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U^'^Q/icnry'^ 
 
SELECT POEMS 
 
 OF 
 / 
 / 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Edited, with Notes, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM J. ROLFE, Lirr. D., 
 
 FORMERLY HEAD MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 
 
 WITH ENGRA VINGS. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, P U E L I S H E R S, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 1889. 
 
ENGLISH CLASSICS. 
 
 Edited by WM. J. ROLFE, Lrrr. D. 
 
 Illustrated. i6nio, Cloth, 56 cents per volume: Paper, 40 cents per volume. 
 
 SnAKESriiAUE's WoRKS. 
 
 Tlie Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Julius Ctsar. 
 
 A Midsummer-Night's Dream. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 'I'lie Tempest. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 The Winter's Tale. 
 
 King John. 
 
 Richard II. 
 
 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 Part 
 
 1. 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 Part 
 
 11. 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 
 
 Henry VI. 
 
 Part 
 
 1. 
 
 Henry VI. 
 
 Part 
 
 II. 
 
 Henrv VI. 
 
 Part 
 
 Ill 
 
 Richard III. ■* 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 All 's Well' that Ends Well. 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 The Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Cymbeline. ^ 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Troilns and Cressida. 
 
 Pericles, Prince of Tyre. 
 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen. 
 
 Venus and Adonis, Lucrece. etc. 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 Goldsmith's Select Poem.s. Browning's Select Poems. 
 
 Gkay's Select Poems. Bkowning's Select Dramas. 
 
 Minor Poems of John Mii.ton. Macaulav's Lavs of Ancient Ro.mh. 
 
 Wordsworth's Select Poems. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 %W^ ^ ny 0/ the nhove ivorhs will he sent by mail, fiosfage pre/<aid, to any 
 part of the United States., on receipt 0/ the price. 
 
 ^h\X^\ 
 
 Coiiyright, iSSi;, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The poems for this volume were selected several years ago, but the 
 list has been revised again and again. Some pieces have been changed 
 for one reason and another, and some have been necessarily omitted to 
 avoid making the book too large. Among those which I thought could 
 best be spared from a selection for students in high schools and acade- 
 mies as well as for maturer readers, were poems like The Pet Lamb, 
 The Kitten and the Falling Leaves, etc., which are to be found in most- 
 collections of verse for young children. " We are Seven " was retained 
 as perhaps the best example of this class of compositions. 
 
 The exquisite address To the Cuckoo (see "Addenda" to N'otes, p. 254) 
 was accidentally left out in sending the " copy " to the printer, and I did 
 not discover the omission until the notes upon it were being put in type 
 for page 211. 
 
 The order of the poems is chronological, as in Knight's monumental 
 edition, Macmillan's excellent one -volume edition, and the Selections 
 (see page 166) edited by Knight and others. The text is generally that 
 of the author's last revision; but in a few instances, which are duly ex- 
 plained in the Notes, I have ventured to follow the example of Matthew 
 Arnold and Knight (in his Selections) in adopting an earlier reading 
 that was manifestly better than the later one. The punctuation of fifty 
 years ago, retained in all the standard editions, has been made to con- 
 form to present usage. 
 
 In the N'otes I have been mainly indebted to Knight for the collation 
 of the texts. I have verified his work as far as I could, but there are 
 very few of the eai-ly editions of Wordsworth in our American libraries. 
 In occasional instances I have suspected inaccuracies or omissions in 
 Knight's transcript of the readings (see foot-notes on pages 177, 178, 
 and 194, etc.), but have not had the means of settling the question. 
 For other matter taken from Knight due credit has been given, as to the 
 other authorities I have cited. 
 
 The beautiful illustrations by Abbey, Parsons, and others, with the 
 descriptive comments in the "Addenda" to the Azotes, will give the 
 reader who has not seen " Wordsworthshire " some slight idea of its 
 attractions, and may possibly lead him to take the book along with him 
 if he ever visits the district. 
 
 Cambridge, y^/y 10, 1889. 
 
HONISTER CRAG AND VALK. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pacb 
 
 Introduction to Select Poems of Wordsworth... y 
 
 I. The Life of Wordsworth g 
 
 II. Hawkshead i6 
 
 III. From Matthew Arnold's Essay on Wordsworth 22 
 
 IV. P'rom James Russell Lowell's Address as Presi- 
 
 dent OF the Wordsworth Society, 1884 33 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH 35 
 
 Extract from the Conclusion of a Poem Composed 
 
 IN Anticipation of Leaving School , 37 
 
 Written in Very Early Youth 38 
 
 The Reverie of Poor Susan 38 
 
 ^ ' We are Seven ' 3g 
 
 Lines Written in Early Spring 42 
 
 To My Sister 43 
 
 Expostulation and Reply 44 
 
 The Tables Turned 47 
 
 The Complaint of a Forsaken Indian Woman 48 
 
 Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey.. 50 
 
 ' She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways ' 56 
 
 ' I Travelled among Unknown Men ' 56 
 
 ' Three Years She Grew ' 58 
 
 ' A Slumber did my Spirit Seal ' 60 
 
 Matthew 60 
 
 The Fountain 62 
 
 The Two April Mornings 64 
 
 Hart-Leap Weli 67 
 
 The Sparrow's Nest. , 73 
 
 To A Butterfly 74 
 
 / 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 ' My Heart Leaps up when I Behold ' 76 
 
 ' To A Butterfly 76 
 
 To THE Small Celandine 77 
 
 To THE Same Flower 79 
 
 The Leech-Gatherer 81 
 
 Composed upon Westminster Bridge 86 
 
 ' It IS A Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free' 86 
 
 On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic 88 
 
 To Toussaint L'Ouverture 89 
 
 Written in London, September, 1802 89 
 
 London, 1802 90 
 
 ' Lr is not to be Thought of ' 90 
 
 ' When I have Borne in Memory ' 91 
 
 To the Daisy 91 
 
 To the Same Flower 95 
 
 To the Daisy 97 
 
 The Green Linnet 98 
 
 To A Highland Girl 99 
 
 The Solitary Reaper 102 
 
 ■ — -Yarrow Unvisited 103 
 
 ' She was a Phantom of Delight ' 106 
 
 _^^ V* I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud ' 107 
 
 The Affliction of Margaret loS 
 
 Ode to Duty iii 
 
 To a Young Lady 113 
 
 Character of the Happy Warrior 114. 
 
 Power of Music. . . ; 117 
 
 Sonnets 119 
 
 'Nuns Fret not at their Convent's Narrow 
 
 Room ' 119 
 
 ' Wings have We ' 119 
 
 ' Nor can I not Believe ' 120 
 
 ' The World is too Much with Us ' 120 
 
 To Sleep 121 
 
 Ode on Intimations of Immortality 122 
 
 Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle 130 
 
 Laodamia 137 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 Page 
 
 — -—Yarrow Visited i^3 
 
 To B. R. Haydon , 147 
 
 November i j .y 
 
 Inside of King's College Chapel, Cambridge 148 
 
 L-^o A Skylark 14S 
 
 ' Scorn not the Sonnet ' i4g 
 
 The Wishing-Gate 150 
 
 The Trimrose of the Rock 153 
 
 Yarrow Revisited 155 
 
 On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbots- 
 ford FOR Naples 160 
 
 Devotional Incitements 160 
 
 u MossGiEL Farm 163 
 
 ' Most Sweet it is with Unuplifted Eyes ' 163 
 
 'A Poet ! — he hath Put his Heart to School ' 164 
 
 ' Glad Sight wherever New with Old ' 164 
 
 NOTES 165 
 
WORDSWORTH'S WALK, RYDAL MOUNT. 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 I. THE LIFE OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Wordsworth's life was quiet and uneventful. The main 
 facts are given in the following memoranda dictated by the 
 
lo SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 poet himself, in November, 1847, at the request of his nephew 
 and biographer, Rev. Christopher Wordsworth, D.D. :* 
 
 "I was born at Cockerinouth, in Cumberhmd, on April 
 7th, 1770, the second son of John Wordsworth, attorney-at- 
 law — as lawyers of this class were then called — and law- 
 agent to Sir James Lowther, afterwards Earl of Lonsdale. 
 My mother was Anne, only daughter of William Cookson, 
 mercer, of Penrith, and of Dorothy, born Crackanthorp, of 
 the ancient family of that name, who from the times of Ed- 
 ward the Third had lived in Newbiggen Hall, Westmore- 
 land. My grandfather was the first of the name of Words- 
 worth who came into Westmoreland, where he purchased 
 the small estate of Sockbridge. He was descended from a 
 family who had been settled at Peniston, in Yorkshire, near 
 the sources of the Don, probably before the Norman Con- 
 quest. Their names appear on different occasions in all the 
 transactions, personal and public, connected with that par- 
 ish ; and I possess, through the kindness of Colonel Beau- 
 mont, an almery, made in 1525, at the expense of a William 
 Wordsworth, as is expressed in a Eatin inscription carved 
 upon it, which carries the pedigree of the family back four 
 generations from himself. The time of my infancy and early 
 boyhood was passed partly at Cockermouth, and partly with 
 my mother's parents at Penrith, where my mother, in the 
 year 1778, died of a decline, brought on by a cold, in conse- 
 quence of being put, at a friend's house in Eondon, in what 
 used to be called ' a best bedroom.' My father never recov- 
 ered his usual cheerfulness of mind after this loss, and died 
 
 * For a fuller ti eatmeiit of the subject see Metiioiis of Willium Words- 
 -ivorl/t, by Christopher Wordsworth, D.D. (London, 1851 ; reprinted in 
 Boston same year), or better, the Words7voi-tIt by F. W. H. Myers in the 
 "English Men of Letters " series (London, 1884 ; reprinted by the Har- 
 pers same year, and in cheaper form in their " Handy Series," 1887) ; 
 also The Prelude, of which there is an excellent American edition with 
 notes by Mr. A. J. George (Boston, 1887). 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 1 
 
 when I was in my fourteenth year, a school-boy, just returned 
 from Hawkshead, whither I had been sent with my elder 
 brother Richard in my ninth year. 
 
