 I assure you her modesty and humble mindness were so 
 much shocked, that I doubt if she had more pleasure than 
 pain from these compositions, though I never poured out 
 anything more truly from the heart.' " 
 
 P. 360, add to the note on " Oh ! what a wreck " : " In a 
 letter, apparently of 1838, to his daughter Dora, Words- 
 worth suggests an alternative reading of 11. 4, 5, or 4-6 : 
 
 1 Over the sacred [? seared] heart, compassion's twin, 
 The heart that once could feel for ever} 7 wretch.' 
 
 ' The thought of the Sonnet,' he adds, ' . . . has ever 
 been a consolation to me, almost as far back as I can 
 remember.' " 
 
 P. 392, in note on " Ode, for " Ode, composed on 
 January 1816," read (t in January." 
 
 Pp. 394, 395, the two sonnets " Occasioned by the 
 Battle of Waterloo " and that on the " Siege of Vienna," 
 appeared in " The Champion," Feb. 4, 1816. 
 
 P. 420, note on " At Dover." This sonnet was cer- 
 tainly written in 1838, being one of the sonnets composed 
 while the 1838 volume of " Sonnets" was going through 
 the press. 
 
 P. 423, 1. 10, for " that year " read " the year 1841." 
 
 Vol. IV. 
 
 P. 382, note on " So fair," etc. The walk was from 
 Rydal Mount to Loughrigg Fells and Tarn, and thence 
 by the western side of Grasmere, back to Rydal Lake and 
 Rydal Mount. 
 
 Vol. V. 
 
 P. 212, second line from bottom, for " is pure renown," 
 read " in pure renown," 
 
INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 If any poem should not be found in this Index, see the Index of 
 First Lines. 
 
 Aar, The Fall of the, iii. 195. 
 
 Address to a Child, i. 174. 
 
 Address to Kilchurn Castle, 
 iii. 89. 
 
 Address to my Infant Daugh- 
 ter, ii. 57. 
 
 Address to the Scholars of the 
 Village School of , v. 138. 
 
 Admonition, iii. 4. 
 
 iEneid, Translation of Part of 
 the First Book of the, v. 191. 
 
 Affections, Poems founded on 
 the, i. 214. 
 
 Affliction of Margaret , 
 
 The, i. 267. 
 
 After-thought (Tour on the 
 Continent), iii. 198. 
 
 After-Thought (Duddon), iii. 
 301. 
 
 Ailsa Crag, iv. 175. 
 
 Airey-Force Valley, ii. 89. 
 
 Aix-la-Chapelle, iii. 191. 
 
 Alban Hills, From the, iii. 249. 
 
 Albano, At, iii. 248. 
 
 Alfred, iv. 76, 233. 
 
 Alfred, his Descendants, iv. 
 76. 
 
 Alice Fell, i. 178. 
 
 Aloys Reding, iii. 196. 
 
 America, Aspects of Chris- 
 tianity in, iv. 117. 
 
 American Episcopacy, iv. 118. 
 
 American Tradition, iii. 291. 
 
 Ancient History, On a cele- 
 brated Event in, iii. 144. 
 
 Andrew Jones, v. 181. 
 
 Anecdote for Fathers, i. 188. 
 
 Animal Tranquillity and De- 
 cay, v. 128. 
 
 Anio, iii. 249. 
 
 Anticipation (October 1803), 
 iii. 140. 
 
 Apennines, Among the Ruins 
 of a Convent in the, iii. 261. 
 
 Apology (Eccl. Son., Part I.), 
 
 iv. 71. 
 Apology (Eccl. Son., Part II.), 
 
 iv. 98. 
 Apology (Sonnets upon the 
 
 Punishment of Death, v. 10. 
 Apology (Yarrow Revisited), 
 
 iii. 324. 
 Applethwaite, At, iii. 5. 
 Aquapendente, Musings near, 
 
 iii. 232. 
 Armenian Lady's Love, The, i. 
 
 322. 
 Artegal and Elidure, i. 230. 
 Author's Portrait, To the, iii. 
 
 56. 
 Avarice, The last Stage of, v. 
 
 125. 
 Avon, The, iii. 321. 
 
 Bala-Sala, At, iv. 173. 
 Ballot, Protest against the, v. 
 
 206. 
 Bangor, Monastery of Old, iv. 
 
 68. 
 Baptism, iv. 121. 
 Beaumont, Sir George, Epistle 
 
 to, v. 11, 20. 
 Beaumont, Sir George, Picture 
 
 of Peele Castle by, v. 141. 
 Beaumont, Sir George, Beauti- 
 ful picture painted by, iii. 8. 
 Beaumont, Sir George, Elegiac 
 
 Stanzas addressed to, v. 152. 
 Beaumont, To Lady, iii. 32. 
 Beggars, ii. 106, 108. 
 Benefits, Other, iv. 86. 
 Bible, Translation of the, iv. 
 
 99. 
 Binnorie, The Solitude of, ii. 
 
 27. 
 Bird of Paradise, Upon seeing 
 
 a coloured Drawing of the, 
 
 iv. 272, 
 
364 
 
 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 Bird of Paradise, Suggested 
 
 by a Picture of the, ii. 208. 
 Biscayan, Feelings of a Noble, 
 
 iii. 157. 
 Bishops, Acquittal of the, iv. 
 
 114. 
 Black Comb, Inscription on a 
 
 stone on the side of, v. 75. 
 Black Comb, View from the 
 
 top of, ii. 176. 
 Boat, Written while sailing in 
 
 a, i. 18. 
 Bologna, At, iv. 279, 280. 
 Bolton Priory, The founding 
 
 of, iv. 231. 
 Books (Prelude), vii. 77. 
 Borderers, The, i. 76. 
 Bothwell Castle, iii. 319. 
 Boulogne, On being stranded 
 
 near the Harbour of, iii. 226. 
 Bowness, "The Station" oppo- 
 site, v. 201. 
 Bran, Effusion on the Banks 
 
 of the, iii. 118. 
 Breadalbane, Ruined Mansion 
 
 of the Earl of, iii. 313. 
 Brientz, Scene on the Lake of, 
 
 iii. 198. 
 Britons, Struggle of the, iv. 66. 
 Brothers, The, i. 214. 
 Brother's Water.written on the 
 
 Bridge at the foot of, ii. 104. 
 Brougham Castle, Song at the 
 
 Feast of, ii. 140. 
 Brownie's Cell, The, iii. 112. 
 Brownie, The, iii. 318. 
 Bruges, iii. 188. 
 Bruges, Incident at, iii, 189. 
 Burial Place in the South of 
 
 Scotland, iii. 308. 
 Burns, At the Grave of, iii. 73. 
 Burns, Thoughts suggested 
 
 near the residence of, iii. 76. 
 Burns, To the Sons of, iii. 79. 
 Butterfly, To a, i. 170, 239. 
 
 Calais, iii. 126-128. 
 
 Calais, Fish-women at, iii. 187. 
 
 Calvert, Raisley, To the Me- 
 mory of, iii. 23. 
 
 Camaldoli, at the Convent of, 
 iii. 255, 256. 
 
 Cambridge and the Alps (Pre- 
 lude), vii. 97. 
 
 Cambridge, Residence at 
 (Prelude), vii. 42. 
 
 Canute, iv. 78. 
 
 Canute and Alfred, iv. 233. 
 
 Casual Incitement, iv. 68. 
 
 Catechising, iv. 122. 
 Cathedrals, etc., iv. 133. 
 Catholic Cantons, Composed 
 
 in one of the, iii. 197. 
 Celandine, The Small, v. 124. 
 Celandine, To the Small, ii. 
 
 22, 25. 
 Cenotaph, in remembrance of 
 
 Mrs. Fermor, v. 137. 
 Cento, A, v. 203. 
 Character, A, iv. 200. 
 Charles I., Troubles of, iv. 108. 
 Charles II., iv. 111. 
 Chats worth, iii. 55. 
 Chaucer, Selections from, v. 
 
 85. 
 Chiabrera, Epitaphs translated 
 
 from, v. 129-135. 
 Chichely, Archbishop to Henry 
 
 V., iv. 91. 
 Child, Address to a, i. 174. 
 Child three years old, Charac- 
 teristics of a, i. 173. 
 Child, To a (written in her 
 
 Album), v. 51. 
 Childhood, Poems referring to 
 
 the Period of, i, 170. 
 Childhood and School-time 
 
 (Prelude), vii. 7. 
 Childless Father, The, i. 275. 
 Christianity in America, As- 
 pects of, iv. 117, 118. 
 Church to be erected, iv. 131, 
 
 132. 
 Churchyard among the Moun- 
 tains (Excursion), vi. 187, 
 
 229. 
 Cistertian Monastery, iv. 85. 
 Clarkson, Thomas, To, iii. 145. 
 Clergy, Corruptions of the 
 
 Higher, iv. 93. 
 Clerical Integrity, iv. 113. 
 Clermont, The Council of, iv. 
 
 80. 
 Clouds, To the, ii. 205. 
 Clyde, The Frith of, iv. 175, 176. 
 Cockermouth Castle, Address 
 
 from the Spirit of, iv. 161. 
 Cockermouth, In sight of, iv. 
 
 160. 
 Coleorton, Elegiac Musings in 
 
 the grounds of, v. 154. 
 Coleorton, A Flower Garden 
 
 at, ii. 5. 
 Coleorton, Inscriptions in the 
 
 grounds of, v. 71-73. 
 Collins, Remembrance of, i. 19. 
 Cologne, In the Cathedral at, 
 
 iii. 192. 
 
INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 365 
 
 Commination Service, The, iv. 
 
 126. 
 Complaint, A, i. 252. 
 Complaint, The, of an Indian 
 
 woman, i. 258. 
 "Complete Angler," Written 
 
 on a blank leaf in the, iii. 11. 
 Conclusion (Duddon), iii. 301. 
 Conclusion (Eccl. Son.), iv. 136. 
 Conclusion (Miscell. Son. , Part 
 
 II.), iii. 42. 
 Conclusion (Sonnets upon the 
 
 Punishment of Death), v. 9. 
 Conclusion (Prelude), vii. 244. 
 Confirmation, iv. 122, 123. 
 Congratulation, iv. 130. 
 Conjectures, iv. 62. 
 Contrast, The, i. 37. 
 Convent in the Apennines, iii. 
 
 261. 
 Convention of Cintra, Com- 
 posed while writing a Tract 
 
 occasioned by the, iii. 147, 
 
 148. 
 Conversion, iv. 71. 
 Convict, The, v. 179. 
 Cora Linn, Composed at, iii. 
 
 116. 
 
 Cordelia M , To, iv. 195. 
 
 Cottager to her Infant, The, i. 
 
 270. 
 Countess' Pillar, iii. 323. 
 Cranmer, iv. 103. 
 Crosthwaite Church, Inscrip- 
 tion in, v. 162. 
 Crusaders, iv. 87. 
 Crusades, iv. 80. 
 Cuckoo and the Nightingale, 
 
 The, v. 94. 
 Cuckoo at Laverna, The, iii. 
 
 251. 
 Cuckoo Clock, The, ii. 203. 
 Cuckoo, To the, ii. 87 ; iii. 50. 
 Cumberland Beggar, The Old, 
 
 v. 113. 
 Cumberland, Coast of (In the 
 
 Channel), iv. 169. 
 Cumberland, On a high part 
 
 of the coast of, iv. 138. 
 
 Daisy, To the, ii. 15, 18 ; iv.209 ; 
 
 v. 143. 
 Daniel, Picture of, iii. 320. 
 Danish Boy, The, ii. 39. 
 Danish Conquests, iv. 77. 
 Danube, Source of the, iii. 194. 
 Decay of Piety, iii. 15. 
 Dedication (Miscell. Son.), iii. 
 
 3. 
 
 Dedication (Tour on the Conti- 
 nent), iii. 187. 
 Dedication (White Doe of Ryl- 
 
 stone), iv. 3. 
 Departure from the Vale of 
 
 Grasmere, iii. 72. 
 Derwent, To the River, iv. 159. 
 Descriptive Sketches, i. 20. 
 Despondency (Excursion), vi. 
 