 "1 remember my mother only in some few situations, one 
 of which was her pinning a nosegay to my breast, when I was 
 going to say the catechism in the church, as was customary 
 before Easter. An intimate friend of hers told me that she 
 once said to her that the only one of her five children about 
 whose future life she was anxious was William; and he, she 
 said, would be remarkable either for good or for evil. The 
 cause of this was that I was of a stiff, moody, and violent 
 temper; so much so that I remember going once into the at- 
 tics of my grandfather's house at Penrith, upon some indig- 
 nity having been put upon me, with an intention of destroy- 
 ing myself with one of the foils which I knew was kept there. 
 I took the foil in hand, but my heart failed. Upon another 
 occasion, while I was at my grandfather's house at Penrith, 
 along with my eldest brother, Richard, we were whipping 
 tops together in the large drawing-room, on which the car- 
 pet was only laid down upon particular occasions. The 
 walls were hung round with family pictures, and I said to my 
 brother, ' Dare you strike your whip through that old lady's 
 petticoat T He replied, ' No, I won't.' ' Then,' said I, ' here 
 goes !' and I struck my lash through her hooped petticoat ; 
 for which, no doubt, though I have forgottea-lt, I was prop- 
 erly punished. But, possibly from some want of judgment 
 in punishments inflicted, I had become perverse and obsti- 
 nate in defying chastisement, and rather proud of it than 
 otherwise. 
 
 " Of my earliest days at school I have little to say, but 
 that they were very happy ones, chiefly because I was left at 
 liberty then, and in the vacations, to read whatever books I 
 liked, P'or example, I read all Fielding's works, ZJt'// Quix- 
 ote, Gil Bias, and any part of Swift that I liked — Gulliver s 
 Travels and the Tale of a Tub being both much to my taste. 
 
12 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSIVORTJI. 
 
 It may be, perhaps, as well to mention that the first verses 
 which I wrote were a task imposed by my master — the sub- 
 ject, The Summer Vacation ; and of my own accord I added 
 others upon Return to School. There was nothing remark- 
 able in either poem ; but I was called upon, among other 
 scholars, to write verses upon the completion of the second 
 centenary from the foundation of the school in 1585 by Arch- 
 bishop Sandys. These verses were much admired — far more 
 than they deserved, for they were but a tame imitation of 
 Pope's versification, and a little in his style. This exercise, 
 however, put it into my head to compose verses from the im- 
 pulse of my own mind, and I wrote, while yet a school-boy, 
 a long poem running upon my own adventures and the 
 scenery of the country in which I was brought up. The 
 only part of that poem which has been preserved is the con- 
 clusion of it, which stands at the beginning of my collected 
 poems.* 
 
 "In the month of October, 1787, I was sent to St. John's 
 College, Cambridge, of which my uncle, Dr. Cookson, had 
 been a fellow. The master, Dr. Chevallier, died very soon 
 after ; and, according to the custom of the time, his body, 
 after being placed in the coffin, was removed to the hall of 
 the college, and the pall spread over the coffin was stuck 
 over by copies of verses, English or Latin, the composition 
 of the students of St. John's. My uncle seemed mortified 
 when upon inquiry he learned that none of these verses were 
 from my pen, 'because,' said he, 'it would have been a fair 
 opportunity for distinguishing yourself.' I did not, however, 
 regret that I had been silent on the occasion, as I felt no in- 
 terest in the deceased person, with whom I had had no inter- 
 course, and whom I had never seen but during his walks in 
 the college grounds. 
 
 " When at school I, with the other boys of the same stand- 
 ing, was put upon reading the first six books of Euclid, with 
 •'■■• Also the first poem in the present selcdio!!. 
 
IN TROD UCTION. 
 
 13 
 
 the exception of the fifth ; and also in algebra I learnt sim- 
 ple and quadratic equations ; and this was for me unlucky, 
 because I had a full twelvemonth's start of the freshmen of 
 my year, and accordingly got into rather an idle way ; read- 
 ing nothing but classical authors according to my fancy, and 
 Italian poetry. My Italian master was named Isola,* and 
 had been well acquainted with Gray the poet. As I took to 
 these studies with much interest, he was proud of the prog- 
 ress I made. Under his correction I translated the Vision 
 o/Mirza, and two or three other papers of the Spectator, into 
 Italian. In the month of August, 1790, 1 set off for the Con- 
 tinent in companionship with Robert Jones, a Welshman, a 
 fellow-collegian. We went staff in hand, without knapsacks, 
 and carrying each his needments tied up in a pocket hand- 
 kerchief, with about twenty pounds apiece in our pockets. 
 We crossed from Dover and landed at Calais on the eve of 
 the day when the king was to swear fidelity to the new con- 
 stitution, an event which was solemnized with due pomp at 
 Calais. On the afternoon of that day we started, and slept 
 at Ardres. For what seemed best to me worth recording in 
 this tour, see the Poem of my own Life.f 
 
 "After taking my degree in' January, 1791, I went to Lon- 
 don, stayed there some time, and then visited my friend 
 Jones, who resided in the Vale of Clwydd, North Wales. 
 Along with him I made a pedestrian tour through North 
 Wales, for which also see the Poem.$ 
 
 "In the autumn of 1791 I went to Paris, where I stayed 
 some little time, and then went to Orleans, with a view of 
 
 * " Agostino Isola had been compelled to fly from Milan, because a 
 friend took up an English book in his apartment, which he had carelessly 
 left in view. This good old man numbered among his pupils Gray the 
 poet, Mr. Pitt, and, in his old age, Wordsworth " (Talfourd's Letters 0/ 
 Charles Lamb). His granddaughter Emma was adopted by the Lambs, 
 and became the wife of Moxon the publisher. 
 
 t Prehtde, book vi. % hi., book xiv. 
 
 I — 2 
 
14 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 being out of the way of my own countrymen, that I might 
 learn to speak the language fluently. At Orleans and Blois, 
 and Paris, on my return, 1 passed fifteen or sixteen months.* 
 It was a stirring time. The king was dethroned when I was 
 at Blois, and the massacres of September took place when I 
 was at Orleans. But for these matters see also the Poem. 
 I came home before the execution of the king, and passed 
 the subsequent time among my friends in London and else- 
 where, till I settled with my only sister at Racedown in Dor- 
 setshire, in the year 1796. 
 
 " Here we were visited by Mr. Coleridge, then residing at 
 Bristol ; and for the sake of being near him when he had 
 removed to Nether-Stowey, in Somersetshire, we removed to 
 Alfoxden, three miles from that place. This was a very 
 pleasant and productive time of my life. Coleridge, my sis- 
 ter, and I set off on a tour to Linton and other places in 
 Devonshire ; and in order to defray his part of the expense, 
 Coleridge on the same afternoon commenced his poem of 
 llie Ancient Mariner ; in which I was to have borne my part, 
 and a few verses were written by me, and some assistance 
 given in planning the poem ; but our styles agreed so little 
 that I withdrew from the concern, and he finished it him- 
 selft 
 
 * The actual time was about thirteen months. 
 
 t Wordsworth has elsewhere given the following particulars as to his 
 share in the composition : " Much the greatest part of the story was Mr. 
 Coleridge's invention ; but certain parts I suggested : for example, some 
 crime was to be committed which was to bring upon the Old Navigator, 
 as Coleridge afterwards delighted to call him, the spectral persecution, 
 as a consequence of that crime and his own wanderings. I had been 
 reading in Shclvocke's Vovrtges, a day or two before, that while doubling 
 Cape Horn they frequently saw albatrosses in that latitude, the largest 
 sort of sea-fowl, some extending their wings twelve or thirteen feet. 
 ' Suppose,' said I, 'you represent him as having killed one of these birds 
 on entering the South Sea, and that the tutelary spirits of these regions 
 take upon them to avenge the crime.' The incident was thought fit for 
 the purpose, and adopted accordingly. I also suggested the navigation 
 
IN TROD UC TION. 
 
 15 
 
 " In the course of that spring I composed many poems, 
 most of which were printed at Bristol, in one volume, by my 
 friend Joseph Cottle, along with Coleridge's Aficicnt Mari- 
 ner and two or three other of his pieces. 
 
 "In the autumn of 1798, Mr. Coleridge, a friend of his, 
 Mr. Chester, my sister, and I crossed from Yarmouth to 
 Hamburg, where we remained a few days, and saw several 
 times Klopstock the poet. Mr. Coleridge and his friend 
 went to Ratzburg, in the north of Germany, and my sister 
 and I preferred going southward ; and for the sake of cheap- 
 ness, and the neighbourhood of the Hartz Mountains, we 
 spent the winter at the old imperial city of Goslar. The win- 
 ter was perishingly cold — the coldest of the century ; and 
 the good people with whom we lodged told me one morning 
 that they expected to find me frozen to death, my little sleep- 
 ing-room being immediately over an archway. However nei- 
 ther my sister nor I took any harm. 
 
 " We returned to England in the following spring, and 
 went to visit our friends the Hutchinsons at Sockburn-on- 
 Tees, in the county of Durham, with whom we remained 
 till the 19th of December. We then came on St. Thomas's 
 Day, the 21st, to a small cottage at Town-end, Grasmere, 
 which, in the course of a tour some months previously with 
 Mr. Coleridge, I had been pleased with and had hired. This 
 we furnished for about a hundred pounds, which sum had 
 come to my sister by a legacy from her uncle Crackanthorp. 
 I fell to composition immediately, and published in 1800 the 
 second volume of the Lyrical Ballads. 
 
 " In the year 1802 I married Mary Hutchinson, at Bromp- 
 
 of the ship by the dead men, but do not recollect that I had anything 
 more to do with the scheme of the poem. We began the composition 
 together, on that to me memorable evening. I furnished two or three 
 lines at the beginning of the poem, in particular — 
 
 ' And listened like a three years' child ; 
 The Mariner had his will.' " 
 
1 6 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ton, near Scarborough, to which part of the country the fam- 
 ily had removed from Sockburn. We had known each other 
 from childhood, and had practised reading and spelling with 
 the same old dame at Penrith, a remarkable personage, who 
 had taught three generations, of the upper classes generally, 
 of the town of Penrith and its neighbourhood. 
 
 " After our marriage we dwelt, together with our sister, at 
 Town-end, where three of our children were born. In the 
 spring of 1808 the increase of our family caused us to move 
 to a larger house, then just built, Allan Bank, in the same 
 vale ; where our two younger children were born, and who 
 died at the rectory, the house we afterwards occupied for 
 two years. They died in 1812, and in 1813 we came to Ry- 
 dal Mount, where we have since lived with no further sorrow 
 until 1836, when my sister became a confirmed invalid, and 
 our sister Sarah Hutchinson died. She lived alternately with 
 her brother and with us." ' 
 
 Two years and a half after these autobiographical notes 
 were dictated, the poet died of a pleurisy resulting from a 
 cold. " On Tuesday, April 23, 1850, as his favourite cuckoo- 
 clock struck the hour of noon, his spirit passed away. His 
 body was buried, as he had wished, in Grasmere churchyard. 
 Around him the dalesmen of Grasmere lie beneath the shade 
 of sycamore and yew ; and Rotha's murmur mourns the pass- 
 ing of that 'music sweeter than her own ' " (Myers). 
 