 75. 
 Despondency Corrected (Ex- 
 cursion), vi. 109. 
 Desultory Stanzas, iii. 228. 
 Detraction which followed the 
 
 Publication of a certain 
 
 Poem, On the, iii. 13. 
 Devil's Bridge, To the Torrent 
 
 at, iii. 48. 
 Devotional Incitements, ii. 200. 
 Dion, ii. 161. 
 Dissensions, iv. 66. 
 Distractions, iv. 106. 
 Dog, Incident Characteristic 
 
 of a, iv. 221. 
 Dog, Tribute to the Memory 
 
 of the same, iv. 222. 
 Donnerdale, The Plain of, iii. 
 
 294. 
 Douglas Bay, Isle of Man, On 
 
 entering, iv. 170. 
 Dover, At, iii. 227. 
 Dover, Near, iii. 131, 132. 
 Dover, The Valley of, iii. 226. 
 Druidical Excommunication, 
 
 iv. 63. 
 Druids, Trepidation of the, iv. 
 
 62. 
 Duddon, The River, iii. 281. 
 Dungeon-Ghyll Force, i. 185. 
 Dunollie Castle (Eagles), iii. 
 
 311. 
 Dunolly Castle, On revisiting 
 
 iv. 176. 
 Dunolly Eagle, The, iv. 177. 
 Duty, Ode to, iv. 226. 
 Dyer, To the Poet John, iii. 12. 
 
 Eagle and the Dove, The, v. 
 
 209. 
 Eagles (Dunollie Castle), iii. 
 
 311. 
 Easter Sunday, Composed on, 
 
 iii. 14. 
 Ecclesiastical Sonnets, iv. 61. 
 Echo upon the Gemmi, iii. 
 
 219. 
 Eclipse of the Sun, The, iii. 211. 
 Eden, The River, iv. 186. 
 Edward VI., iv. 100 
 
366 
 
 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Edward signing the Warrant, 
 iv. 101. 
 
 Egremont Castle, The Horn of, 
 v. 42. 
 
 Egyptian Maid, The, iii. 267. 
 
 Ejaculation, iv. 135. 
 
 Elegiac Musings (Coleorton 
 Hall), v. 154. 
 
 Elegiac Stanzas (F. W. God- 
 dard), iii. 222. 
 
 Elegiac Stanzas (Mrs. Fermor), 
 v. 152. 
 
 Elegiac Stanzas (Peele Castle), 
 v. 141. 
 
 Elegiac Verses (John Words- 
 worth), v. 145. 
 
 Elizabeth, iv. 105. 
 
 Ellen Irwin, iii. 81. 
 
 Emigrant French Clergy, iv. 
 129. 
 
 Emigrant Mother, The, i. 276. 
 
 Engelberg, iii. 199. 
 
 Enghien, Duke d', Disinter- 
 ment of, iii. 171. 
 
 England, Afflictions of, iv. 109. 
 
 Enterprise, To, ii. 168. 
 
 Epigram on Col. Evans, v. 205. 
 
 Epistle to Sir George Beau- 
 mont, v. 11, 20. 
 
 Epitaph in the Chapel-yard of 
 Langdale, v. 137. 
 
 Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces, 
 v. 129. 
 
 Epitaphs translated from Chia- 
 brera, v. 129-135. 
 
 Evening of extraordinary 
 splendour, Composed upon 
 an, iv. 146. 
 
 Evening Star, To the, v. 189. 
 
 Evening Voluntaries, iv. 137. 
 
 Evening Walk, An, i. 4. 
 
 Excursion, The, vi. 1. 
 
 Expostulation and Reply, iv. 
 197. 
 
 Fact, A, and an Imagination, 
 iv. 233. 
 
 Faery Chasm, The, iii. 289. 
 
 Fancy, Poems of the, ii. 3. 
 
 Fancy and Tradition, iii. 322. 
 
 Fancy, Hints for the, iii. 289. 
 
 Farewell, A, i. 239. 
 
 Farewell Lines, i. 331. 
 
 Farmer of Tilsbury Vale, The, 
 v. 119. 
 
 Fermor,Mrs.(Cenotaph), v. 137. 
 
 Fermor, Mrs. (Elegiac Stan- 
 zas), v. 152. 
 
 Fidelity, iv. 224. 
 
 Filial Piety, iii. 56. 
 
 Fish-women, iii. 187. 
 
 Fleming, To the Lady, v. 37, 40. 
 
 Floating Island, v. 34. 
 
 Florence, iii. 259-261. 
 
 Flower Garden, A, at Coleor- 
 ton Hall, ii. 5. 
 
 Flowers, iii. 286. 
 
 Foresight, i. 172. 
 
 Forms of Prayer at Sea, iv. 126. 
 
 Forsaken, The, i. 249. 
 
 Fort Fuentes, iii. 204. 
 
 Fountain, The, iv. 214. 
 
 Fox, Mr., Lines composed on 
 the expected death of, v. 149. 
 
 Fragments (3), v. 187. 
 
 France, Residence in (Pre- 
 lude), vii. 169, 187, 206, 
 
 French Army in Russia, iii. 
 162, 164. 
 
 French Revolution, ii. 151. 
 
 French Revolution, In allusion 
 to Histories of the,iv.276,277. 
 
 French Royalist, Feelings of 
 a, iii. 171. 
 
 Friend, To a, on the banks of 
 the Derwent, iv. 16. 
 
 Funeral Service, iv. 127. 
 
 Furness Abbey, At, iii. 70, 71. 
 
 General Fast, Upon the late 
 (1832), iv. 275, 
 
 George III., On the death of, 
 iii. 45. 
 
 George and Sarah Green, v. 
 190. 
 
 Germans on the Heights of 
 Hochheim, iii. 165. 
 
 Germany, Written in, iv. 206. 
 
 Gillies, Margaret, On a Por- 
 trait by, v. 207. 
 
 Gipsies, ii. 109. 
 
 Glad Tidings, iv. 69. 
 
 Gleaner, The, v. 30. 
 
 Glen-Almain, iii. 85. 
 
 Glencroe, At the Head of, iii. 
 314. 
 
 Goddard, F. W., Elegiac Stan- 
 zas, iii. 222. 
 
 Gold and Silver Fishes in a 
 Vase, v. 21, 23. 
 
 Goody Blake and Harry Gill, 
 v. 45. 
 
 Gordale, iii. 41. 
 
 Grace Darling, v. 55. 
 
 Grasmere, Departure from the 
 Vale of, iii. 72. 
 
 Grasmere, Inscription on the 
 Island at, v. 74. 
 
INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 367 
 
 Grasmere, Inscription for a 
 Summer house at, v. 189. 
 
 Grasmere Lake, Composed by 
 the side of, iii. 146. 
 
 Grasmere Water, v. 189. 
 
 Gravestone, A, in Worcester 
 Cathedral, iii. 54. 
 
 Green Linnet, The, ii. 20. 
 
 Greenock, iv. 184. 
 
 Greta, To the River, iv. 159. 
 
 Guernica, Oak of, iii. 157. 
 
 Guilt and Sorrow, i. 48. 
 
 Gunpowder Plot, iv. 107. 
 
 H. C, To, i. 196. 
 
 Hambleton Hills, After a 
 
 Journey across the, iii. 28. 
 Happy Warrior, Character of 
 
 the, iv. 228. 
 Hart-leap Well, ii. 133. 
 Hart's- horn Tree, iii. 322. 
 Haunted Tree, The, ii. 178. 
 Hawkshead, Written as a 
 
 School Exercise at, v. 173. 
 Haydon, B. R., To, iii. 24. 
 Haydon, On seeing his Picture 
 
 of Napoleon, iii. 58. 
 Haydon, On a Picture of the 
 
 Duke of Wellingtonby,iii. 59. 
 Henry VIII. , Portrait of, iii. 45. 
 Her eyes are wild, i. 335. 
 Hermitage on St. Herbert's 
 
 Island, Inscription, v. 83. 
 Hermitage, Near the Spring 
 
 of the, v. 81. 
 Hermit's Cell, Inscriptions in 
 
 and near, v. 79. 
 Highland Boy, The Blind, iii. 
 
 102. 
 Highland Broach, The, iii. 315. 
 Highland Girl, To a, iii. 83. 
 Highland Hut, iii. 314. 
 Hint from the Mountains, ii. 32. 
 Hints for the Fancy, iii. 289. 
 Hoffer, iii. 148. 
 
 Hogg, James, Extempore Effu- 
 sion upon the death of, v. 
 
 160. 
 Honour, iii. 153. 
 Howard, Mrs., Monument of, 
 
 iv. 186, 187. 
 Humanity, iv. 245. 
 Hymn for Boatmen, iii 193. 
 Hymn, The Labourer's Noon- 
 day, iv. 258. 
 
 I. F., To, v. 208. 
 
 I. F., On a Portrait of , v. 207. 
 
 Idiot Boy, The, i. 289. 
 
 Illustrated Books and News- 
 papers, iv. 218. 
 Illustration. (The Jung- 
 
 Frau), iv. 108. 
 Imagination, Poems of the, ii. 
 
 86. 
 Imagination and Taste (Pre- 
 lude), vii. 221, 232, 
 Imaginative Regrets, iv. 98. 
 Immortality, Intimations of, 
 
 v. 163. 
 Indian Woman, Complaint of 
 
 a forsaken, i. 258. 
 Infant Daughter, Address to 
 
 my, ii. 57. 
 Infant M M , The, Hi. 
 
 52. 
 Influence Abused, iv. 77. 
 Influences, Other, iv. 72. 
 Inglewood Forest, Suggested 
 
 by a View in, ii. 321. 
 Inscribed in aCopyof his Poems 
 
 sent to the Queen, v. 210. 
 Inscription for a Monument 
 
 in Crosthwaite Church 
 
 (Southey), v. 162. 
 Inscription for a Summer 
 
 house at Grasmere, v. 189. 
 Inscription on a Rock at 
 
 Rydal Mount, v. 206. 
 Inscriptions, v. 71. 
 Installation Ode, v. 211. 
 Interdict, An, iv. 81. 
 Introduction (Eccles. Son.), 
 
 iv. 61. 
 Introduction (Prelude) vii. 7. 
 Invasion, Lines on the ex- 
 pected, iii. 139. 
 Invocation to the Earth, v. 150. 
 Iona, iv. 182, 183. 
 Iona, Black Stones of, iv. 183. 
 Isle of Man, iv. 172. 
 Isle of Man, At Bala-Sala, iv. 
 
 173. 
 Isle of Man , at Sea off the.iv. 169. 
 Isle of Man, By the Seashore, 
 
 iv. 171. 
 Isle of Man (Douglas Bay), iv. 
 
 170. 
 Italian Itinerant, The, iii. 207. 
 Italy, After leaving, iii. 262,263. 
 
 Jedborough, The Matron of, 
 
 iii. 99. 
 Jewish Family, A, ii. 209. 
 Joanna, To, i. 341. 
 Joan of Kent, Warrant for 
 
 Execution of, iv. 101. 
 Journey renewed, iii. 298. 
 
368 
 
 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Jung-Frau, The, and the Fall 
 of the Rhine, iv. 108. 
 
 Kendal, Upon hearing of the 
 death of the Vicar of, v. 151. 
 
 Kendal and Windermere Rail- 
 way, On the projected, iii. 68. 
 
 Kent, To the Men of, iii. 138. 
 
 Kilchurn Castle, Address to, 
 iii. 89. 
 
 Killicranky, in the Pass of, 
 iii. 98. 
 
 King's College Chapel, Cam- 
 bridge, Inside of, iv. 133-135. 
 
 Kirkstone, The Pass of, ii. 165. 
 
 Kirtle, The Braes of, iii. 81. 
 
 Kitten and Falling Leaves, 
 The, ii. 53. 
 
 Labourer's Noon-day Hymn, 
 
 The, iv. 258. 
 Lady, To a, upon Drawings she 
 
 had made of Flowers in 
 
 Madeira, ii. 35. 
 Lady E. B. and the Hon. Miss 
 
 P., To the, iii. 47. 
 Lamb, Charles, Written after 
 
 the Death of, v. 156. ^_ 
 Lancaster Castle, Suggested 
 
 by the view of, v. 3. 
 Laodamia, ii. 154. 
 Last of the Flock, The, i. 261. 
 Last Supper, by Leonardo da 
 
 Vinci, The, iii. 211. 
 Latimer and Ridley, iv. 102. 
 Latitudinarianism, iv. 112. 
 Laud, iv. 109. 
 Liberty and Order, Sonnets 
 
 dedicated to, iv. 274. 
 Liberty (Gold and Silver 
 
 Fishes), v. 23. 
 Liberty, Obligations of Civil 
 
 to Religious, iv. 115. 
 Liturgy, The, iv. 120. 
 Loch Etive, Composed in the 
 
 Glen of, iii. 311. 
 Lombardy, In, iii. 262. 
 London, Residence in (Pre- 
 lude), vii. 122. 
 London, Written in (1802), iii. 
 
 133. 
 Longest Day, The, i. 199. 
 Long Meg and her Daughters, 
 
 iv. 189. 
 Lonsdale, The Countess of, 
 
 written in the Album of , v . 52. 
 Lonsdale, To the Earl of, vi. 2. 
 Louisa, i. 245. 
 Love, The Birth of, v. 177. 
 
 Love lies bleeding, ii. 50, 51. 
 Loving and Liking, i. 329. 
 Lowther, iv. 189. 
 Lowther, To the Lady Mary, 
 
 iii. 32. 
 Lucca Giordano, To, iv. 155. 
 Lucy Gray, i. 180. 
 Lycoris, Ode to, iv. 237, 238. 
 
 M. H.,To, i. 347. 
 Madeira, Flowers in the Is- 
 land of, ii. 35. 
 Malham Cove, iii. 41. 
 Manse, On the sight of a, iii. 
 
 308. 
 March, Written in, ii. 171. 
 Marriage Ceremony, The, iv. 
 
 124. 
 Marriage of a Friend, On the 
 
 Eve of the, iii. 16. 
 Marshall, To Cordelia, iv. 195. 
 Mary Queen of Scots (Capti- 
 vity), iii. 37. 
 Mary Queen of Scots, Lament 
 
 of, i. 256. 
 Mary Queen of Scots, Landing 
 
 at Workington, iv. 162. 
 Maternal Grief, i. 270. 
 Matthew, iv. 210. 
 May Morning, Composed on a 
 
 (1838), iii. 60. 
 May Morning, Composed on 
 
 (1838), iii. 263. 
 May Morning, Ode composed 
 
 on, iv. 260. 
 May, To, iv. 262. 
 Memory, iv. 243. 
 Merry England, iv. 158. 
 Michael, i. 304. 
 Michael, Fragments intended 
 
 for, v. 182. 
 Michael Angelo, From the 
 
 Italian of, iii. 16, 17, 260, 261 ; 
 
 v. 205. 
 Miscellaneous Poems, v. 11. 
 Miscellaneous Sonnets, iii. 1. 
 Missions and Travels, iv. 75. 
 Monasteries, Dissolution of 
 
 the, iv. 95, 96. 
 Monastic Power, Abuse of, iv. 
 
 94. 
 Monastic Voluptuousness, iv. 
 
 94. 
 Monks and Schoolmen, iv. 86. 
 Moon, To the (Seaside), iv. 
 
 150. 
 Moon, To the (Rydal), iv. 153. 
 Morning Exercise, A, ii. 3. 
 Mother's Return, The, i. 176. 
 
INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 369 
 
 Mutability, iv. 128. 
 
 Naming of Places, Poems on 
 
 the, 1. 339. 
 Namur and Liege, Between, 
 
 iii. 191. 
 Napoleon, On seeing Haydon's 
 
 Picture of, iii. 58 
 National Independence, and 
 
 Liberty, Poems dedicated 
 
 to, iii. 126. 
 Natural Objects, Influence of, 
 
 i. 197. 
 Needlecase in the form of a 
 
 Harp, On seeing a, ii. 33. 
 New Churches, iv. 131. 
 New Churchyard, iv. 132. 
 Newspaper, Composed after 
 
 reading a, iv. 274. 
 Niebuhr, iii. 245, 246. 
 Night-piece, A, ii. 88. 
 Night-thought, A, iv. 220. 
 Nith, On the Banks of, iii. 76. 
 Norman Boy, The, i 202. 
 Norman Conquest, The, iv. 79. 
 North Wales, Composed 
 
 among the Ruins of a Castle 
 
 in, iii. 47. 
 Nortons, The Fate of the, iv. 
 
 3. 
 Nunnery, iv. 187. 
 Nun's Well, Brigham, iv. 161. 
 Nutting, ii. 91. 
 
 Oak and the Broom, The, ii. 
 10. 
 
 Octogenarian, To an, v. 33. 
 
 Ode on the Installation of 
 Prince Albert, v. 211. 
 
 Ode, Vernal, ii. 196. 
 
 Ode (" Who rises on the Banks 
 of Seine "), iii- 141. 
 
 Ode (1814. "When the soft 
 hand "), iii- 166. 
 
 Ode (1815. "Imagination- 
 ne'er before content"), iii. 
 174. 
 
 Ode, Thanksgiving, iii 178. 
 
 Ode to Duty, iv. 226. 
 
 Ode to Lycoris, iv. 237, 238. 
 
 Ode composed on May Morn- 
 ing, iv. 260. 
 
 Ode, Intimations of Immor- 
 tality, v. 163. 
 
 Oker Hill in Darley Dale, A 
 Tradition of, iii. 55. 
 
 Old Abbeys, iv. 129. 
 
 Old Age, Poems referring to 
 the period of, v. 113. 
 
 Open Prospect, iii. 290. 
 Ossian, Written in a blank 
 
 leaf of Macpherson's, iv. 177. 
 Our Lady of the Snow, iii. 
 
 199. 
 Oxford, May 30, 1820, iii. 44. 
 
 Painter, To a, iii. 61, 62. 
 Palafox, iii. 156. 
 Papal Abuses, iv. 82. 
 Papal Dominion, iv. 83. 
 Parrot and the Wren, The, 
 
 ii. 37. 
 Parsonage in Oxfordshire, A, 
 
 iii. 46. 
 Parsonage, The (Excursion), 
 
 vi. 265. 
 Pastor, The (Excursion), vi. 
 
 153. 
 Pastoral Character, iv. 120. 
 Patriotic Sympathies, iv. 111. 
 Paulinus, iv. 69. 
 Peele Castle, Suggested by a 
 
 Picture of, v. 141. 
 Pennsylvanians, To the, iv. 
 
 279. 
 Persecution, iv. 64. 
 Personal Talk, iv. 216. 
 Persuasion, iv. 70. 
 Peter Bell, ii. 219. 
 Peter Bell, on the detraction 
 
 which followed the publica- 
 tion of, iii. 13. 
 Pet-lamb, The, i. 192. 
 Picture, Upon the sight of a 
 
 beautiful, iii. 8. 
 Pilgrim Fathers, The, iv. 117. 
 Pilgrim's Dream, The, ii. 43. 
 Pillar of Trajan, The, iii. 264. 
 Pine of Monte Mario, The, iii. 
 
 244. 
 Places of Worship, iv. 119. 
 Plea for Authors, A, iii. 64. 
 Plea for the Historian, iii. 
 
 246. 
 Poet and the caged Turtle- 
 dove, The, ii. 46. 
 Poet's Dream, The, i. 204. 
 Poet's Epitaph, A, iv. 207. 
 Poet to his Grandchild, A, v. 
 
 207. 
 Point at issue, The, iv. 100. 
 Poor Robin, v. 28. 
 Popery, Revival of, iv. 102. 
 Portrait, Lines suggested by a, 
 
 iv. 205, 269. 
 Portrait, to the Author's, iii. 
 
 56. 
 Power of Music, ii. 99. 
 
 VII. 
 
 B B 
 
370 
 
 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 Power of Sound, On the, ii. 211. 
 
 Prayer, The force of, iv. 231. 
 
 Prelude to " Poems of Early 
 and late Years," v. 49. 
 
 Prelude, The, vii. 7. 
 
 Presentiments, ii. 193. 
 
 Primrose of the Rock, The, ii. 
 191. 
 
 Prioress' Tale, The, v. 85. 
 
 Processions, suggested in the 
 vale of Chamouny, iii. 219. 
 
 Prophecy, A, iii. 146. 
 
 Punishment of Death, Son- 
 nets upon the, v. 3. 
 
 Railway, On the projected 
 
 Kendal and Windermere, 
 
 iii. 68 
 Ranz des Vaches, On hearing 
 
 the, iii. 203. 
 Raphael, Before a picture by, 
 
 iii. 259. 
 Recovery, iv. 6. 
 Redbreast chasing the Butter- 
 fly, The, ii. 30. 
 Redbreast, The, i. 332. 
 Redbreast, To a, v. 31. 
 Reflections, iv 99. 
 Reformation, Troubles of the, 
 
 iv. 103. 
 Reformers, Eminent, iv. 105, 
 
 106. 
 Reformers, English, in Exile, 
 
 iv. 104. 
 Regrets, iv. 128. 
 Regrets, Imaginative, iv. 98. 
 Repentance, i. 265. 
 Reproof, iv. 74. 
 Resolution and Independence, 
 
 ii. 119. 
 Rest and be thankful, iii. 314. 
 Resting-place, The, iii. 296. 
 Retired Mariner, By a, iv. 
 
 173. 
 Retirement, iii. 27. 
 Retrospect (Prelude), vii. 147. 
 Return, iii. 292. 
 Reverie of Poor Susan, the, 
 
 ii. 98. 
 Rhine, Upon the Banks of the, 
 
 iii. 193. 
 Richard I., iv. 81. 
 Robinson, H. C, To, iii. 232. 
 Rob Roy's Grave, iii. 91. 
 Rocky Stream, Composed on 
 
 the Banks of a, iii. 40. 
 Rocky Stream, Inscription on 
 
 the Banks of a, v. 84. 
 Rogers, Samuel, To, iii. 303. 
 
 Roman Antiquities at Bishop- 
 stone, iii. 54. 
 
 Roman Antiquities at Old 
 Penrith, iii. 324. 
 
 Roman Refinements, Tempta- 
 tions from, iv. 65. 
 
 Romance of the Water Lily, 
 iii. 267. 
 
 Rome, At, iii. 244-248. 
 
 Roslin Chapel, Composed in, 
 iii. 309. 
 
 Rotha Q , To, iii. 53. 
 
 Ruins of a Castle in North 
 Wales, Composed among 
 the, iii. 47. 
 
 Rural Architecture, i. 190. 
 
 Rural Ceremony, iv. 127. 
 
 Rural Illusions, ii. 52. 
 
 Russian Fugitive, The, v. 58. 
 
 Ruth, ii. 110. 
 
 Rydal, At, on May Morning 
 (1838), iii. 263. 
 
 Rydal Chapel, v. 37. 
 
 Rydal, Inscription upon a 
 stone upon one of the Is- 
 lands at, v. 76. 
 
 Rydal, In the woods of, iii. 
 49. 
 
 Rydal Mere, By the side of, 
 iv. 141. 
 
 Rydal Mount, Probability of 
 leaving, v. 196. 
 
 Rydal Mount, Inscription on 
 a rock at, v. 206. 
 
 S. H., To, iii. 14. 
 
 Sacheverel, iv. 116. 
 
 Sacrament, iv. 123. 
 
 Sailor's Mother, The, i. 273. 
 
 St. Bees' Heads, In a Steam- 
 boat off, iv. 163. 
 
 St. Catherine of Ledbury, iii. 
 37. 
 
 St. Herbert's Island, Derwent- 
 water, Hermitage on, v. 83. 
 
 Saints, iv. 97. 
 
 Salisbury Plain, Incidents 
 upon, i. 48. 
 
 San Salvador, The Church of, 
 iii. 206. 
 
 Saxon Clergy, Primitive, iv. 
 72. 
 
 Saxon Conquest, iv. 67. 
 
 Saxon Monasteries, iv. 75. 
 
 Schill, iii. 154. 
 
 School, Composed in anticipa- 
 tion of leaving, i. 3. 
 
 School Exercise at Hawks- 
 head, Written as a, v. 173. 
 
INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 371 
 
 School - Time (Prelude), vii. 
 27. 
 
 Schwytz, iii. 202. 
 
 Scottish Covenanters, Perse- 
 cution of the, iv. 113. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, On the 
 Departure of, iii. 307. 
 
 Seashore, Composed by the, 
 iv. 149. 
 
 Seaside, By the, iii. 126 ; iv. 
 139. 
 
 Seasons, Thoughts on the, iv. 
 249. 
 
 Seathwaite Chapel, iii. 292. 
 
 Seclusion, iv. 73. 
 
 Sentiment and Reflection, 
 Poems of, iv. 197. 
 
 September, 1815, iii. 29. 
 
 September, 1819, iv. 240, 241. 
 
 Seven Sisters, The, ii. 27. 
 
 Sexton, To a, ii. 14. 
 