 II. HAWKSHEAD.* 
 
 This village presents more of the signs of antiquity than 
 any other in the Lakes \ there are probably few in England 
 that can show such quaint old houses, with so much well- 
 carved wood-work about them. Here is an ancient Baptist 
 chapel, and I can well believe in the justice of its repu- 
 tation as among the oldest of the Dissenting places of wor- 
 
 * The English Lakes and their Genii, by Moncure D. Conway (Har- 
 per^ s Magazine, vol. Ixii. p. 170 fol.)- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 17 
 
 
 MA 
 
 ff?-W 
 
 
 / 
 
 HAWKSHEAD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 
 
 ship in this kingdom. There is also an old meeting-house 
 of the Quakers, standing apart, snow-white, in its peaceful 
 grove. Yet these buildings are mere things of yesterday 
 compared with a farm-house near the road, whose mullioned 
 window arrested our attention. In this house several of the 
 monks of Furness Abbey resided, and the abbots held their 
 manor courts in the room lighted by that mullioned window. 
 It was in this ancient town that Wordsworth was sent to 
 school, and by far the best of his poetry is connected with it, 
 and the development of his mind in boyhood under the in- 
 fluence of nature. 
 
 We carried some introduction to the master of the famous 
 school, Mr. H. T. Baines, whom we found thoroughly in- 
 formed about all we desired to know in that neighborhood. 
 The ancient scliool-room is kept so clean and vcnlilated that 
 2 
 
1 8 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 one could not imagine its great age were it not for the desks 
 and benches. These have been so notched, dated, auto- 
 graphed, by many generations of boys, that an urchin now 
 could hardly find space for the smallest initial. Perhaps 
 the care with which the masters have for a long time guard- 
 ed with pride the signatures of the brothers Wordsworth may 
 have given rise to a notion among the lads that to cut one's 
 name there is the first step toward becoming a poet or a 
 bishop. There can have been few Hawkshead boys, judg- 
 ing by the wood-cuts they have left, who have not shown some- 
 thing of the Wordsworthian aspiration to make a name in 
 the world, and date it. 
 
 Mr. Baines takes great care of the archives of his school. 
 In one of the upper rooms theie is a library of old and well- 
 bound books. The school was founded by Edwyne Sandys, 
 Archbishop of York, in 1585. The large and elaborate char- 
 ter issued by Queen Elizabeth is still perfect. The parch- 
 ment is decorated with a contemporary full-length portrait 
 of Elizabeth on her throne, and with the symbols of her 
 kingdom, as described in her title ^ — -"Elizabeth Regina, 
 Anglie, Francie, et Hiberne." The lion and unicorn, harp 
 and shamrock, are there, but instead of the Scotch thistle 
 there is the French lily. All these illuminations, including 
 the portrait, were made by the hand. The ancient " Rules " 
 of the school are in Archbishop Sandys's handwriting ; they 
 prescribe, among other queer things, that the master must 
 not enter public-houses on the days of fairs, nor participate 
 in cock-fights, nor vv'ear a dagger. Hawkshead was a market- 
 town, with four fairs a year, and such regulations were very 
 important. The archbishop's Bible, metal-bound (1572), con- 
 taining his family register, is also kept here. Among the 
 sponsors for his grandchildren I observed the name of Wash- 
 ington recurring: Sir John Washington, 1621; Lady Wash- 
 ington, 1629 ; Mrs. Margaret Washington, 1632 and 1636. 
 It was pleasant to see this name associated with that of 
 
lATRODUCTION. 
 
 19 
 
 WORDSWORTH S DESK. 
 
 the brave chancellor who preferred going to the Tower rath- 
 er than proclaim Mary queen, and helped to translate the 
 "Bishop's Bible."" Edwyne Sandys was born at Hawks- 
 head, and his devotion to the culture of the young was re- 
 warded in his son George, called by Dryden "the ingenious 
 and learned Sandys, the best versifier of the former age." 
 George was also an accomplished traveller, and wrote a good 
 book about the East. The ancient seal of the "Grammar 
 School" represented a master with a boy before him ; the 
 master's left hand points upward, his right grasps a bundle 
 of birch rods. The motto is, Docendo discimus. Mr. Baines 
 has learned enough by teaching to allow the birch to remain 
 an antiquarian feature of the school on its seal. Altogether 
 
2 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 this school-house, with its sui roLinding larches, and the swal- 
 lows flitting around it, and the clustering memories, was a 
 very pleasant object. 
 
 As we looked, a tall and aged gentleman passed its door, 
 supporting himself by a cane, whom one could almost imag- 
 ine to be Wordsworth himself revisiting the scenes of his 
 boyhood. He was presently followed by a quaintly dressed 
 old lady. They were on their way to the church, which is 
 on the hill in a field near by. I was eager to see the 
 Hawkshead church, remembering the little picture of it in 
 the " Prelude :" 
 
 " The snovv-wliite church upon tlie hill 
 Sits like a throned lady, sending out 
 A gracious look all over her domain." 
 
 A "restoration" has changed this snow'-white to stone- 
 gray, but it has also added a very sweet cliime of bells, which 
 ring out solemnly on the clear air. Around this church 
 sheep and lambs are grazing, even up to its doors. Its Nor- 
 man character is preserved. The decorations inside are 
 rather too new and bright, consisting chiefly of colored fres- 
 coes framing texts. While I Vv'as there alone a man entered 
 and pulled at the ropes which rang the bells ; then this bell- 
 ringer disappeared into a room beside him, and presently re- 
 appeared in his gown, and moved up the aisle. Bell-ringer 
 and clergyman were one and the same. Seven persons came 
 to hear him read the daily morning service. 
 
 Ann Tyson was the name of the woman in whose cottage 
 Wordsworth boarded. The house remains unchanged, and 
 the room where the young poet 
 
 " so oft 
 Had lain awake on summer nights to watch 
 'I'lie moon in splendour couched among the leaves 
 Of a tall ash, that near our cottage stood." 
 
 Of Ann he wrote, 
 
IN TROD UC TION. 2 1 
 
 " The thoughts of gratitude shall fall like dew 
 Upon thy grave, good creature." 
 
 " Fair seed-time had my soul," wrote Wordsworth of his 
 life at Hawkshead. Rambling in this neighborhood he felt 
 
 the 
 
 " first virgin passion of his soul 
 Communing with tliis glorious universe." 
 
 It was on neighbouring Esthwaite Water that occurred the 
 famous skating scene described in the first book of the " Pre- 
 lude." Even then, amid the merry scene and the glad voices 
 of the boys, for this boy 
 
 " far distant hills 
 
 Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
 
 Of melancholy ;" 
 
 and it would not have been Wordsworth had he not some- 
 times retired from the uproar into some silent bay "to cut 
 across the reflex of a star." In his tenth year it was, and in 
 this vale of Esthwaite, that he felt 
 
 " Gleams like the flashings of a shield, the earth 
 And common face of Nature spake to him 
 Rememberable things." 
 
 Among the boys was a beloved minstrel (Robert Greenwood, 
 afterward Senior Fellow of Trinity, Cambridge), who used to 
 take his flute when they went to row. They used to leave 
 him on an island rock and go off a little way to listen ; and 
 
 " while he blew his flute. 
 Alone upon the rock — O, then the calm 
 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 !" 
 
 But it is also pleasant to know from the poet that there was 
 a house in this vale where, during summer vacation, 
 
SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 " mid a throng 
 Of maids and youths, old men and matrons staid, 
 A medley of all tempers, he had passed 
 A ni"ht in dancing, gayety, and mirth." 
 
 III. FROM MATTHF.W ARNOLDS ESSAY ON WORDSWORTH.* 
 
 I cannot think that Wordsworth has, up to this time, at all 
 obtained his deserts. "Glory," said M. Renan the other 
 day — "glory, after all, is the thing which has the best chance 
 of not being altogether vanity." Wordsworth was a homely 
 man, and himself would certainly never have thought of 
 talking of glory as that which, after all, has the best chance 
 of not being altogether vanity. Yet we may well allow that 
 few things are less vain than /r*?/ glory. Let us conceive of 
 the whole group of civilized nations as being, for intellectual 
 and spiritual purposes, one great: confederation, bound to a 
 joint action and working towards a common result — a con- 
 federation whose members have a due knowledge both of 
 the past, out of which they all proceed, and of one another. 
 This was the ideal of Goethe, and it is an ideal which will 
 impose itself upon the thoughts of our modern societies more 
 and more. Then to be recognized by the verdict of such a 
 confederation as a master, or even as a seriously and emi- 
 nently worthy workman, in one's own line of intellectual or 
 spiritual activity, is indeed glory — a glory which it would be 
 difficult to rate too highly. For what could be more benefi- 
 cent, more salutary? The world is forwarded by having its 
 attention fixed on the best things; and here is a tribunal, 
 free from all suspicion of national and provincial partiality, 
 putting a stamp on the best things, and recommending them 
 for general honour and acceptance. A nation, again, is fur- 
 thered by recognition of its real gifts and successes ; it is 
 
 * Extracts from flic Preface to Piviits of Words7i<oyth edited by Mat- 
 thew Arnold (London, 1879; reprinted in "Franklin Square Library," 
 i8Si)- 
 
INTR OD UC TIOiV. , t. 
 
 encouraged to develop them further. And here is an honest 
 verdict, telling us which of our supposed successes are really, 
 in the judgment of the great impartial world, and not in our 
 own private judgment only, successes, and which are not. . . . 
 
 I come back to M. Kenan's praise of glory, from which I 
 started. Yes, real glory is a most serious thing, glory au- 
 thenticated by the Amphictyonic court of final appeal — de- 
 finitive glory. And even for poets and poetry, long and 
 difficult as may be the process of arriving at the right award, 
 the right award comes at last; the definitive glory rests 
 where it is deserved. Every establishment of such a real 
 glory is good and wholesome for mankind at large, good and 
 wholesome for the nation which produced the poet crowned 
 with it. To the poet himself it can seldom do harm ; for he, 
 poor man, is in his grave, probably, long before his glory 
 crowns him. 
 
 Wordsworth has been in his grave for some thirty years, 
 and certainly his lovers and admirers cannot flatter them- 
 selves that this great and steady light of glory as yet shines 
 over him. He is not fully recognized at home ; he is not 
 recognized at all abroad. Yet I firmly believe that the poet- 
 ical performance of Wordsworth is, after that of Shakespeare 
 and Milton, of which all the world now recognizes the worth, 
 undoubtedly the most considerable in our language from the 
 Elizabethan age to the present time. Chaucer is anterior ; 
 and on other grounds, too, he cannot well be brought into 
 the comparison. But taking the roll of our chief poetical 
 names, besides Shakespeare and Milton, from the age of 
 Elizabeth downwards, and going through it — Spenser, Dry- 
 den, Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Cowper, Burns, Coleridge, Camp- 
 bell, Moore, Byron, Shelley, Keats (I mention those only who 
 are dead), I think it certain that Wordsworth's name deserves 
 to stand, and will finally stand, above them all. Several of 
 the poets named have gifts and excellences which Words- 
 worth has not. But taking the performance of each as a 
 
24 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 whole, I say that Wordsworth seems to me to have left a 
 body of poetical work superior in power, in interest, in the 
 qualities which give enduring freshness, to that which any 
 one of the others has left. 
 
 But this is not enough to say. I think it certain, further, 
 that if we take the chief poetical names of the Continent 
 since the death of Molibre, and, omitting Goethe, confront 
 the remaining names with that of Wordsworth, the result is 
 the same. Let us take Klopstock, Lessing, Schiller, Uhland, 
 Riickert, and Heine for Germany ; Filicaja, Alfieri, Manzoni, 
 and Leopardi for Italy; Racine, Boileau, Voltaire, Andre 
 Chenier, Beranger, Lamartine, Musset, and Victor Hugo for 
 France. Several of these, again, have evidently gifts and ex- 
 cellences to which Wordsworth can make no pretension. 
 But in real poetical achievement it seems to me indubitable 
 that to Wordsworth here again belongs the palm. It seems 
 to me that Wordsworth has left behind him a body of poet- 
 ical work which wears, and will wear, better, on the whole, 
 than the performance of any one of these personages, so far 
 more brilliant and celebrated, most of them, than the home- 
 ly poet of Rydal; Wordsworth's performance in poetry is, 
 on the whole, in power, in interest, in the qualities which 
 give enduring freshness, superior to theirs. 
 
 This is a high claim to make for Wordsworth. But if 
 it is a just claim — if Wordsworth's place among the poets 
 who have appeared in the last two or three centuries is after 
 Shakespeare, Moliere, Milton, Goethe, indeed, but before all 
 the rest, then in time Wordsworth will have his due. We 
 shall recognize him in his place, as we recognize Shake- 
 speare and Milton ; and not only we ourselves shall recog- 
 nize him, but he will be recognized by Europe also. . . . 
 
 The Excursion and the Prelude., his poems of greatest bulk, 
 are by no means Wordsworth's best work. His best work 
 is in his shorter pieces, and many, indeed, are there of these 
 which are of first-rate excellence. But in his seven volumes 
 
Ii\TRODUCTION. 
 
 25 
 
 the pieces of high merit are mingled with a mass of pieces 
 ver)' inferior to them ; so inferior to them that it seems won- 
 derful how the same poet should have produced both. 
 Shakespeare frequently has lines and passages in a strain 
 quite false, and which are entirely unworthy of him. But 
 one can imagine his smiling if one could meet him in the 
 Elysian Fields and tell him so ; smiling, and replying that 
 he knew it perfectly well himself, and what did it matter? 
 But with Wordsworth the case is different. Work altogether 
 inferior, work quite uninspired, flat, and dull, is produced by 
 him with evident unconsciousness of its defects, and he pre- 
 sents it to us with the same faith and seriousness as his best 
 work. Now, a drama or an epic fills the mind, and one does 
 not look beyond ihem ; but in a collection of short pieces 
 the impression made by one piece requires to be continued 
 and sustained by the piece following. In reading Words- 
 worth the impression made by one of his fine pieces is too 
 often dulled and spoiled by a very inferior piece coming 
 after it. 
 
 Wordsworth composed verses during a space of some sixty 
 years ; and it is not much of an exaggeration to say that 
 within one single decade of those years, between 1798 and 
 1808, almost all his really first-rate work was produced. A 
 mass of inferior work remains, work done before and after 
 this golden prime, imbedding the first-rate work and clog- 
 ging it, obstructing our approach to it, chilling not unfre- 
 quently the high-wrought mood with which we leave it. To 
 be recognized far and wide as a great poet, to be possible 
 and receivable as a classic, Wordsworth needs to be relieved 
 of a great deal of the poetical baggage which now encumbers 
 him. To administer this relief is indispensable, unless he 
 is to continue to be a poet for the few only, a poet valued 
 far below his real worth by the world. . . . 
 
 Naturally grouped, and disengaged, moreover, from the 
 quantity of inferior work v;hich now obscures them, the best 
 
26 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 poems of Wordsworth, I hear many people say, would indeed 
 stand out in great beauty, but they would prove to be very 
 few in number, scarcely more than half a dozen. I main- 
 tain, on the other hand, that what strikes me with admira- 
 tion, what establishes in my opinion Wordsworth's superior- 
 ity, is the great and ample body of powerful work which re- 
 mains to him, even after all his inferior work has been cleared 
 away. He gives us so much to rest upon, so much which 
 communicates his spirit and engages ours ! . . . 
 
 To exhibit this body of Wordsworth's best work, to clear 
 away obstructions from around it, and to let it speak for it- 
 self, is what every lover of Wordsworth should desire. Until 
 this has been done, Wordsworth, whom we, to whom he is 
 dear, all of us know and feel to be so great a poet, has not 
 had a fair chance before the world. When once it has been 
 done, he will make his way best not by our advocacy of him, 
 but by his own worth and power. We may safely leave him 
 to make his way thus, we who believe that a superior worth 
 and power in poetry finds in mankind a sense responsive to 
 it and disposed at last to recognize it. Yet at the outset, be- 
 fore he has been duly known and recognized, we may do 
 Wordsworth a service, perhaps, by indicating in what his su- 
 perior power and worth will be found to consist, and in what 
 it will not. 
 
 Long ago, in speaking of Homer, I said that the noble and 
 profound application of ideas to life is the most essential 
 part of poetic greatness. I said that a great poet receives 
 his distinctive character of superiority from his application, 
 under the conditions immutably fixed by the laws of poetic 
 beauty and poetic truth, from his application, I say, to his 
 subject, whatever it may be, of the ideas 
 
 " Oil man, on nature, and on human life," 
 
 which he has acquired for himself. The line quoted is 
 Wordsworth's own ; and his superiority arises from his 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 27 
 
 powerful use, in his best pieces, his powerful application to 
 his subject, of ideas "on man, on nature, and on human 
 life." 
 
 Voltaire, with his signal acuteness, most truly remarked 
 that " no nation has treated in poetry moral ideas with 
 more energy and depth than the English nation." And he 
 adds : " There, it seems to me, is the great merit of the Eng- 
 lish poets." Voltaire does not mean, by "treating in poetry 
 moral ideas," the composing moral and didactic poems — 
 that brings us but a very little way in poetry. He means 
 just the same thing as was meant when I spoke above " of 
 the noble and profound application of ideas to life ;" and he 
 means the application of these ideas under the conditions 
 fixed for us by the laws of poetic beauty and poetic truth. 
 If it is said that to call these ideas moral ideas is to intro- 
 duce a strong and injurious limitation, I answer that it is to 
 do nothing of the kind, because moral ideas are really so 
 main a part of human life. The question how to live is it- 
 self a moral idea; and it is the question which most inter- 
 ests every man, and with which, in some way or other, he is 
 perpetually occupied. A large sense is, of course, to be given 
 to the term moral. Whatever bears upon the question "how 
 to live" comes under it. 
 
 " Nor love thy life, nor hate ; but, what than liv'st, 
 Live well ; how long or short, permit to Heaven." 
 
 In those fine lines Milton utters, as every one at once per- 
 ceives, a moral idea. Yes, but so, too, when Keats consoles 
 the forward-bending lover on the Grecian Urn, the lover ar- 
 rested and presented in immortal relief by the sculptor's 
 hand before he can kiss, with the line, 
 
 " Forever wilt thou love, and she be fair"^ 
 
 he utters a moral idea. When Shakespeare says that " we 
 are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is 
 rounded with a sleep," he utters a moral idea. 
 
28 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Voltaire was right in thinking that the energetic and pro- 
 found treatment of moral ideas, in this large sense, is what 
 distinguishes the English poetry. He sincerely meant praise, 
 not dispraise or hint of limitation ; and they err who suppose 
 that poetic limitation is a necessary consequence of the fact, 
 the fact being granted as Voltaire states it. If what distin- 
 guishes the greatest poets is their powerful and profound 
 application of ideas to life, which surely no good critic will 
 deny, then to prefix to the term ideas here the term 7710ml 
 makes hardly any difference, because human life itself is in 
 so preponderating a degree moral. 
 
 It is important, therefore, to hold fast to this: that poetry 
 is at bottom a criticism of life ; that the greatness of a poet 
 lies in his powerful and beautiful application of ideas to life 
 — to the question how to live. Morals are often treated in 
 a narrow and false fashion; they are bound up with systems 
 of thought and belief which have had their day; they are 
 fallen into the hands of pedants and professional dealers; 
 they grow tiresome to some of us. We find attraction, at 
 times, even in a poetry of revolt against them ; in a poetry 
 which might take for its motto Omar Khayyam's words: " Let 
 us make up in the tavern for the time which we have wasted 
 in the mosque." Or we find attractions in a poetry indiffer- 
 ent to them, in a poetry where the contents may be what they 
 will, but where the form is studied and exquisite. We delude 
 ourselves in either case ; and the best cure for our delusion 
 is to let our minds rest upon that great and inexhaustible 
 word life, until we learn to enter into its meaning. A poetry 
 of revolt against moral ideas is a poetry of revolt against 
 /ife ; a poetry of indifference towards moral ideas is a poetry 
 of indifference towards life. 
 
 Epictetus had a happy figure for things like the play of 
 the senses, or literary form and finish, or argumentative in- 
 genuity, in comparison with "the best and master thing" for 
 us, as he called it. the concern how to live. Some people 
 
IN TR on UC TION. 
 
 29 
 
 were afraid of them, he saitl, or tliey disliked and underval- 
 ued them. Such people were wrong; they were unthankful 
 or cowardly. But the things might also be over-prized, and 
 treated as final when they are not. They bear to life the re- 
 lation which inns bear to home. "As if a man, journeying 
 home, and finding a nice inn on the road, and liking it, were 
 to stay forever at the inn ! Man, thou hast forgotten thine 
 object; thy journey was not to this, but through this. 'But 
 this inn is taking.' And how many other inns, too, are tak- 
 ing, and how many fields and meadows ! but as places of 
 passage merely. You have an object, which is this : to get 
 home, to do your duty to your family, friends, and fellow- 
 countrymen ; to attain inward freedom, serenity, happiness, 
 contentment. Style takes your fancy, arguing takes your 
 fancy, and you forget your home and want to make your 
 abode with them and to stay with them, on the plea that 
 they are taking. Who denies that they are taking.? but as 
 places of passage, as inns. And when I say this, you sup- 
 pose me to be attacking the care for style, the care for argu- 
 ment. I am not ; I attack the resting in them, the not look- 
 ing to the end which is beyond them." 
 