 Sheep-washing, iii. 295. 
 
 Shepherd-boys, The Idle, i. 185. 
 
 Simon Lee, iv. 203. 
 
 Simplon Pass, Column lying 
 in the, iii. 216. 
 
 Simplon Pass, Stanzas com- 
 posed in the, iii. 217. 
 
 Simplon Pass, The, ii. 93. 
 
 Sister, To my, iv. 201. 
 
 Sky-lark, To a, ii. 21, 153. 
 
 Sky-prospect — from the Plain 
 of France, iii. 225. 
 
 Sleep, To, iii. 9, 10. 
 
 Snowdrop, To a, iii. 31. 
 
 Sobieski, John, iii. 172. 
 
 .Solitary Reaper, The, iii. 87. 
 
 Solitary, The (Excursion), 
 vi. 45. 
 
 Somnambulist, The, iv. 190. 
 
 Song at the Feast of Brougham 
 Castle, ii. 140. 
 
 Song for the Spinning Wheel, 
 ii. 31. 
 
 Song for the Wandering Jew, 
 ii. 41. 
 
 Sonnet composed at Castle, 
 
 iii. 95. 
 
 Sonnet, September 1, 1802 
 (" We had a female Pas- 
 senger"), iii- 131. 
 
 Sonnet, September 1802 (" In- 
 land, within a hollow 
 vale ; '), iii- 132. 
 
 Sonnet, October 1803 ("One 
 might believe "), iii. 136. 
 
 Sonnet, October 1803 ("These 
 times strike monied world- 
 lings "), iii. 137. 
 
 Sonnet, October 1803 (" When 
 
 looking on the present face 
 
 of things "), iii. 138. 
 Sonnet, November 1806 (' ' An- 
 other year "), iii. 141. 
 Sonnet, November 1813 
 
 (" Now that all hearts are 
 
 glad"), iii. 165. 
 Sonnet, September 1815 
 
 (" While not a leaf seems 
 
 faded "), iii. 29. 
 Sonnet, November 1, 1815 
 
 ("How clear, how keen"), 
 
 iii. 30. 
 Sonnet, June 1820 ("Fame 
 
 tells of groves "), iii. 46. 
 Sonnet, November 1836 
 
 (" Even so for me "), iii. 19. 
 Sound of Mull, In the, iii. 312. 
 Southey (Inscription for Monu- 
 ment), v. 162. 
 Spade of a Friend, To the, iv. 
 
 219. 
 Spaniard, Indignation of a 
 
 high-minded, iii. 158. 
 Spanish Guerillas, iii. 161. 
 Spanish Guerillas, The French 
 
 and the, iii. 160. 
 Sparrow's Nest, The, i. 171. 
 Spinning Wheel, Song for the, 
 
 ii. 31. 
 Sponsors, iv. 121. 
 Spring, Lines written in Early, 
 
 iv. 199. 
 Squib, v. 204. 
 
 Staffa, Cave of, iv. ISO, 181, 182. 
 Star and the Glow-worm, The, 
 
 ii. 43. 
 Star-gazers, ii. 102. 
 " Station, The," written in the 
 
 Strangers' Book at, v. 201. 
 Staub-bach, On approaching 
 
 the, iii. 195. 
 Steamboats, Viaducts, and 
 
 Railways, iv. 188. 
 Stepping-stones, The, iii. 287, 
 
 288. 
 Stepping Westward, iii. 86. 
 Stone, F., Lines suggested by 
 
 a Portrait by, iv. 265, 269. 
 Storm, Composed during a, 
 
 iii. 30. 
 Stray Pleasures, ii. 42. 
 Summer Vacation (Prelude), 
 
 vii. 62. 
 Sweden, The King of, iii. 129, 
 
 154. 
 Switzerland, Subjugation of, 
 
 iii. 132. 
 
372 
 
 WORDSWORTH S POEMS. 
 
 Tables Turned, The, iv. 198. 
 
 Tell, Effusion in presence of 
 the Tower of, iii. 201. 
 
 Thanksgiving after Child- 
 birth, iv. 124. 
 
 There was a Boy, ii. 86. 
 
 Thomson's " Castle of Indo- 
 lence," written in Pocket- 
 copy of, i. 242. 
 
 Thorn, The, ii. 125. 
 
 Thrasymene, near the Lake of, 
 iii. 250, 251. 
 
 Three Cottage Girls, The, iii. 
 214. 
 
 Thun, Memorial near the 
 Lake of, iii. 196. 
 
 Tintern Abbey, Lines com- 
 posed a few miles above, ii. 
 145. 
 
 To , in her seventieth 
 
 year, iii. 52. 
 
 To , On her First Ascent 
 
 of Helvellyn, ii. 173. 
 
 To , Upon the birth of 
 
 her Firstborn Child, iv. 250. 
 
 To ("Look at the fate 
 
 of summer flowers "), i. 248. 
 
 To (Miscellaneous Son- 
 nets—Dedication), iii. 3. 
 
 To (Miscellaneous Son- 
 nets, Part II.— Conclusion), 
 iii. 42. 
 
 To (Mrs. Wordsworth), 
 
 i. 253 255. 
 
 To - — (The Haunted Tree), 
 
 ii. 178. 
 
 To 
 
 ("Wait, prithee, 
 
 wait !"), iii. 51. 
 
 Torrent at the Devil's Bridge, 
 To the, iii. 48. 
 
 Tour among the Alps (1791-2), 
 (Descriptive Sketches), i. 20. 
 
 Tour in Italy (1837), Memorials 
 of a, iii. 232. 
 
 Tour in Scotland (1803), Me- 
 morials of a, iii. 72. 
 
 Tour in Scotland (1814), Me- 
 morials of a, iii. 112. 
 
 Tour in the Summer of 1833, 
 iv. 157. 
 
 Tour on the Continent (1S20), 
 Memorials of a, iii. 187. 
 
 Toussaint L'Ouverture, To, 
 iii. 130. 
 
 Tradition, iii. 295. 
 
 Translation of the Bible, iv. 99. 
 
 Transubstantiation, iv. 89. 
 
 Triad, The, ii. 179. 
 
 Tributary Stream, iii. 293. 
 
 Troilus and Cresida, v. 107. 
 
 Trosachs, The, iii. 309. 
 
 Two April Mornings, The, iv. 
 212. 
 
 Two Thieves, The, v. 125. 
 
 Tvndrum, Suggested at, iii. 
 *313. 
 
 Tymvald Hill, iv. 174. 
 
 Tyrolese, Feelings of the, iii. 
 150. 
 
 Tyrolese, On the final submis- 
 sion of the, iii. 152. 
 
 Ulpha, Kirk of, iii. 300. 
 Uncertainty, iv. 63. 
 Utilitarians, To the, v. 202. 
 
 Valedictory Sonnet, iii. 65. 
 Vallombrosa, at, iii. 257. 
 Vaudois, The, iv. 90. 
 Vaudracour and Julia, i. 279. 
 Venetian Republic, On the 
 
 Extinction of the, iii. 129. 
 Venice, Scene in, iv. 82. 
 Venus, To the Planet, iii. 66, 
 
 319. 
 Vernal Ode, ii. 196. 
 Vienna, Siege of, raised by 
 
 John Sobieski, iii. 172. 
 Virgin, The, iv. 97. 
 Visitation of the Sick, iv. 125. 
 Voyage down the Rhine, v. 
 
 195. 
 
 Waggoner, The, ii. 60. 
 Waldenses, iv. 91. 
 Walton's Book of Lives, iv. 112. 
 AVanderer, The (Excursion), 
 
 vi. 11. 
 Wanderer, Discourse of the 
 
 (Excursion), vi. 287. 
 Wandering Jew, Song for the, 
 
 ii. 41. 
 Warning, The, iv. 253. 
 Warton, Thomas, Translation 
 
 from the Latin of, v. 205. 
 Waterfall and the Eglantine, 
 
 The, ii. 8. 
 Water-fowl, ii. 175. 
 Waterloo, After visiting the 
 
 Field of, iii. 190. 
 Waterloo, Occasioned by the 
 
 Battle of, iii. 171, 173. 
 We are Seven, i. 182. 
 Wellington, On a Portrait of 
 
 the Duke of, iii. 59. 
 Westall, Mr. W., Views of the 
 
 Caves, etc., in Yorkshire by, 
 
 iii. 40. 
 
INDEX OF TITLES. 
 
 373 
 
 Westminster Bridge, Com- \ 
 posed upon, iii. 42. 
 
 Westmoreland Girl, The, i. 
 210. 
 
 White Doe of Rylstone, The, 
 iv. 3. 
 
 Wicliffe, iv. 93. 
 
 Widow on Windermere Side, 
 The, i. 320. 
 
 Wild Duck's Nest, The, iii. 11. 
 
 William III., iv. 115. 
 
 Williams, Helen Maria, Son- 
 net on seeing her weep, v. 176. 
 
 Wishing-gate, The, ii. 186. 
 
 Wishing-gate Destroyed, The, 
 ii. 189. 
 
 Worcester Cathedral, A Grave- 
 stone in, iii. 54. 
 
 Wordsworth, John, Elegiac 
 Verses in memory of, v. 145. 
 
 Wordsworth, To the Rev. 
 
 Christopher, iii. 65, 281. 
 Wren's Nest, A, ii. 47. 
 
 Yarrow Unvisited, iii. 96. 
 Yarrow Visited, iii. 122. 
 Yarrow Revisited, and other 
 
 Poems, iii. 303. 
 Yew-Trees, ii. 90. 
 Yew-tree Seat, Lines left upon 
 
 a, i. 46. 
 York and Lancaster, Wars of, 
 
 iv. 92. 
 Young Lady, To a, ii. 174. 
 Youth, Poems written in, i. 3. 
 Youth, Written in very early, 
 
 i. 4. 
 
 Zaragoza, iii. 152. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 A barking sound the shepherd hears . . iv 224 
 A Book came forth of late, called Peter 
 
 Bell iii 13 
 
 A bright-haired company of youthful slaves iv 68 
 Abruptly paused the strife ; — the field 
 
 throughout iii 165 
 
 A dark plume fetch me from yon blasted 
 
 yew iii 292 
 
 Adieu, Rydalian Laurels S that have grown iv 157 
 Advance — come forth from thy Tyrolean 
 
 ground iii 149 
 
 Aerial Rock — whose solitary brow ... iii 9 
 
 A famous man is Robin Hood iii 91 
 
 Affections lose their objects ; Time brings 
 
 forth V 33 
 
 A Hock of sheep that leisurely pass by , . iii 10 
 
 A genial hearth, a hospitable board . . iv 120 
 Age ! twine thy brows with fresh spring 
 
 flowers iii 98 
 
 Ah, think how one compelled for life to 
 
 abide v 8 
 
 Ah, when the Body, round which in love 
 
 we clung iv 72 
 
 Ah ! where is Palafox ? Nor tongue nor 
 
 pen iii 156 
 
 Ah why deceive ourselves ! by no mere lit iv 279 
 Aid, glorious Martyrs, from your fields of 
 
 light iv 103 
 
 Alas ! what boots the long laborious quest iii 150 
 A little onward lend thy guiding hand . . iv 235 
 All praise the Likeness by thy skill por- 
 trayed iii 61 
 
 Along the mazes of this song I go . . . v 187 
 
 A love-lorn Maid, at some far-distant time iii 295 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 37? 
 