 Now, . . . when we come across a poet like Wordsworth, 
 who sings, 
 
 "Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope, 
 And melancholy fear subdued by faith. 
 Of blessed consolations in distress, 
 Of moral strength and intellectual power, 
 Of joy in widest commonalty spread " — 
 
 then we have a poet intent on " the best and master thing," 
 and who prosecutes his journey home. We say, for brevity's 
 sake, that he deals with life, because he deals with that in 
 which life really consists. This is what Voltaire means to 
 praise in the English poets — this dealing with what is really 
 life. But always it is the mark of the greatest poets that 
 they deal with it ; and to say that the English poets are re- 
 
30 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 niarkable for dealing wilh it, is only another way of saying, 
 what is true, that in poetry the English genius has especially 
 shown its power. 
 
 Wordsworth deals with it, and his greatness lies in his 
 dealing wilh it so powerfully. I have named a number of 
 celebrated poets, above all of whom he, in my opinion, de- 
 serves to be placed. He is to be placed above poets like 
 Voltaire, Dryden, Pope, Lessing, Schiller, because these fam- 
 ous personages, with a thousand gifts and merits, never, or 
 scarcely ever, attain the distinctive accent and utterance of 
 the high and genuine poets — 
 
 " Quique pii vates et Phoebo digna locuti " — 
 
 at all. Burns, Keats, Heine, not to speak of others in our 
 list, have this accent; who can doubt it.^ And at the same 
 time they have treasures of humour, felicity, passion, for 
 which in Wordsworth we shall look in vain. Where, then, is 
 Wordsworth's superiority? It is here: he deals with more 
 of life than they do ; he deals with life, as a whole, more 
 powerfully. . . . 
 
 Wordsworth's poetry is great because of the extraordinary 
 l^ower with which Wordsworth feels the joy offered to us in 
 nature, the joy offered to us in the simple elementary affec- 
 tions and duties ; and because of the extraordinary power 
 with which, in case after case, he shows us this joy, and ren- 
 ders it so as to make us share it. 
 
 The source of joy from which he thus draws is the truest 
 and most unfailing source of joy accessible to man. It is also 
 accessible universally. Wordsworth brings us word, there- 
 fore, according to his own strong and characteristic line — he 
 brings us word 
 
 " Of joy in widest commonalty spread." 
 
 Here is an immense advantage for a poet. Wordsworth 
 tells of what all seek, and tells of it at its truest and 
 
IN TR OD UC TION. 
 
 31 
 
 best source, and yet a source where all may go and draw 
 for it. 
 
 Nevertheless, we are not to suppose that everything is 
 precious which Wordsworth, standing even at this perennial 
 and beautiful source, may give us. . . . To give aright what 
 he wishes to give, to interpret and render successfully, is 
 not always within Wordsworth's own command. It is with- 
 in no poet's command ; here is the part of the Muse, the 
 inspiration, the God, the "not ourselves." In Wordsworth's 
 case, the accident — for so it may almost be called — of inspira- 
 tion is of peculiar importance. No poet, perhaps, is so evi- 
 dently filled with a new and sacred energy when the inspira- 
 tion is upon him ; no poet, when it fails him, is so left " weak 
 as is a breaking wave." I remember hearing him say that 
 " Goethe's poetry was not inevitable enough." The remark 
 is striking and true ; no line in Goethe, as Goethe said him- 
 self, but its maker knew well how it came there. Words- 
 worth is right, Goethe's poetry is not inevitable; not inevi- 
 table enough. But Wordsworth's poetry, when he is at his 
 best, is inevitable, as inevitable as Nature herself. It might 
 seem that Nature not ftnly gave him the matter for his poem, 
 but wrote his poem for him. He has no style. He was too 
 conversant with Milton not to catch at times his master's 
 manner, and he has fine Miltonic lines ; but he has no as- 
 sured poetic style of his own, like Milton. . . . 
 
 Wordsworth owed much to Burns, and a style of perfect 
 plainness, relying for effect solely on the weight and force 
 of that which with entire fidelity it utters, Burns could show 
 
 " The poor inhabitant below 
 Was quick to leani and wise to know, 
 And keenly felt the friendly glow 
 
 And softer flame ; 
 But thoughtless follies laid him low 
 
 And stain'd his name." 
 
 Every one will be conscious of a likeness here to Words- 
 
32 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 worth ; and if Wordsworth did great things with this nobly 
 plain manner, we must remember, what indeed he himself 
 would always have been forward to acknowledge, that Burns 
 used it before him. 
 
 Still Wordsworth's use of it has something unique and un- 
 matchable. Nature herself seems, I say, to take the pen 
 out of his hand, and to write for him with her own bare, 
 sheer, penetrating power. This arises from two causes — 
 from the profound sincereness with which Wordsworth feels 
 his subject, and also from the profoundly sincere and nat- 
 ural character of his subject itself. He can and will treat 
 such a subject with nothing but the most plain, first-hand, 
 almost austere naturalness. His expression may often be 
 called bald, as, for instance, in the poem o{ Resolution and 
 Independence ; but it is bald as the bare mountain-tops are 
 bald, with a baldness which is full of grandeur. . . . 
 
 On the whole, then, as I said at the beginning, not only 
 is ^Vordsworth eminent by reason of the goodness of his 
 best work, but he is eminent also by reason of the great 
 body of good work which he has left to us. With the an- 
 cients I will not compare him. In Inany respects the an- 
 cients are far above us, and yet there is something that we 
 demand which they can never give. Leaving the ancients, 
 let us come to the poets and poetry of Christendom. Dante, 
 Shakespeare, Moliere, Milton, even Goethe, are altogether 
 larger and more splendid luminaries in the poetical heaven 
 than Wordsworth. But I know not where else, among the 
 moderns, we are to find his superiors. . . . 
 
 Wordsworth is something more than the pure and sage 
 master of a small band of devoted followers, and we ought 
 not to rest satisfied until he is seen to be what he is. He is 
 one of the very chief glories of English poetry; and by noth- 
 ing is England so glorious as by her poetry. Let us lay 
 aside every weight which hinders our getting him recog- 
 nized as this, and let our one study be to bring to pass, 
 
INTROD UCTION. 
 
 zz 
 
 as widely as possible and as truly as possible, his own word 
 concerning his poems : " I'hey will co-operate with the be- 
 nign tendencies in human nature and society, and will, in 
 their degree, be efficacious in making men wiser, better, and 
 happier." 
 
 IV. FROM JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL'S ADDRESS AS PRESIDENT 
 OF THE WORDSWORTH SOCIETY, 1 884.* 
 
 As in Catholic countries men go for a time into retreat 
 from the importunate dissonances of life to collect their bet- 
 ter selves again by communion with things that are heavenly 
 and therefore eternal, so this Chartreuse of Wordsworth, dedi- 
 cated to the Genius of Solitude, will allure to its imperturba- 
 ble calm the finer natures and the more highly tempered in- 
 tellects of every generation, so long as man has any intuition 
 of what is most sacred in his own emotions and sympathies, 
 or of whatever in outward nature is the most capable of 
 awakening them and making them operative, whether to con- 
 sole or strengthen. And over the entrance-gate to that puri- 
 fying seclusion shall be inscribed, 
 
 " Minds innocent and quiet take 
 This for a hermitage." 
 
 * Wordsivoi tliiana (London, 1S89), p. 177. 
 
MEMORIAL TABLET, ST. OSWALDS. 
 
SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
LOWER RYDAL FALLS. 
 
WINDERMERE, SOUTHWARD VIEW. 
 
 EXTRACT 
 
 FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM, COMPOSED IN ANTICIPA- 
 TION OF LEAVING SCHOOL. 
 
 Dear native regions, I foretell, 
 From what I feel at this farewell. 
 That, wheresoe'er my steps may tend, 
 And whensoe'er my course shall end. 
 If in that hour a single tie 
 Survive of local sympathy, 
 My soul will cast the backward view, 
 The longing look alone on you. 
 
 Thus, while the sun sinks down to rest 
 Far in the regions of the west. 
 Though to the vale no parting beam 
 Be given, not one memorial gleam. 
 
38 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 A lingering light he fondly throws 
 Qn the clear hills where first he rose. 
 
 WRITTEN IN VERY EARLY YOUTH. 
 
 Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. 
 
 The kine are couched upon the dewy grass ; 
 
 The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, 
 
 Is cropping audibly his later meal : 
 
 Dark is the ground ; a slumber seems to steal 
 
 O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky. 
 
 Now, in this blank of things, a harmony, 
 
 Home-felt and home-created, comes to heal 
 
 That grief for which the senses still supply 
 
 Fresh food ; for only then, when memory 
 
 Is hushed, am I at rest. My friends ! restrain 
 
 Those busy cares that would allay my pain ; 
 
 O, leave me to myself, nor let me feel 
 
 The officious touch that makes me droop again ! 
 
 THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. 
 
 At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears. 
 Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years 
 Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard 
 In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 
 
 'T is a note of enchantment ; what ails her? She sees 
 A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; 
 Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, 
 And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. 
 
'IV£ ARE SF.VEN: 
 
 39 
 
 Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, 
 Down which slie so often has tripped with her pail ; 
 And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, 
 The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 
 
 She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, 
 The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
 The stream will not tlow, and the hill will not rise, 
 And the colours have all passed away from her eyes ! 
 
 'WE ARE SEVEN.' 
 
 A SIMPLE child, 
 
 That lightly draws its breath, 
 And feels its life in every limb. 
 
 What should it know of death? 
 
 I met a little cottage girl : 
 
 She was eight years old, she said ; 
 Her hair was thick with many a curl 
 
 That clustered round her head. 
 
 She had a rustic, woodland air. 
 
 And she was wildly clad : 
 Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — 
 
 Her beauty made me glad. 
 
 'Sisters and brothers, little maid, 
 
 How many may you be?' 
 ' How many ? Seven in all,' she said, 
 
 And wonderins: looked at me. 
 
4° 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 'And where are they? I pray you tell.' 
 
 She answered, ' Seven are we ; 
 And two of us at Conway dwell, 
 
 And two are gone to sea. 2° 
 
 'Two of us in the churchyard lie, 
 
 My sister and my brother ; 
 And in the churchyard cottage I 
 
 Dwell near them with my mother,' 
 
 * You say that two at Conway dwell. 
 
 And two are gone to sea, 
 Yet ye are seven ! — I pray you tell, 
 
 Sweet maid, how this may be.' 
 
 Then did the little maid repl}^ 
 
 ' Seven boys and girls are we ; 3° 
 
 Two of us in the churchyard lie, 
 
 Beneath the churchyard tree.' 
 
 'You run about, my little maid, 
 
 Your limbs they are alive ; 
 If two are in the churchyard laid. 
 
 Then ye are only five.' 
 
 'Their graves are green, they may be seen,' 
 
 The little maid replied, 
 ' Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, 
 
 And they are side by side. 4° 
 
 ' My stockings there I often knit. 
 
 My kerchief there I hem ; 
 And there upon the ground I sit. 
 
 And sing: a song to them. 
 
•IVE ARE seven: 
 
 'And often after sunset, sir, 
 
 When it is light and fair, 
 I take my little porringer, 
 
 And eat my supper there. 
 
 'The first that died was sister Jane ; 
 
 In bed she moaning lay 
 Till God released her of her pain, 
 
 And then she went away. 
 
 'So in the churchyard she was laid ; 
 
 And, when the grass was dry, 
 'I'ogether round her grave we played, 
 
 My brother John and I. 
 
 'And when the ground was white with snow, 
 
 And I could run and slide, 
 My brother John was forced to go, 
 
 And he lies by her.side.' 
 
 'How many are you then,' said I, 
 
 ' If they two are in heaven ?' 
 Quick was the little maid's reply, 
 
 ' O Master, we are seven !' 
 
 41 
 
 •But they are dead ; those two are dead ! 
 
 Their spirits are in heaven !' 
 'T was throwing words away ; for still 
 The little maid would have her will, 
 
 And said, 'Nay, we are seven !' 
 
42 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. 
 
 I HEARD a thousand blended notes 
 While in a grove I sat reclined, 
 
 In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
 Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
 
 To her fair works did Nature link 
 
 The human soul that through me ran ; 
 
 And much it grieved my heart to think 
 What man has made of man. 
 
 Through primrose tufts in that green bower 
 The periwinkle trailed its wreaths ; 
 
 And 't is my faith that every flower 
 Enjoys the air it'breathes. 
 
 The birds around me hopped and played ; 
 
 Their thoughts I cannot measure : 
 But the least motion which they made, 
 
 It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 
 
 The budding twigs spread out their fan 
 
 'lo catch the breezy air; 
 And I must think, do all I can. 
 
 That there was pleasure there. 
 
 If this belief from heaven be sent, 
 If such be Nature's holy plan. 
 
 Have I not reason to lament 
 ^^'hat man has made of man ? 
 
TO MY SISTER. ^, 
 
 TO. MY SISTER. 
 
 WRITTEN AT A SMALL DISTANCE FROM MY HOUSE, AND SENT 
 BY MY LITTLE BOY. 
 
 It is the first mild day of March, 
 Each minute sweeter than before ; 
 
 The redbreast sings from the tall larch 
 That stands beside our door. 
 
 There is a blessing in the air, 
 
 Which seems a sense of joy to yield 
 
 To the bare trees and mountains bare, 
 And grass in the green field. 
 
 My sister! — 't is a wish of mine — 
 
 Now that our morning meal is done, lo 
 
 Make haste, your morning task resign ; 
 
 Come forth and feel the sun. 
 
 Edward will come with you ; and, pray, 
 Put on with speed your woodland dress ; 
 
 And bring no book : for this one day 
 We '11 give to idleness. 
 
 No joyless forms shall regulate 
 
 Our living calendar; 
 We from to-day, my friend, will date 
 
 The opening of the year. 20 
 
 Love, now a universal birth, 
 
 From heart to heart is stealing, 
 From earth to man, from man to earth; 
 
 It is the hour of feeling;. 
 
44 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 One moment now may give us more 
 
 Than years of toiling reason; 
 Our minds shall drink at every pore 
 
 The spirit of the season. 
 
 Some silent laws our hearts will make, 
 
 Which they shall long obey ; 
 We for the year to come may take 
 
 Our temper from to-day. 
 
 And from the blessed power that rolls 
 
 About, below, above, 
 We '11 frame the measure of our souls ; 
 
 They shall be tuned to love. 
 
 Then come, my sister ! come, I pray, 
 
 With speed put on your woodland dress; 
 
 And bring no book : for this one day 
 We '11 sive to idleness. 
 
 EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY. 
 
 'Why, William, on that old gray stone, 
 
 Thus for the length of half a day. 
 Why, William, sit you thus alone. 
 
 And dream your time away? 
 
 'Where are your books? — that light bequeathed 
 
 To beings else forlorn and blind ! 
 Up ! up ! and drink the spirit breathed 
 
 From dead men to their kind. 
 
EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY. 
 
 ' You look round on your Mother Earth, 
 As if she for no purpose bore you ; 
 
 As if you were her first-born birth, 
 And none had lived before you !' 
 
 One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, 
 When life was sweet, I knew not why, 
 
 To me my good friend Matthew spake. 
 And thus I made reply : 
 
 'The eye — it cannot choose but see; 
 
 We cannot bid the ear be still ; 
 Our bodies feel, where'er they be. 
 
 Against or with our will. 
 
 ' Nor less I deem that there are powers 
 Which of themselves our rninds impress; 
 
 That we can feed this mind of ours 
 In a wise passiveness. 
 
 'Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum 
 
 Of things forever speaking. 
 That nothing of itself will come, 
 
 But we must still be seeking? 
 
 'Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, 
 
 Conversing as I may, 
 I sit upon this old gray stone, 
 
 And dream my life awa}'.' 
 
 45 
 
THE TABLES TURNED. 
 THE TABLES TURNED. 
 
 AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, 
 
 Or surely you '11 grow double : 
 Up ! up ! my friend, and clear your looks ; 
 
 Why all this toil and trouble .'' 
 
 The sun, above the mountain's head, 
 
 A freshening lustre mellow 
 Through all the long green fields has spread, 
 
 His first sweet evening yellow. 
 
 Books ! 't is a dull and endless strife : 
 Come, hear the woodland linnet, 
 
 How sweet his music ! on my life 
 There 's more of wisdom in it. 
 
 And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! 
 
 He, too, is no mean preacher : 
 Come forth into the light of things. 
 
 Let Nature be your teacher. ^ 
 
 She has a world of ready wealth. 
 Our minds and hearts to bless — 
 
 Spontaneous wie^dom breathed by health. 
 Truth breathed by cheerfulness. 
 
 One impulse from a vernal wood 
 
 May teach you more of man, 
 Of moral evil and of good, 
 
 Than all the sa^es can. 
 
 47 
 
48 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; 
 
 Our meddling intellect 
 Misshapes the beauteous forms of things: — 
 
 We murder to dissect. 
 
 Enough of science and of art ! 
 
 Close up those barren leaves ; 
 Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
 
 That watches and receives. 
 
 THE COMPLAINT 
 
 OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. 
 
 Before I see another day, 
 
 O, let my body die away ! 
 
 In sleep I heard the northern gleams ; 
 
 The stars, they were among my dreams ; 
 
 In rustling conflict through the skies, 
 
 I heard, I saw, the flashes drive, 
 And yet they are upon my eyes, 
 
 And yet I am alive ; 
 Before I see another day, 
 O, let my body die away ! 
 
 My fire is dead: it knew no pain; 
 Yet is it dead, and I remain. 
 All stiff with ice the ashes lie ; 
 And they are dead, and I will die. 
 When I was well I wished to live, 
 
 For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire; 
 But they to me no joy can give. 
 
 No pleasure now, and no desire. 
 Then here contented will I lie ! 
 Alone I cannot fear to die. 
 
THE COMPLAINT. 49 
 
 Alas ! ye might have dragged me on 
 
 Another day, a single one ! 
 
 Too soon I yielded to despair ; 
 
 Why did ye listen to my prayer ? 
 
 When ye were gone my limbs were stronger ; 
 
 And O, how grievously I rue 
 That, afterwards, a little longer, 
 
 .My friends, I did not follow you ! 
 For strong and without pain I lay, 
 Dear friends, when ye were gone away. 3° 
 
 My child ! they gave thee to another, 
 A woman who was not thy mother. 
 When from my arms my babe they took. 
 On me how strangely did he look! 
 Through his whole body something ran, 
 
 A most strange working did I see. 
 As if he strove to be a man. 
 
 That he might pull the sledge for me ; 
 And then he stretched his arms, how wild ! 
 
 mercy! like a helpless child. 40 
 
 My little joy! my little pride ! 
 
 In two days more I must have died. 
 
 Then do not weep and grieve for me ; 
 
 1 feel I must have died with thee. 
 
 wind, that o'er my head art flying 
 
 The way my friends their course did bend, 
 
 1 should not feel the pain of dying, 
 
 Could I with thee a message send! 
 Too soon, my friends, ye went away; 
 For I had many things to say. s^ 
 
 I '11 follow you across the snow ; 
 Ye travel heavily and slow ; 
 4 
 
so 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 In spite of all my weary pain, 
 
 I '11 look upon your tents again. — 
 
 My fire is dead, and snowy-white 
 
 The water which beside it stood ; 
 The wolf has come to me to-night, 
 
 And he has stolen away my food. 
 Forever left alone am I, 
 Then wherefore should I fear to die ? . 6° 
 
 Young as I am, my course is run, 
 I shall not see another sun ; 
 I cannot lift my hands to know 
 If they have any life or no. 
 My poor forsaken child, if I 
 
 For once could have thee close to me, 
 With happy heart I then would die, 
 
 And my last thought would happy be ; 
 But thou, dear babe, art far away, 
 Nor shall I see another day. 7° 
 
 LINES 
 
 COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVIS- 
 ITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. 
 
 July 13, 1798. 
 
 Five years have past ; five summers, with the length 
 Of five long winters! and again I hear 
 These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs 
 With a sweet inland murmur. Once again 
 Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 
 That on a wild secluded scene impress 
 'I'houghts of more deep seclusion, and connect 
 The landscape with the quiet of the sky. 
 
TINTERN ABBEY. 
 
 51 
 
 
 TINTERN ABBEV. 
 
 The clay is come when I again repose 
 Here under this dark sycamore, and view 
 These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, 
 Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, 
 Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 
 Among the woods and copses, nor disturb 
 The wild green landscape. Once again I see 
 These hedgerows — hardly hedgerows — little lines 
 Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms, 
 Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke 
 Sent up in silence from among the trees, 
 With some uncertain notice, as might seem 
 Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 
 Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire 
 
52 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The hermit sits alone. 
 