 A 1 1 , • , V0L - PAGE 
 
 A slumber did my spirit seal ii 97 
 
 As often as I murmur here ii 46 
 
 As star that shines dependent upon star . iv 119 
 
 As the cold aspect of a sunless way . . . iii 37 
 A Stream, to mingle with your favourite 
 
 Dee iii 47 
 
 A sudden conflict rises from the swell . . iv 116 
 As, when a storm hath ceased, the birds 
 
 regain iv 65 
 
 As with the Stream our voyage we pursue iv 82 
 At early dawn, or rather when the air . . iii 41 
 A Traveller on the skirt of Sarum's Plain . i 49 
 A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain . iii 307 
 At the corner of Wood Street, when day- 
 light appears ' . ii 98 
 
 Avaunt all specious pliancy of mind . . iii 159 
 
 Avannt this ceconomic rage v 202 
 
 A voice, from long-expecting thousands 
 
 sent iv 114 
 
 A volant Tribe of Bards on earth are found iii 22 
 
 Avon — a precious, an immortal name . . iii 321 
 
 A weight of awe not easy to be borne . . iv 189 
 
 A whirl-blast from behind the hill . . . ii 7 
 A winged Goddess — clothed in vesture 
 
 wrought iii 190 
 
 A youth too certain of his power to wade . iv 172 
 
 Bard of the Fleece, whose skilful genius 
 
 made iii 12 
 
 Beaumont ! it was thy wish that I should 
 
 rear iii 5 
 
 Before I see another day i 259 
 
 Before the world had passed her time of 
 
 youth v 6 
 
 Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf . . ii 8 
 
 Beguiled into forgetfulness of care . . . iv 265 
 
 Behold an emblem of our human mind . . v 84 
 
 Behold a pupil of the monkish gown . . iv 76 
 
 Behold her, single in the field iii 87 
 
 Behold, within the leafy shade . . . . i 171 
 
 Beloved Vale ! I said, when I shall con . iii 4 
 
 Beneath the concave of an April sky . . ii 196 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed . ii 20 
 Beneath von eastern ridge, the craggy 
 
 bound v 73 
 
378 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Be this the chosen site, the virgin sod . . iv 131 
 
 Between two sister moorland rills . . . ii 39 
 
 Bishops and Priests, blessed are ye, if deep iv 118 
 Black Demons hovering o'er his mitred 
 
 head iv 82 
 
 Blest is this Isle — our native Land . . . v 37 
 Blest Statesman He, whose Mind's unselfish 
 
 will iv 276 
 
 Bold words affirmed, in days when faith 
 
 was strong iv 169 
 
 Brave Schill ! by death delivered, take thy 
 
 flight iii 154 
 
 Bright Flower ! whose home is everywhere iv 209 
 
 Broken in fortune, but in mind entire . . iv 173 
 
 Brook and road . . ii 93 
 
 Brook ! whose society the Poet seeks . . iii 39 
 
 Bruges I saw attired with golden light . . iii 188 
 
 But Cytherea, studious to invent ... v 191 
 
 But here no cannon thunders to the gale . iii 301 
 
 But liberty, and triumphs on the Main . iv 131 
 But, to outweigh all harm, the sacred 
 
 Book iv 99 
 
 But, to remote Northumbrian royal Hall . iv 69 
 But what if One, through grove or flowery 
 
 mead iv 74 
 
 But whence came they who for the Saviour 
 
 Lord iv 90 
 
 By a blest Husband guided, Mary came . v 135 
 By antique Fancy trimmed — though lowly, 
 
 bred iii 202 
 
 By Art's bold privilege Warrior and War- 
 horse stand iii 59 
 
 By chain yet stronger must the Soul be 
 
 tied iv 123 
 
 By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze ... iii 164 
 
 By playful smiles, (alas, too oft) .... v 137 
 
 By such examples moved to unbought pains iv 75 
 
 By their floating mill ii 42 
 
 By vain affections unenthr ailed .... v 137 
 
 Call not the royal Swede unfortunate . . iii 154 
 
 Calm as an under-current, strong to draw . iv 115 
 
 Calm is all nature as a resting wheel . . i 4 
 
 Calm is the fragrant air, and loth to lose . iv 137 
 
 Calvert ! it must not be unheard by them iii 23 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 379 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Change me, some God, into that breathing- 
 rose iii 286 
 
 Chats worth ! thy stately mansion, and the 
 
 pride iii 55 
 
 Child of loud-throated War ! the mountain 
 
 Stream iii 89 
 
 Child of the clouds ! remote from every taint iii 284 
 
 Clarkson ! it was an obstinate hill to climb iii 145 
 
 Closing the sacred Book which long has fed iv 127 
 
 Clouds, lingering yet, extend in solid bars iii 146 
 
 Coldly we spake. The Saxons overpowered iv 79 
 Come ye — who, if (which Heaven, avert !) 
 
 the Land iii 139 
 
 Companion ! by whose buoyant Spirit 
 
 cheered iii 232 
 
 Complacent Fictions were they, yet the 
 
 same iii 246 
 
 Dark and more dark the shades of evening 
 
 fell iii 28 
 
 Darkness surrounds us ; seeking, we are 
 
 lost iv 63 
 
 Days passed — and Monte Calvo would not 
 
 clear iii 248 
 
 Days undefiled by luxury or sloth . . . iv 279 
 Dear be the Church, that, watching o'er 
 
 the needs iv 121 
 
 Dear Child of Nature, let them rail ... ii 174 
 Dear fellow-travellers ! think not that the 
 
 Muse iii 187 
 
 Dear native regions, I foretell i 3 
 
 Dear Reliques ! from a pit of vilest mould iii 171 
 Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces 
 
 vowed iv 162 
 
 Deep is the lamentation ! Not alone . . iv 98 
 Degenerate Douglas ! oh, the unworthy 
 
 Lord iii 95 
 
 Deign, Sovereign Mistress ! to accept a lay v 210 
 
 Departed Child ! I could forget thee once . i 270 
 
 Departing summer hath assumed . . . iv 241 
 
 Deplorable his lot who tills the ground . iv 85 
 
 Desire we past illusions to recall . . . . iv 170 
 Desponding Father ! mark this altered 
 
 bough • iii 36 
 
 Despond who will — I heard a voice exclaim iv 175 
 
380 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Destined to war from very infancy ... v 133 
 Did pangs of grief for lenient time too keen iv 172 
 Discourse was deemed Man's noblest attri- 
 bute iv 218 
 
 Dishonoured Rock and Ruin ! that, by law, iii 311 
 
 Dogmatic Teachers, of the snow-white fur iii 40 
 
 Doomed as we are our native dust ... iii 197 
 
 Doubling and doubling with laborious walk iii 314 
 Down a swift Stream, thus far, a bold 
 
 design iv 116 
 
 Dread hour ! when, upheaved by war's 
 
 sulphurous blast iii 205 
 
 Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air . . i 332 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more fair, iii 42 
 
 Eden ! till now thy beauty had I viewed . iv 186 
 Emperors and Kings, how oft have temples 
 
 rung i 173 
 
 England ! the time is come when thou 
 
 should'st wean iii 137 
 
 Enlightened Teacher, gladly from thy hand iii 65 
 
 Enough ! for see, with dim association . . iv 89 
 Enough of climbing toil ! — Ambition 
 
 treads iv 238 
 
 Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook iii 313 
 
 Enough of rose-bud lips, and eyes . . . v 58 
 
 Ere the Brothers through the gateway . v 42 
 
 Ere with cold beads of midnight dew . . i 248 
 Ere yet our course was graced with social 
 
 trees iii 286 
 
 Eternal Lord ! eased of a cumbrous load . iii 261 
 
 Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky . . ii 153 
 
 Even as a dragon's eye that feels the stress iii 35 
 
 Even so for me a Vision sanctified ... iii 19 
 Even such the contrast that, where'er we 
 
 move iv 108 
 
 Even while I speak, the sacred roofs of 
 
 France iv 129 
 
 Excuse is needless when with love sincere iii 14 
 
 Failing impartial measure to dispense . . iii 64 
 
 Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate .... iii 81 
 
 Fair Lady ! can I sing of flowers . . . . ii 35 
 Fair Land ! Thee all men greet with joy ; 
 
 how few iii 262 
 
TNDEX OF FIRST LINES. 381 
 
 -~ . _, . VOL. PAGE 
 
 t air Frime of life ! were it enough to gild iii 25 
 
 Fair Star of evening, Splendour of the west iii 126 
 
 Fallen, and diffused into a shapeless heap iii 298 
 Fame tells of groves — from England far 
 
 away iii 46 
 
 Fancy, who leads the pastimes of the glad ii 3 
 Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain- 
 ground i 239 
 
 Far from my dearest Friend, 'tis mine to 
 
 rove i 5 
 
 Far from our home by Grasmere's quiet 
 
 Lake v 11 
 
 Father ! to God himself we cannot give . iv 121 
 
 Fear hath a hundred eyes, that all agree iv 107 
 
 Feel for the wrongs to universal ken . . iv 281 
 
 Festivals have I seen that were not names iii 128 
 
 Fit retribution, by the moral code . . . v 7 
 Five years have past ; five summers, with 
 
 the length ii 145 
 
 Flattered with promise of escape . . . . iv 249 
 Fly, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmere- 
 
 dale iii 102 
 
 Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, 
 
 Sleep iii 10 
 
 For action born, existing to be tried . . iii 251 
 
 Forbear to deem the Chronicler unwise . iii 246 
 
 For ever hallowed be this morning fair . iv 69 
 
 For gentlest uses, oft-times Nature takes . iii 199 
 Forgive, illustrious Country ! these deep 
 
 sighs iii 249 
 
 Forth from a jutting ridge, around whose 
 
 base i 351 
 
 For thirst of power that Heaven disowns . v 211 
 Forth rushed from Envy sprung and Self- 
 conceit v 206 
 
 For what contend the wise ? — for nothing 
 
 less . . iv 100 
 
 Four fiery steeds impatient of the rein . . iii 39 
 
 From Bolton's old monastic tower . . . iv 5 
 From early youth I ploughed the restless 
 
 Main . . . . iv 173 
 
 From false assumption rose, and, fondly 
 
 hailed iv 84 
 
 From Little down to Least, in clue degree, iv 122 
 
 From low to high doth dissolution climb . iv 128 
 
382 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 From Rite and Ordinance abused they fled iv 117 
 
 From Stirling Castle we had seen . . . iii 96 
 From the Baptismal hour, thro' weal and 
 
 woe iv 127 
 
 From the dark chambers of dejection freed iii 25 
 From the fierce aspect of this River, throw- 
 ing iii 195 
 
 From the Pier's head, musing, and with 
 
 increase iii 227 
 
 From this deep chasm, where quivering 
 
 sunbeams play iii 291 
 
 Frowns are on every Muse's face . . . . ii 33 
 
 Furl we the sails, and pass with tardy oars iv 87 
 
 Genius of Raphael ! if thy wings .... ii 209 
 
 Giordano, verily thy Pencil's skill . . . iv 155 
 
 Glad sight, ! wherever new with old . . ii 36 
 
 Glide gently, thus for ever glide .... i 19 
 
 Glory to God ! and to the Power who came iv 1 35 
 
 Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes . . iii 147 
 Go, faithful Portrait ! and where long 
 
 hath knelt iii 56 
 
 Grant, that by this unsparing hurricane . iv 99 
 Grateful is Sleep, my life in stone bound 
 
 fast - v 205 
 
 Great men have been among us ; hands 
 
 that penned iii 134 
 
 Greta, what fearful listening ! when huge 
 
 stones iv 159 
 
 Grief, thou hast lost an ever-ready friend . iii 13 
 
 Grieve for the Man who hither came bereft iii 255 
 
 Had this effulgence disappeared . . . . iv 146 
 
 Hail, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night . iii 178 
 Hail to the fields — with Dwellings sprinkled 
 
 o'er iii 290 
 
 Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful 
 
 hour iii 34 
 
 Hail, Virgin Queen ! o'er many an envious 
 
 bar iv 105 
 
 Hail, Zaragoza ! If with unwet eye ... iii 152 
 
 Happy the feeling from the bosom thrown iii 3 
 Hard task ! exclaim the undisciplined, to 
 
 lean iv 280 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 383 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Hark ! tis the Thrush, undaunted, unde- 
 
 prest iii 62 
 
 Harmonious Powers with Nature work . v 34 
 Harp ! couldst thou venture, on thy boldest 
 
 string • • ; iv 109 
 
 Hast thou seen, with flash incessant . . v 81 
 
 Hast thou then survived ii 57 
 
 Haydon ! let worthier judges praise the 
 
 ' skill iii 58 
 
 Here Man more purely lives, less oft doth 
 
 fall iv 85 
 
 Here, on our native soil, we breathe once 
 
 more iii 181 
 
 Here on their knees men swore : the stones 
 
 were black iv 183 
 
 Here pause ; the poet claims at least this 
 
 praise iii 163 
 
 Here stood an Oak, that long had borne 
 
 affixed "..... iii 322 
 
 Here, where, of havoc tired and rash un- 
 doing iii 70 
 
 Her eyes are wild, her head is bare ... i 335 
 
 Her only pilot the soft breeze, the boat . iii 7 
 
 " High bliss is only for a higher state " . i 331 
 High deeds, Germans, are to come from 
 
 you iii 146 
 
 High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel 
 
 sate ii 140 
 
 High is our calling, Friend ! — Creative Art iii 24 
 High on a broad unfertile track of forest- 
 skirted Down i 202 
 