 These beauteous forms, 
 Through a long absence, have not been to me 
 As in a landscape to a blind man's eye ; 
 But oft, in lonely rooms and 'mid the din 
 Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, 
 in hours of weariness, sensations sweet, 
 P'elt in the blood and felt along the heart, 
 And passing even into my purer mind 3° 
 
 With tranquil restoration ; feelings too 
 Of unremembered pleasure, such, perhaps, 
 As have no slight or trivial influence 
 On that best portion of a good man's life — 
 His little, nameless, unremembered acts 
 Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, 
 To them I may have owed another gift, 
 Of aspect more sublime — that blessed mood, 
 In which the burden of the myster}', 
 In which the heavy and the weary weight 4° 
 
 Of all this unintelligible world 
 Is lightened ; that serene and blessed mood 
 In which the affections gently lead us on 
 Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 
 And even the motion of our human blood 
 Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 
 In body and become a living soul. 
 While with an eye made quiet by the power 
 Of harmony and the deep power of joy 
 We see into the life of things. 
 
 If this so 
 
 Be but a vain belief, yet, O, how oft 
 In darkness and amid the many shapes 
 Of joyless daylight, when the fretful stir 
 Unprofitable and the fever of tlie world 
 Have hung upon the beatings of my heart — 
 
TIN TERN ABBEY. 53 
 
 How oft in spirit have I turned to thee, 
 
 sylvan Wye ! Thou wanderer through the woods, 
 How often has my spirit turned to thee ! 
 
 And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 
 With many recognitions dim and faint, 60 
 
 And somewhat of a sad perplexity, 
 The picture of the mind revives again 
 While here I stand, not only with the sense 
 Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 
 That in this moment there is life and food 
 For future years. And so I dare to hope. 
 Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first 
 
 1 came among these hills, when like a roe 
 
 I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides 
 
 Of the deep rivers and the lonely streams, 7= 
 
 Wherever Nature led, more like a man 
 
 Flying from something that he dreads than one 
 
 Who sought the thing he loved. For Nature then — ■ 
 
 The coarser pleasures of my boyish days 
 
 And their glad animal movements all gone by — 
 
 To me was all in all. I cannot paint 
 
 What then I was. The sounding cataract 
 
 Haunted me like a passion ; the tall rock. 
 
 The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood. 
 
 Their colours and their forms, were then to me & 
 
 An appetite — a feeling and a love. 
 
 That had no need of a remoter charm 
 
 By thought supplied nor any interest 
 
 Unborrowed from the eye. That time is past, 
 
 And all its aching joys are now no more. 
 
 And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this 
 
 Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur ; other gifts 
 
 Have followed, for such loss, I would believe. 
 
 Abundant recompense. For I have learned 
 
54 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 I 
 ' To look on Nature, not as in the hour 
 
 Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes 
 
 The still, sad music of humanity, 
 
 Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 
 
 To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 
 
 A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
 
 Of elevated thoughts , a sense sublime 
 
 Of something far more deeply interfused. 
 
 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns. 
 
 And the round ocean and the living air 
 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man — 
 
 A motion and a spirit, that impels 
 
 All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
 
 And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still 
 
 A lover of the meadows and the woods 
 
 And mountains, and of all that we behold 
 
 From this green earth, of all the mighty world 
 
 Of eye and ear, both what they half create 
 
 And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize 
 
 In Nature and the language of the sense 
 
 The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 
 
 The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
 
 Of all my moral being. 
 
 Nor perchance, 
 If I were not thus taught, should I the more 
 Suffer my genial spirits to decay ; 
 For thou art with me here upon the banks 
 Of this fair river, thou, my dearest friend, 
 My dear, dear friend and in thy voice I catch 
 The language of my former heart and read 
 My former pleasures in the shooting lights 
 Of thy wild eyes. O, yet a little while 
 May I behold in thee what I was once, 
 Mv dear, dear sister ! and this prayer I make, 
 Knowing that Nature never did betray 
 
T/A^TEKiV ABBEY. 
 
 The heart that loved her : 't is her privilege, 
 
 Through all the years of this our life, to lead 
 
 From joy to joy ; for she c<rn so inform 
 
 The mind that is within iis, so impress 
 
 With quietness and beaut}-, and so feed 
 
 With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 
 
 Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, i 
 
 Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 
 
 The dreary intercourse of daily life, 
 
 Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 
 
 Our cheerful faith that all which we behold 
 
 Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon 
 
 Shine on thee in thy solitary walk, 
 
 And let the misty mountain winds be free 
 
 To blow against thee ; and in after years, 
 
 When these wild ecstasies shall be matured 
 
 Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind i 
 
 Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, 
 
 Thy memory be as a dwelling-place 
 
 For all sweet sounds and harmonies, O, then, 
 
 If solitude or fear or pain or grief 
 
 Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts 
 
 Of tender joy wilt thou remember me 
 
 And these my exhortations! Nor perchance, 
 
 If I should be where I no more can hear 
 
 Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams 
 
 Of past existence, wilt thou then forget i 
 
 That on the banks of this delightful stream 
 
 We stood together; and that I, so long 
 
 A worshipper of Nature, hither came 
 
 Unwearied in that service- rather say 
 
 With warmer love — O, with far deeper zeal 
 
 Of holier love ! Nor wilt thou then forget, 
 
 That after many wanderings, many years 
 
 Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, 
 
 55 
 
./ 
 
 56 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 And this green pastoral landscape, were to me 
 
 More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake. iCo 
 
 'SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS.' 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 
 
 Beside the springs of Dove, 
 A maid whom there were none to praise 
 
 And very few to love : 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half hidden from the eye ! — 
 Fair as a star, when only one 
 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 
 When Lucy ceased to be ; 
 But she is in her grave, and, O, 
 
 The ditference to me ! 
 
 I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN.' 
 
 I TRAVELLED among unknown men, 
 
 In lands beyond the sea ; 
 Nor, England, did 1 know till then 
 
 What love I bore to thee ! 
 
ypf/'ive/^ftra 'f^ 
 
5 8 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 'T is past, that melancholy dream ! 
 
 Nor will I quit thy shore 
 A second time ; for still I seem 
 
 To love thee more and more. 
 
 Among thy mountains did I feel 
 
 The joy of my desire ; 
 And she I cherished turned her wheel 
 
 Beside an English fire. 
 
 Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed 
 The bowers where Lucy played ; 
 
 And thine too is the last green field 
 That Lucy's eyes surveyed. 
 
 'THREE YEARS SHE GREW.' 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and shower, 
 Then Nature said, * A lovelier flower 
 
 On earth was never sown ! 
 This child I to myself will take ; 
 She shall be mine, and I will make 
 
 A lady of my own. 
 
 'Myself will to my darling be 
 
 Both law and impulse ; and with me 
 
 The girl, in rock and plain. 
 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 
 Shall feel an overseeing power 
 
 To kindle or restrain. 
 
'THREE YEARS SHE GREW: 
 
 'She shall be sportive as the fiiwn 
 That wild with glee across the lawn 
 
 Or up the mountain springs ; 
 And hers shall be the breathing balm, 
 And hers the silence and the calm 
 
 Of mute insensate things. 
 
 'The floating clouds their state shall lend 
 To her, for her the willow bend ; 
 
 Nor shall she fail to see 
 Even in the motions of the storm 
 Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 
 
 By silent sympathy. 
 
 'The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 To her; and she shall lean her ear 
 
 In many a secret place 
 Where rivulets dance their wayward round. 
 And beauty born of murmuring sound 
 
 Shall pass into her fiice. 
 
 'And vital feelings of delight 
 
 Shall rear her form to stately height. 
 
 Her virgin bosom swell ; 
 Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
 While she and I together live 
 
 Here in this happy dell.' 
 
 Thus Nature spake. — The work was done — 
 How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 
 
 She died, and left to me 
 This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 
 The memory of what has been, 
 
 And never more will be. 
 
 59 
 
6o SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 'A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL.' 
 
 A SLUMBER did my spirit seal ; 
 
 I had no human fears: 
 She seemed a thing that could not feel 
 
 The touch of earthly years. 
 
 No motion has she now, no force ; 
 
 She neither hears nor sees, 
 Rolled round in earth's diurnal course 
 
 With rocks and stones and trees. 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 If Nature, for a favourite child. 
 In thee hath tempered so her clay 
 
 That every hour thy heart runs wild, 
 Yet never once doth go astray, 
 
 Read o'er these lines; and then review 
 This tablet, that thus humbly rears 
 
 In such diversity of hue 
 
 The history of two hundred years. 
 
 When through this little wreck of fame, 
 Cipher and syllable, thine eye 
 
 Has travelled down to Matthew's name, 
 Pause with no common sympathy. 
 
MA TTHE W. 
 
 And, if a sleeping tear should wake, 
 Then be it neither checked nor stayed : 
 
 For Matthew a request I make 
 
 Which for himself he had not made. 
 
 Poor Matthew, all his frolics o'er. 
 
 Is silent as a standing pool ; 
 Far from the chimney's merry roar, 
 
 And murmur of the village school. 
 
 The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs 
 Of one tired out with fun and madness ; 
 
 The tears which came to Matthew's eyes 
 Were tears of light, the dew of gladness. 
 
 Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup 
 Of still and serious thought went round, 
 
 It seemed as if he drank it up, 
 He felt with spirit so profound. 
 
 Thou soul of God's best earthly mould ! 
 
 Thou happy soul ! and can it be 
 That these two words of glittering gold 
 
 Are all that must remain of thee ? 
 
 6i 
 
62 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 A CONVERSATION. 
 
 We talked with open heart, and tongue 
 
 Affectionate and true — 
 A pair of friends, though I was young 
 
 And Matthew seventy-two. 
 
 We lay beneath a spreading oak, 
 
 Beside a mossy seat ; 
 And from the turf a fountain broke, 
 
 And gurgled at our feet. 
 
 * Now, Matthew,' said I, ' let us match 
 This water's pleasant tune 
 
 With some old Border-song, or catch 
 That suits a summer's noon ; 
 
 ' Or of the church-clock and the chimes 
 Sing here beneath the shade. 
 
 That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
 Which you last April made.' 
 
 In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
 The spring beneath the tree ; 
 
 And thus the dear old man replied, 
 The gray-haired man of glee : 
 
 ' Down to the vale this water steers, 
 
 How merrily it goes! 
 'T will murmur on a thousand years, 
 
 And flow as now it flows. 
 
THE FOUNT A I AT. 
 
 'And here, on this delightful day, 
 
 I cannot choose but think 
 How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 
 
 Beside this fountain's brink. 
 
 ' My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
 
 My heart is idly stirred ; 
 For the same sound is in my ears 
 
 Which in those days I heard, 
 
 'Thus fares it still in our decay ; 
 
 And yet the wiser mind 
 Mourns less for what age takes away 
 
 Than what it leaves behind. 
 
 'The blackbird in the summer trees, 
 
 The lark upon the hill, 
 Let loose their carols when they please, 
 
 Are quiet when they will. 
 