 High on her speculative tower .... iii 211 
 
 His simple truths did Andrew glean . . ii 10 
 
 Holy and heavenly Spirits as they are . . iv 106 
 
 Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell iv 184 
 
 Hope rules a land for ever green .... ii 186 
 
 Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, iv 183 
 
 Hopes, what are they ? — Beads of morning v 79 
 How art thou named ? In search of what 
 
 strange land iii 48 
 
 How beautiful the Queen of Night, on 
 
 high , v 35 
 
 How beautiful, when up a lofty height . i 320 
 
 How beautiful your presence, how benign iv 72 
 
 How blest the Maid whose heart— yet free iii 214 
 
384 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 How clear, how keen, how marvellously 
 
 bright iii 30 
 
 How disappeared he ? Ask the newt and 
 
 toad iii 318 
 
 How fast the Marian death-list is unrolled iv 102 
 
 How profitless the relics that we cull . . iii 324 
 
 How richly glows the water's breast . . i 18 
 
 How rich that forehead's calm expanse . i 254 
 
 How sad a welcome ! To each voyager . iv 183 
 How shall I paint thee? — Be this naked 
 
 stone iii 284 
 
 How soon — alas ! did Man, created pure . iv 84 
 
 How sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks iii 24 
 
 Humanity, delighting to behold .... iii 162 
 
 Hunger, and sultry heat, and nipping blast iii 160 
 
 I am not One who much or oft delight . . iv 216 
 
 I come, ye little noisy Crew v 138 
 
 I dropped my pen ; and listened to the 
 
 Wind iii 148 
 
 If from the public way you turn your steps i 304 
 
 If Life were slumber on a bed of down . . iv 163 
 
 If Nature, for a favourite child . . . . iv 210 
 
 If there be prophets on whose spirits rest . iv 62 
 
 If these brief Records, by the Muses' art . iii 42 
 If the whole weight of what we think and 
 
 feel iii 27 
 
 If this great world of joy and pain . . . iv 258 
 
 If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven i v 
 
 If thou in the dear love of some one Friend v 83 
 
 If to Tradition faith be due iii 315 
 
 If with old love of you, dear Hills ! I share iii 263 
 
 I grieved for Buonaparte, with a vain . . iii 128 
 
 I hate that Andrew Jones ; he'll breed . v 181 
 
 I have a boy of five years old i 188 
 
 I heard (alas ! 'twas only in a dream) . . Hi 26 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes . . . iv 199 
 
 I know an aged Man constrained to dwell v 32 
 
 I listen— but no faculty of mine .... iii 203 
 
 Imagination— ne'er before content . . . i 174 
 
 I marvel how Nature could ever find space iv 200 
 
 I met Louisa in the shade i 245 
 
 Immured in Bothwell's towers, at times 
 
 the Brave }}} S19 
 
 In Bruges town is many a street . ... in 189 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 385 
 
 ay 
 
 In desultory walk through orchard grounds 
 In distant countries have I been . . . 
 In due observance of an ancient rite 
 Inland, within a hollow vale, I stood . 
 Inmate of a mountain -dwelling . . . 
 In my mind's eye a Temple, like a cloud . 
 Intent on gathering wool from hedge and 
 
 brake 
 
 In these fair vales hath many a Tree 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan . . 
 In this still place, remote from men . 
 In trellised shed with clustering roses g 
 Intrepid sons of Albion ! not by you 
 In youth from rock to rock I went . 
 
 rose while yet the cattle, heat-opprest 
 
 saw a Mother's eye intensely bent . 
 
 saw an aged Beggar in my walk . 
 
 saw far off the dark top of a Pine . 
 
 saw the figure of a lovely Maid . . 
 Is Death, when evil against good 
 
 fought 
 
 I shiver, Spirit fierce and bold . . 
 Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind 
 Is then no nook of English ground secure 
 Is then the final page before me spread 
 Is there a power that can sustain and cheer 
 Is this, ye Gods, the Capitolian Hill 
 I thought of Thee, my partner and my 
 
 guide 
 
 It is a beauteous evening calm and free 
 It is no Spirit who from heaven hath flown 
 It is not to be thought of that the Flood 
 It is the first mild day of March . . . 
 I travelled among unknown men . . . 
 It seems a day 
 
 has 
 
 It was a moral end for which they fought 
 It was an April morning : fresh and clear 
 I've watched you now a full half -hour . 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud .... 
 I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile 
 I watch, and long have watched, with calm 
 
 regret 
 
 I, who accompanied with faithful pace 
 
 Jesu ! bless our slender Boat 
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386 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Jones ! as from Calais southward you and I iii 127 
 Just as those final words were penned, the 
 
 sun broke out in power ..... i 204 
 
 Keep for the young the impassioned smile ii 168 
 
 Lady ! a Pen (perhaps with thy regard . v 52 
 
 Lady ! I rifled a Parnassian Cave ... iii 32 
 Lady ! the songs of Spring were in the 
 
 grove iii 32 
 
 Lament ! for Diocletian's fiery sword . . iv 64 
 Lance, shield, and sword relinquished — at 
 
 his side iv 73 
 
 Last night without a voice, that Vision 
 
 spake iv 111 
 
 Let other bards of angels sing i 253 
 
 Let thy wheel-barrow alone ii 14 
 
 Let us quit the leafy arbour i 199 
 
 Lie here, without a record of thy worth . iv 222 
 Life with yon Lambs, like day, is just 
 
 begun iii 60 
 
 Like a shipwrecked Sailor tost . . . . iv 250 
 List, the winds of March are blowing . . iv 253 
 List— 'twas the Cuckoo. — with what de- 
 light iii 251 
 
 List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower . . iv 190 
 
 Lo ! in the burning west, the craggy nape . iii 225 
 Lone Flower hemmed in with snows, and 
 
 white as they iii 31 
 
 Long-favoured England ! be not thou misled iv 277 
 Long has the dew been dried on tree and 
 
 lawn iii 248 
 
 Lonsdale ! it were unworthy of a Guest . iv 190 
 
 Look at the fate of summer flowers ... i 248 
 Look now on that Adventurer who hath 
 
 paid iii 155 
 
 Lord of the vale ! astounding Flood . . iii 116 
 
 Loud is the Vale ! the Voice is up . . . v 149 
 
 Loving she is, and tractable, though wild . i 173 
 Lo ! where she stands fixed in a saint-like 
 
 trance iii 60 
 
 Lo ! where the Moon along the sky . . . iv 220 
 
 Lowther ! in thy majestic Pile are seen . iv 189 
 
 Lulled by the sound of pastoral bells . . iii 223 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 387 
 
 T VOL. PAGE 
 
 Lyre ! though such power do in thy magic 
 
 live ii 105 
 
 Man's life is like a Sparrow, mighty King . iv 70 
 Mark how the feathered tenants of the 
 
 flood ii 175 
 
 Mark the concentred hazels that enclose . iii 28 
 
 Meek Virgin Mother, more benign ... iii 199 
 Men of the Western World ! in Fate's dark 
 
 book iv 278 
 
 Men, who have ceased to reverence, soon 
 
 defy iv 106 
 
 Mercy and Love have met thee on thy road iv 63 
 Methinks that I could trip o'er heaviest 
 
 soil iv 105 
 
 Methinks that to some vacant hermitage . iv 73 
 
 Methinks 'twere no unprecedented feat . iii 296 
 
 Methought I saw the footsteps of a throne iii 18 
 
 'Mid crowded obelisks and urns .... iii 79 
 
 Mid-noon is past ; — upon the sultry mead . iii 296 
 Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this 
 
 hour iii 133 
 
 Mine ear has rung, my spirit sunk subdued iv 132 
 
 Miserrimus ! and neither name nor date . iii 54 
 Monastic Domes ! following my downward 
 
 way iv 129 
 
 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes . . iv 196 
 
 Mother ! whose virgin bosom was uncrost iv 97 
 
 Motions and Means, on land and sea at war v 188 
 
 My frame hath often trembled with delight iii 293 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold ... i 170 
 
 My Lord and Lady Darlington .... v 201 
 
 Nay, Traveller ! rest. This lonely Yew-tree 
 
 stands , i 46 
 
 Near Anio's stream, I spied a gentle Dove iii 249 
 
 Never enlivened with the liveliest ray . . ii 51 
 
 Next morning Troilus began to clear . . v 107 
 
 No fiction was it of the antique age ... iii 289 
 
 No more : the end is sudden and abrupt . iii 324 
 
 No mortal object did these eyes behold .iii 17 
 
 No record tells of lance opposed to lance . iii 299 
 Nor scorn the aid which Fancy oft doth 
 
 lend . iv 71 
 
 Nor shall the eternal roll of praise reject iv 113 
 
 Nor wants the cause the panic-striking aid iv 67 
 
388 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Not a breath of air ii 89 
 
 Not envying Latian shades— if yet they 
 
 throw iii 283 
 
 Not hurled precipitous from steep to steep iii 300 
 
 Not in the lucid intervals of life . . . . iv 140 
 Not in the mines beyond the western 
 
 main iv 195 
 
 Not, like his great Compeers, indignantly iii 194 
 Not Love, not War, nor the tumultuous 
 
 swell iii 27 
 
 Not 'mid the world's vain objects that 
 
 enslave iii 147 
 
 Not sedentary all : there are who roam . iv 75 
 
 Not seldom, clad in radiant vest . . . . v 82 
 Not so that Pair whose youthful spirits 
 
 dance iii 288 
 
 Not the whole warbling grove in concert 
 
 heard iii 50 
 
 Not to the clouds, not to the cliff, he flew, iv 177 
 
 Not to the object specially designed . . . v 5 
 
 Not utterly unworthy to endure . . . . iv 98 
 
 Not without heavy grief of heart did He . v 134 
 
 No whimsy of the purse is here .... v 189 
 Now that all hearts are glad, all faces 
 
 bright iii 165 
 
 Now that the farewell tear is dried ... iii 207 
 
 Now we are tired of boisterous joy ... iii 102 
 Now when the primrose makes a splendid 
 
 show v 28 
 
 Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow 
 
 room iii 3 
 
 Oak of Guernica ! Tree of holier power . iii 158 
 
 O blithe New-comer ! I have heard . . . ii 87 
 
 O dearer far than light and life are dear . i 255 
 O'er the wide earth, on mountain and on 
 
 plain iii 151 
 
 O'erweening Statesmen have full long 
 
 relied iii 159 
 
 O Flower of all that springs from gentle 
 
 blood v 133 
 
 Of mortal parents is the Hero born ... iii 148 
 O Friend ! I know not which way I must 
 
 look iii 133 
 
 Oft have I caught, upon a fitful breeze . . iv 177 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 389 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Oft have I seen, ere Time had ploughed my 
 
 cheek iii 15 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray i 180 
 
 Oft is the medal faithful to its trust . . v 72 
 Oft, through thy fair domains, illustrious 
 
 peer vi 2 
 
 O for a dirge ! But why complain ... v 152 
 O for a kindling touch from that pure 
 
 flame iii 172 
 
 O for the help of Angels to complete . . iii 192 
 
 O gentle Sleep ! do they belong to thee . iii 9 
 
 O happy time of youthful lovers (thus . . i 279 
 
 Oh Life ! without thy chequered scene . . iii 198 
 
 Oh ! pleasant exercise of hope and joy . . ii 151 
 Oh what a Wreck ! how changed in mien 
 
 and speech iii 63 
 
 Oh ! what's the matter ? what's the matter v 45 
 O Lord, our Lord ! how wondrously (quoth 
 
 she) v 85 
 
 mountain Stream ! the Shepherd and his 
 
 Cot iii 290 
 
 Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee iii 129 
 
 Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky) v 35 
 
 Once in a lonely hamlet I sojourned . . i 276 
 Once more the Church is seized with sudden 
 
 fear iv 93 
 
 Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound iv 174 
 
 One might believe that natural miseries . iii 136 
 
 One morning (raw it was and wet ... i 273 
 
 One who was suffering tumult in his soul . iii 30 
 
 On his morning rounds the Master . . . iv 221 
 
 O Nightingale ! thou surely art . . . . ii 95 
 On, loitering Muse — the swift Stream 
 
 chides us— on iii 289 
 
 O now that the genius of Bewick were 
 
 mine v 125 
 
 On to Iona ! — What can she afford . . . iv 183 
 
 Open your gates, ye everlasting Piles . . iv 133 
 
 O there is blessing in this gentle breeze . vii 7 
 
 O Thou who movest onward with a mind . v 130 
 O thou ! whose fancies from afar are 
 
 brought i 196 
 
 Our bodily life, some plead, that life the 
 
 shrine v 8 
 
 Our walk was far among the ancient trees i 347 
 
390 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Outstretching flame-ward his upbraided 
 
 hand iv 103 
 
 Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies . . . . ii 22 
 Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep iii 308 
 Pastor and Patriot ! — at whose bidding rise iv 162 
 Patriots informed with Apostolic light. . iv 118 
 Pause, courteous Spirit ! — Balbi suppli- 
 cates v 135 
 
 Pause, Traveller ! whosoe'er thou be . . v 80 
 
 Pelion and Ossa flourish side by side . . iii 6 
 People ! your chains are severing link by 
 
 link iv 274 
 
 Perhaps some needful service of the State v 129 
 
 Pleasures newly found are sweet . . . . ii 25 
 Portentous change when History can 
 
 appear iv 276 
 
 Praised be the Art whose subtle power 
 
 could stay iii 8 
 
 Praised be the Rivers, from their moun- 
 tain springs iv 90 
 
 Prejudged by foes determined not to spare iv 109 
 
 Presentiments ! they judge not right . . ii 193 
 Prompt transformation works the novel 
 
 Lore iv 71 
 
 Proud were ye, Mountains, when, in times 
 
 of old iii 69 
 
 Pure element of waters ! wheresoe'er . . iii 40 
 
 Queen of the stars ! so gentle, so benign . iv 153 
 
 Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Black- 
 comb iv 169 
 
 Rapt above earth by power of one fair face iii 260 
 Realms quake by turns : proud Arbitress 
 
 of grace iv 81 
 
 Record we too, with just and faithful pen . iv 86 
 
 Redoubted King, of courage leonine iv 81 
 
 Reluctant call it was ; the rite delayed . iv 275 
 
 Rest, rest, perturbed Earth v 150 
 
 Return, Content ! for fondly I pursued . iii 297 
 Rise ! — they have risen ; of brave Aneurin 
 
 ask iv 66 
 
 Rotha, my Spiritual Child ! this head was 
 
 grey iii 53 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 391 
 
 Rude is this Edifice, and thou hast seen . v 74 
 
 Sacred Religion ! mother of form and fear iii 293 
 Sad thoughts, avaunt '.—partake we their 
 
 blithe cheer iii 295 
 
 Said red-ribboned Evans v 204 
 
 Said Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud . . iv 275 
 Say, what is Honour?— Tis the finest 
 
 _ sense iii 153 
 
 Say, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills iii 208 
 Scattering, like birds escaped the fowler's 
 
 net iv 104 
 
 Scorn not the Sonnet ; Critic, you have 
 
 frowned iii 23 
 
 Screams round the Arch-druids brow the 
 
 sea-mew — white iv 62 
 
 Seek who will delight in fable i 210 
 
 See the Condemned alone within his cell . v 9 
 See what gay wildflowers deck this earth- 
 built Cot iii 314 
 
 See, where his difficult way that Old Man 
 
 wins iii 262 
 
 Serene, and fitted to embrace ii 161 
 
 Serving no haughty Muse, my hands have 
 
 here iii 65 
 
 Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald . . ii 27 
 
 Shade of Caractacus, if spirits love . . . v 209 
 Shame on this faithless heart ! that could 
 
 allow iii 44 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways . . i 246 
 
 She had a tall man's height or more . . ii 106 
 
 She was a Phantom of delight . . . . ii 94 
 
 She wept. — Life's purple tide began to flow v 176 
 
 Shout, for a mighty Victory is won ... iii 140 
 Show me the noblest Youth of present 
 
 time ii 179 
 
 Shun not this Rite, neglected, yea abhorred iv 126 
 
 Since risen from ocean, ocean to defy . . iv 175 
 
 Six months to six years added he remained v 136 
 Six thousand veterans practised in war's 
 
 game iii 98 
 
 Small service is true service while it lasts . v 51 
 
 Smile of the Moon ! — for so I name ... i 256 
 
 So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive . . iv 271 
 
 Soft as a cloud is yon blue ridge — the Mere iv 143 
 
392 
 
 WORDSWORTH S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Sole listener, Duddon ! to the breeze that 
 
 played iii 285 
 
 Son of my buried Son, while thus thy hand v 207 
 Soon did the Almighty Giver of all rest . v 20 
 Spade ! with which Wilkinson hath tilled 
 
 his lands iv 219 
 
 Stay, bold Adventurer ; rest awhile thy 
 
 limbs 
 
 Stay, little cheerful Robin ! stay .... 
 Stay near me — do not take thy flight . . 
 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God . . 
 Strange fits of passion have I known . . 
 Stranger ! this hillock of mis-shapen stones 
 Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies 
 
 dead 
 
 Such age how beautiful ! Lady bright 
 Such fruitless questions may not long be 
 
 guile 
 
 Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind 
 Sweet Flower ! belike one day to have . 
 Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 
 Sweet is the holiness of Youth — so felt . 
 Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane 
 Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel . . 
 Sylph was it ? or a Bird more bright 
 
 Take, cradled Nursling of the mountain, 
 
 take iii 285 
 
 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense iv 133 
 
 Tell me, ye Zephyrs ! that unfold . . . ii 5 
 
 Tenderly do we feel by Nature's law . . v 4 
 Thanks for the lessons of this Spot — fit 
 
 school iv 
 
 That happy gleam of vernal eyes .... v 
 That heresies should strike (if truth be 
 
 scanned iv 
 
 That is work of waste and ruin .... i 
 
 That way look, my Infant, lo ii 
 
 The Ball whizzed by — it grazed his ear . v 
 The Baptist might have been ordained to 
 
 cry iii 
 
 The Bard — whose soul is meek as dawning 
 
 day iii 
 
 The captive Bird was gone ; — to cliff or 
 
 moor iv 
 
 v 
 v 
 i 
 iv 
 i 
 v 
 
 iv 
 iii 
 
 iii 
 
 iii 
 
 v 
 
 iii 
 
 iv 
 
 v 
 
 ii 
 
 ii 
 
 75 
 
 31 
 
 170 
 
 226 
 
 245 
 
 76 
 
 186 
 52 
 
 291 
 18 
 
 143 
 83 
 
 100 
 
 177 
 31 
 52 
 
 180 
 30 
 
 66 
 
 172 
 
 53 
 
 205 
 
 259 
 
 173 
 
 176 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 393 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 The cattle crowding round this beverage 
 
 clear iv 161 
 
 The Cock is crowing ii 104 
 
 The confidence of Youth our only Art . . v 194 
 
 The Crescent moon, the Star of Love . . iv 150 
 
 The Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair . iv 233 
 
 The days are cold, the nights are long . . i 270 
 The dew was falling fast, the stars began 
 
 to blink i 192 
 
 The doubt to which a wavering hope had 
 
 clung v 196 
 
 The embowering rose, the acacia, and the 
 
 pine v 71 
 
 The encircling ground in native turf ar- 
 rayed iv 132 
 
 The fairest, brightest hues of ether fade . iii 7 
 
 The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn . iv 270 
 The fields which with covetous spirit we 
 
 sold i 265 
 
 The floods are roused, and will not soon be 
 
 weary iv 187 
 
 The forest huge of ancient Caledon ... iii 321 
 The formal World relaxes her cold chain . v 10 
 The gallant Youth, who may have gained iii 303 
 The gentlest Poet, with free thoughts en- 
 dowed ii 208 
 
 The gentlest Shade that walked Elysian 
 
 plains iii 72 
 
 The God of Love — ah, benedicite ! . . . v 94 
 The Glory of evening was spread through 
 
 the west v 179 
 
 The imperial Consort of the Fairy-king .iii 11 
 
 The imperial Stature, the colossal striae . iii 45 
 
 The Kirk of Ulpha to the pilgrim's eye . iii 300 
 The Knight had ridden doAvn from Wensley 
 
 Moor '. ii 133 
 
 The Lake is thine v 189 
 
 The Land we from our fathers had in trust iii 150 
 The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned 
 
 hill iv 144 
 
 The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close iv 141 
 
 The little hedge-row birds .... v 128 
 
 The lovely Nun (submissive, but more meek iv 95 
 
 The Lovers took within this ancient grove iii 322 
 
 The martial courage of a day is vain . . iii 153 
 
394 wordsworth's poems. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 The massy Ways, carried across these 
 
 heights v 78 
 
 The Minstrels played their Christmas tune iii 281 
 The most alluring clouds that mount the 
 
 sky iii 59 
 
 The old inventive Poets, had they seen . iii 294 
 The oppression of the tumult — wrath and 
 
 scorn iv 68 
 
 The peace which others seek they find . . i 249 
 The pibroch's note, discountenanced or 
 
 mute iii 310 
 
 The post-boy drove with fierce career . . i 178 
 
 The power of Armies is a visible thing . . iii 161 
 The prayers I make will then be sweet 
 
 indeed iii 17 
 
 The rains at length have ceased, the winds 
 
 are stilled v 187 
 
 There are no colours in the fairest sky . . iv 112 
 
 There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear iii 136 
 
 There is a change — and I am poor ... i 252 
 
 There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine . v 124 
 
 There is a little unpretending Rill ... iii 6 
 
 There is an Eminence, — of these our hills . i 344 
 
 There is a pleasure in poetic pains ... iii 33 
 
 There is a shapeless mass of unhewn stones v 182 
 
 There is a Thorn — it looks so old .... ii 125 
 
 There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale . ii 90 
 There never breathed a man who, when his 
 
 life v 131 
 
 " There ! " said a Stripling, pointing with 
 
 meet pride iv 185 
 
 There's George Fisher, Charles Fleming, 
 
 and Reginald Shore i 190 
 
 There's more in words than I can teach . i 329 
 
 There's not a nook within this solemn Pass iii 309 
 
 There's something in a flying horse ii 220 
 There was a Boy ; ye knew him well, ye 
 
 cliffs . . ! ' . ii 86 
 
 There was a roaring in the wind all night . ii 119 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, 
 
 and stream v 163 
 
 The Roman Consul doomed his sons to die v 4 
 
 The Sabbath bells renew the inviting peal, iv 125 
 The saintly Youth has ceased to rule, 
 
 discrowned ,,,....... iv 102 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 395 
 
 rrn ,. VOL. PAGE 
 
 lliese times strike monied worldlings with 
 
 dismay iii 137 
 
 These Tourists, heaven preserve us ! needs 
 
 must live i 214 
 
 The Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo ! . . v 145 
 The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly 
 
 said iii 33 
 
 The sky is overcast ii 88 
 
 The soaring lark is blest as proud ... v 21 
 
 The Spirit of Antiquity— enshrined ... iii 189 
 The stars are mansions built by Nature's 
 
 hand iii 36 
 
 The star which comes at close of day to 
 
 shine v 208 
 
 The struggling Rill insensibly is grown . iii 287 
 
 The sun has long been set iv 145 
 
 The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to 
 
 rest iv 139 
 
 The Sun, that seemed so mildly to retire . iv 138 
 The sylvan slopes with corn-clad fields . . iv 240 
 The tears of man in various measure gush . iv 101 
 The Troop will be impatient ; let us hie . i 77 
 The turbaned Race are poured in thicken- 
 ing swarms iv 80 
 
 The unremitting voice of nightly streams . iv 249 
 
 The valley rings with mirth and joy . . i 185 
 
 The Vested Priest before the Altar stands iv 124 
 
 The Virgin Mountain wearing like a Queen iv 108 
 The Voice of Song from distant lands shall 
 
 call iii 129 
 
 The wind is now thy organist ; — a clank . iii 309 
 
 The woman-hearted Confessor prepares . iv 79 
 
 The world forsaken, all its busy cares . . iii 257 
 The world is too much with us, late and 
 
 soon iii 21 
 
 They called Thee Merry England, in old 
 
 time |v 158 
 
 They dreamt not of a perishable home . . iv 135 
 The Young-ones gathered in from hill and 
 
 dale iv 122 
 
 They seek, are sought ; to daily battle led iii 161 
 They— who have seen the noble Roman's 
 
 scorn m 247 
 
 This Height a ministering Angel might 
 
 select o . . . • < n 1/6 
 
396 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 The Land of Rainbows spanning glens 
 
 whose walls iii 311 
 
 This Lawn, a carpet all alive iv 244 
 
 This Spot — at once unfolding sight so fair v 3 
 Those breathing Tokens of your kind 
 
 regard v 23 
 
 Those had given earliest notice, as the lark iv 91 
 
 Those old credulities, to nature dear . . iii 245 
 
 Those silver clouds collected round the sun ii 178 
 Those words were uttered as in pensive 
 
 mood iii 29 
 
 Though I beheld at first with blank surprise iii 62 
 
 Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth iii 319 
 
 Though many suns have risen and set . . iv 262 
 Though narrow be that old Man's cares, and 
 
 near iii 38 
 
 Tho' searching damps and many an envious 
 
 flaw iii 211 
 
 Though the bold wings of Poesy affect . . iii 43 
 
 Though the torrents from their fountains . ii 41 
 
 Though to give timely warning and deter . v 7 
 Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly 
 
 think iv 161 
 
 Thou sacred Pile ! whose turrets rise . . iii 206 
 Threats come which no submission may 
 
 assuage iv 95 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and shower . ii 96 
 
 Throned in the Sun's descending car . . v 203 
 Through shattered galleries, 'mid roofless 
 
 halls iii 47 
 
 Thus all things lead to Charity, secured . iv 130 
 
 Thus is the storm abated by the craft . . iv 92 
 
 Thy functions are ethereal ii 211 
 
 Tis eight o'clock, — a clear March night . i 289 
 Tis gone — with old belief and dream . . ii 189 
 'Tis He whose yester-evening's high disdain iii 63 
 'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely re- 
 fined v 119 
 
 'Tis said, fantastic ocean doth unfold . . iii 187 
 
 'Tis said that some have died for love . . i 250 
 
 'Tis said that to the brow of yon fair hill . iii 55 
 
 'Tis spent — this burning day of June . . ii 60 
 
 To a good Man of most dear memory . . v 156 
 To appease the Gods ; or public thanks to 
 
 yield iii 219 
 
Ill 
 
 112 
 
 IV 
 
 126 
 
 111 
 
 76 
 
 V 
 
 151 
 
 111 
 
 130 
 
 111 
 
 312 
 
 iv 
 
 187 
 
 V 
 
 81 
 
 V 
 
 132 
 
 vi 
 
 11 
 
 111 
 
 132 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 397 
 
 rp, , . VOL. PAGE 
 
 lo barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking 
 fen 
 
 To kneeling Worshippers, no earthly floor 
 
 Too frail to keep the lofty vow .... 
 
 To public notice, with reluctance strong . 
 
 Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men . 
 
 Tradition, be thou mute ! Oblivion, throw 
 
 Tranquillity ! the sovereign aim wert thou . 
 
 Troubled long with warring notions . . . 
 
 True is it that Ambrosio Salinero . . . 
 
 'Twas summer, and the sun had mounted 
 high 
 
 Two Voices are there ; one is of the sea . 
 
 Under the shadow of a stately Pile . . . iii 259 
 
 Ungrateful Country, if thou e'er forget . iv 115 
 
 Unless to Peter's Chair the viewless wind . iv 83 
 
 Unquiet childhood here by special grace . iii 52 
 
 Untouched through all severity of cold . . iii 56 
 
 Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away i 275 
 
 Up to the throne of God is borne . . . . iv 258 
 
 Up ! up ! my Friend, and quit your books iv 198 
 
 Up Avith me ! up with me into the clouds . ii 21 
 
 Urged by Ambition, who with subtlest skill iv 77 
 Uttered by whom, or how inspired — 
 
 designed iii 195 
 
 Vallombrosa ! I longed in thy shadiest wood iii 217 
 Vallombrosa — I longed in thy shadiest 
 
 wood iii 257 
 
 Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent . . iii 138 
 
 Wait, prithee, wait ! this answer Lesbia 
 
 threw iii 51 
 
 Wanderer ! that stoop'st so low, and com'st 
 
 so near iv 150 
 
 Wansfell ! this Household has a favoured 
 
 lot iii 67 
 
 Ward of the Law !— dread Shadow of a 
 
 King- iii 45 
 
 Was it to disenchant, and to undo ... iii 191 
 Was the aim frustrated by force or guile .iii 41 
 Watch, and be firm ! for, soul-subduing 
 
 vice 1V 65 
 
398 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Weak is the will of Man, his judgment 
 
 blind iii 22 
 
 We can endure that He should waste our 
 
 lands ... . iii 158 
 
 Weep not, beloved Friends ! nor let the air v 129 
 We gaze — nor grieve to think that we must 
 
 die v 207 
 
 We had a female Passenger who came . . iii 131 
 
 We have not passed into a doleful City. . iv 184 
 Well have yon Railway Labourers to this 
 
 ground iii 71 
 
 Well may'st thou halt — and gaze with 
 
 brightening eye iii 4 
 
 Well sang the Bara who called the grave, in 
 
 strains iii 313 
 
 Well worthy to be magnified are they . . iv 117 
 
 Were there, below, a spot of holy ground . i 22 
 
 W T e saw, but surely in the motley crowd . iv 180 
 
 We talked with open heart, and tongue . iv 214 
 
 We walked along, while bright and red . iv 212 
 W T hat aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in 
 
 size iii 256 
 
 What aspect bore the Man who roved or 
 
 fled iii 287 
 
 What awful perspective ! while from our 
 
 sight iv 134 
 
 What beast in wilderness or cultured field iv 91 
 AVhat beast of chase hath broken from the 
 
 cover iii 219 
 
 What crowd is this ? what have we here ! 
 
 we must not pass it by ii 102 
 
 What heavenly smiles ! O Lady mine . . i 254 
 
 What He— who, 'mid the kindred throng . iii 118 
 
 What if our numbers barely could defy . iii 139 
 
 What is good for a bootless bene . . . . iv 231 
 
 What know we of the Blest above ... iii 198 
 What lovelier home could gentle Fancy 
 
 choose iii 191 
 
 What mischief cleaves to unsubdued regret iv 149 
 What need of clamorous bells, or ribands 
 
 gay iii 16 
 
 What strong allurement draws, what spirit 
 
 _„ glides iii 6 6 
 
 What though the Accused, upon his own 
 
 appeal iv 245 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 399 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 W hat though the Italian pencil wrought 
 
 not here iii 201 
 
 What way does the Wind come? What 
 
 way does he go i 174 
 
 What, you are stepping westward ? — Yea . iii 86 
 When Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant 
 
 cry ... . iv 113 
 
 Whence that low voice ? — A whisper from 
 
 the heart iii 294 
 
 When, far and wide, swift as the beams of 
 
 morn iii 144 
 
 When first descending from the moorlands v 1 60 
 When haughty expectations prostrate lie . iii 34 
 When here with Carthage Rome to conflict 
 
 came iii 250 
 
 When human touch (as monkish books 
 
 attest) iii 37 
 
 When I have borne in memory what has 
 
 tamed iii 135 
 
 When in the antique age of bow and spear v 40 
 When, looking on the present face of 
 
 things iii 138 
 
 When Love was born of heavenly line . . v 177 
 When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle . . iii 49 
 When Ruth was left half desolate ... ii 110 
 When Severn's sweeping flood had over- 
 thrown v 209 
 
 When the soft hand of sleep had closed the 
 
 latch iii 166 
 
 When thy great soul was freed from mortal 
 
 chains iv 76 
 
 When, to the attractions of the busy world i 34S 
 Where are they now, those wanton Boys . ii 108 
 Where art thou, my beloved Son ... i 267 
 Where be the noisy followers of the game iii 226 
 Where be the temples which, in Britain's 
 
 Isle i 230 
 
 Where holy ground begins, unhallowed 
 
 ends • iii 46 
 
 Where lies the Land to which yon ship 
 
 must go iii 20 
 
 Where lies the truth? has Man, in wisdom's 
 
 creed iv 156 
 
 Where long and deeply hath been fixed the 
 
 root iv 89 
 
400 WORDSWORTH'S POEMS. 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 Where towers are crushed, and unfor- 
 bidden weeds iii 264 
 
 Where will they stop, those breathing 
 
 powers ii 200 
 
 While Anna's peers and early playmates 
 
 tread iii 50 
 
 While beams of orient light shoot wide 
 
 and high iii 67 
 
 While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport iii 1 1 
 
 While from the purpling east departs . . iv 260 
 
 While Merlin paced the Cornish sands . . iii 267 
 While not a leaf seems faded ; while the 
 
 fields iii 29 
 
 While poring Antiquarians search the 
 
 ground iii 54 
 
 While the Poor gather round, till the end 
 
 of time iii 323 
 
 Who but hails the sight with pleasure . . ii 32 
 Who but is pleased to watch the moon on 
 
 high iv 155 
 
 Who comes — with rapture greeted, and 
 
 caressed iv 111 
 
 Who fancied what a pretty sight . . . . ii 29 
 
 Who is the happy Warrior ? Who is he . iv 228 
 
 Who ponders National events shall find . iv 277 
 
 Who rashly strove thy Image to portray . iv 272 
 
 Who rises on the banks of Seine .... iii 141 
 Who swerves from innocence, who makes 
 
 divorce iii 299 
 
 Who weeps for strangers ? Many wept . v 190 
 
 Why art thou silent ! Is thy love a plant . iii 57 
 
 Why cast ye back upon the Gallic shore . iii 226 
 Why, Minstrel, these untuneful murmur- 
 
 ings iii 8 
 
 Why should the Enthusiast, journeying 
 
 through this Isle iv 158 
 
 Why should we weep or mourn, Angelic boy v 148 
 
 Why sleeps the future, as a snake enrolled iv 136 
 Why stand we gazing on the sparkling 
 
 Brine iv 171 
 
 Why, William, on that old grey stone . . iv 197 
 Wild Redbreast ! hadst thou at Jemima's 
 
 lip iii 49 
 
 Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ... i 197 
 
 With copious eulogy in prose or rhyme . v 154 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 401 
 
 VOL. PAGE 
 
 With each recurrence of this glorious morn iii 14 
 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st 
 
 the sky iii 35 
 
 Within her gilded cage confined . . . . ii 37 
 
 Within our happy Castle there dwelt One i 242 
 
 Within the mind strong fancies work . . ii 165 
 
 With little here to do or see ii 18 
 
 With sacrifice before the rising morn . . ii 154 
 With Ships the sea was sprinkled far and 
 
 nigh iii 21 
 
 Witness thou v 187 
 
 Woe to the Crown that doth the Cowl obey iv 77 
 
 Woe to you, Prelates ! rioting in ease . . iv 93 
 Woman! the Power who left his throne on 
 
 high iv 124 
 
 Wouldst thou be gathered to Christ's 
 
 chosen flock v 206 
 
 Wouldst thou be taught, when sleep has 
 
 taken flight ii 203 
 
 Would that our scrupulous Sires had dared 
 
 to leave iv 128 
 
 Ye Apennines ! with all your fertile vales iii 232 
 Ye brood of conscience, — Spectres ! that 
 
 frequent v 6 
 
 Ye Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed 
 
 Urn v 72 
 
 Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth . iii 44 
 Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights and 
 
 claims . iv 181 
 
 Yes ! hope may with my strong desire 
 
 keep pace iii 16 
 
 Yes, if the intensities of hope and fear . . iv 120 
 
 Yes, it was the mountain Echo .... ii 152 
 
 Yes ! thou art fair, yet be not moved . . i 253 
 Yes, though He well may tremble at the 
 
 sound v 9 
 
 Ye Storms, resound the praises of your 
 
 King iii 16 J 
 
 Yet are they here the same unbroken knot n 109 
 Yet many a Novice of the cloistral shade . iv 96 
 Yet more— round many a Convent's blaz- 
 ing fire • • • ! v J** 
 
 Ye, too, must fly before a chasing hand . iv 97 
 
 Ye'trees ! whose slender roots entwine . iii 261 
 
 VII. D D 
 
402 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 VOL. PAGE. 
 
 Yet Truth is keenly sought for, and the 
 
 wind iv 112 
 
 Yet, yet, Biscayans ! we must meet our 
 
 Foes . . iii 157 
 
 Ye vales and hills whose beauty hither 
 
 drew v 162 
 
 You call it, " Love lies bleeding " — so you 
 
 may ii 50 
 
 You have heard " a Spanish Lady ... i 322 
 Young England— what is then become of 
 
 Old iv 281 
 
 THE END. 
 
CHISWICK PRESS I — C. WH1TTINGHAM AND CO., 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. 
 

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