 'With Nature never do t/iey wage 
 
 A foolish strife : they see 
 A happy youth, and their old age 
 
 Is beautiful and free ; 
 
 ' But we are pressed by heavy laws. 
 
 And often, glad no more. 
 We wear a face of joy because 
 
 We have been glad of yore. 
 
 ' If there be one who need bemoan 
 
 His kindred laid in earth, 
 The household hearts that were his own, 
 
 It is the man of mirth. 
 
 63 
 
64 SELECT POEMS OE WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ' My days, my friend, are almost gone ; 
 
 My life has been approved, 
 And many love me, but by none 
 
 Am I enough beloved.' 
 
 ' Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
 The man who thus complains ! 
 
 I jive .and sing my idle songs 
 Upon these happy plains ; 
 
 ' And, Matthew, for thy children dead 
 
 I '11 be a son to thee !' 
 At this he grasped my hand and said, 
 
 'Alas! that cannot be.' 
 
 We rosp up from the fountain-side. 
 And down the smooth descent 
 
 Of the green sheep-track did we glide, 
 And through the wood we went ; 
 
 And ere wc came to Leonard's rock. 
 He sang those witty rhymes 
 
 About the crazy old church-clock, 
 And the bewildered chimes. 
 
 THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. 
 
 Wk walked along, while bright and red 
 
 Uprose the morning sun ; 
 And Matthew stopped, he looked and said, 
 
 ' The will of God be done !' 
 
THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. gr 
 
 A village schoolmaster was he, 
 
 With hair of glittering gray, 
 As blithe a man as you could see 
 
 On a spring holiday. 
 
 And on that morning through the grass 
 
 And by the steaming rills, i© 
 
 We travelled merrily to pass 
 A day among the hills. 
 
 ' Our work,' said I, ' was well begun ; 
 
 Then, from thy breast what thought, 
 Beneath so beautiful a sun, 
 
 So sad a sigh has brought V 
 
 A second time did Matthew slop. 
 
 And fixing still his eye 
 Upon the eastern mountain-top, 
 
 To me he made reply : 20 
 
 ' Yon cloud with that long purple cleft 
 
 Brings fresh into my njind 
 A day like this which I have left 
 
 Full thirty years behind. 
 
 ' And just above yon slope of corn 
 
 Such colours, and no other. 
 Were in the sky that April morn, 
 
 Of this the very brother. 
 
 'With rod and line I sued the sport 
 
 Which that sweet season gave, 30 
 
 And, coming to the church, stopped short 
 
 Beside my daughter's grave. 
 
 5 
 
66 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ' Nine summers had she scarcely seen, 
 
 The pride of all the vale ; 
 And then she sang — she would have been 
 
 A very nightingale. 
 
 ' Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; 
 
 And yet I loved her more— 
 For so it seemed — than till that day 
 
 I e'er had loved before. 4° 
 
 ' And, turning from her grave, I met 
 
 Beside the churchyard yew 
 A blooming girl, whose hair was wet 
 
 With points of morning dew. 
 
 ' A basket on her head she bare, 
 Her brow was smooth and white : 
 
 To see a child so very fair, 
 It was a pure delight. 
 
 ' No fountain from its rocky cave 
 
 E'er tripped with foot so free ; 5° 
 
 She seemed as happy as a wave 
 
 That dances on the sea. 
 
 'There came from me a sigh of pain 
 
 Which I could ill confine \ 
 I looked at her, and looked again — 
 
 And did not wish her mine.' 
 
 Matthew is in his grave, yet now 
 
 Methinks I see him stand, 
 As at that moment, with a bough 
 
 Of wilding in his hand. 6o 
 
HART- LEAP WELL. 
 
 HART-LEAP WELL. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 67 
 
 The knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor 
 With the slow motion of a summer's cloud ; 
 
 He turned aside towards a vassal's door, 
 And ' Bring another horse!' he cried aloud. 
 
 * Another horse !' That shout the vassal heard, 
 And saddled his best steed, a comely gray. 
 
 Sir Walter mounted him ; he was the third 
 Which he had mounted on that glorious day. 
 
 Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes; 
 
 The horse and horseman are a happy pair ; 
 But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies, 
 
 There is a doleful silence in the air. 
 
 A rout this morning left Sir Walter's hall 
 
 That as they galloped made the echoes roar ; 
 
 But horse and man are vanished, one and all ; 
 Such race, I think, was never seen before. 
 
 Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind. 
 
 Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain ; 
 
 Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind. 
 Follow, and up the weary mountain strain. 
 
 The knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on 
 With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern; 
 
 But breath and eyesight fail, and, one by one, 
 
 The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern. 
 
68 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? 
 
 The bugles that so joyfully were blown ? 
 This chase it looks not like an earthly chase ; 
 
 Sir Walter and the hart are left alone. 
 
 The poor hart toils along the mountain-side; 
 
 I will not stop to tell how far he fled. 
 Nor will I mention by what death he died ; 
 
 But now the knight beholds him lying dead. 
 
 Dismounting then, he leaned against a thorn \ 
 He had no follower, dog, nor man, nor boy : 
 
 He neither cracked his whip nor blew his horn, 
 But gazed upon the spoil with silent joy. 
 
 Close to the thorn on which Sir Walter leaned, 
 Stood his dumb partner in this glorious feat, 
 
 Weak as a lamb the hour that it is yeaned, 
 And white with foam as if with cleaving sleet. 
 
 Upon his side the hart was lying stretched ; 
 
 His nostril touched a spring beneath a hill, 
 And with the last deep groan his breath had fetched 
 
 The waters of the spring were trembling still. 
 
 And now, too happy for repose or rest — 
 Never had living man such joyful lot — 
 
 Sir Walter walked all round, north, south, and west, 
 And gazed and gazed upon that darling spot. 
 
 And climbing up the hill— it was at least 
 
 Four roods of sheer ascent — Sir Walter found 
 
 Three several hoof-marks which the hunted beast 
 Had left imprinted on the grassy ground. 
 
HART-LEAP WELL. 6g 
 
 Sir Walter wiped his face and cried, 'Till now 
 Such sight was never seen by human eyes ; 
 
 Three leaps have borne him from this lofty brow 
 Down to the very fountain where he lies. 
 
 ' I '11 build a pleasure-house upon this spot, 
 And a small arbour, made for rural joy ; 
 
 'T will be the traveller's shed, the pilgrim's cot, 
 
 A place of love for damsels that are coy. 60 
 
 'A cunning artist will I have to frame 
 
 A basin for that fountain in the dell ; 
 And they who do make mention of the same 
 
 From this day forth shall call it Hart-Leap Well. 
 
 ' And, gallant stag, to make thy praises known. 
 Another monument shall here be raised — 
 
 Three several pillars, each a rough-hewn stone. 
 And planted where thy hoofs the turf have grazed. 
 
 ' And in the summer-time when days are long 
 
 I will come hither with my paramour; 70 
 
 And with the dancers and the minstrel's song 
 We will make merry in that pleasant bower. 
 
 'Till the foundations of the mountains fail 
 My mansion with its arbour shall endure — 
 
 The joy of them who till the fields of Swale, 
 
 And them who dweH among the woods of Ure !' 
 
 Then home he went, and left the hart, stone-dead. 
 With breathless nostrils stretched above the spring. 
 
 Soon did the knight perform what he had said, 
 
 And far and wide the fame thereof did rinsr. 80 
 
7° 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Ere thrice the moon into her port had steered, 
 A cup of stone received the living well ; 
 
 Three pillars of rude stone Sir Walter reared, 
 And built a house of pleasure in the dell. 
 
 And near the fountain flowers of stature tall 
 With trailing plants and trees were intertwined, 
 
 Which soon composed a little sylvan hall— 
 A leafy shelter from the sun and wind. 
 
 And thither, when the summer days were long, 
 Sir Walter led his wondering paramour. 
 
 And with the dancers and the minstrel's song 
 Made merriment within that pleasant bower. 
 
 The knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time, 
 And his bones lie in his paternal vale. — 
 
 But there is matter for a second rhyme, 
 And I to this would add another tale. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 The moving accident is not my trade ; 
 
 To freeze the blood I have no ready arts : 
 'T is my delight, alone in summer shade, 
 
 To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts. 
 
 As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, 
 It chanced that I saw standing in a dell 
 
 Three aspens at three corners of a square, 
 And one, not four yards distant, near a well. 
 
 What this imported I could ill divine ; 
 
 And, pulling now the rein my horse to stop, 
 I saw three pillars standing in a line, 
 
 The last stone pillar on a dark hill-top. 
 
HART- LEAP WELL. 71 
 
 The trees were gray, with neither arins nor head, 
 
 Half-wasted the square mound of tawny green ; 1'° 
 
 So that you just might say, as then I said, 
 
 * Here in old time the hand of man hath been.' 
 
 I looked upon the hill both far and near, 
 More doleful place did never eye survey; 
 
 It seemed as if the spring-time came not here. 
 And Nature here were willing to decay. 
 
 I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost. 
 When one who was in shepherd's garb attired 
 
 Came up the hollow ; him did I accost. 
 
 And what this place might be I then inquired. 120 
 
 The shepherd stopped, and that same story told f 
 Which in my former rhyme I have rehearsed. / 
 
 ' A jolly place,' said he, ' in times of old ! 
 
 But something ails it now ; the spot is curst. 
 
 'You see these lifeless stumps of aspen wood — 
 Some say that they are beeches, others elms — 
 
 These were the bower ; and here a mansion stood. 
 The finest palace of a hundred realms ! 
 
 ' Tlie arbour does its own condition tell ; 
 
 You see the stones, the fountain, and the stream ; 130 
 But as to the great lodge, you might as well 
 
 Hunt half a day for a. forgotten dream. 
 
 ' There 's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep. 
 Will wet his lips within that cup of stone ; 
 
 And oftentimes, when all are fast asleep. 
 
 This water doth send forth a dolorous groan. 
 
72 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ' Some say that here a murder has been done, 
 And blood cries out for blood ; but, for my part, 
 
 I 've guessed, when I 've been sitting in the sun, 
 
 That it was all for that unhappy hart. 140 
 
 'What thoughts must through the creature's brain have passed ! 
 
 Even from the topmost stone upon the steep 
 Are but three bounds ; and look, sir, at this last — 
 
 O master, it has been a cruel leap ! 
 
 ' For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race ; 
 
 And in my simple mind we cannot tell 
 What cause the hart might have to love this place, 
 
 And come and make his death-bed near the well. 
 
 ' Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, 
 
 Lulled by the fountain in the summer-tide ; 150 
 
 This water was perhaps the first he drank 
 
 When he had wandered from his mother's side. 
 
 ' In April here beneath the scented thorn 
 
 He heard the birds their morning carols sing ; 
 
 And he, perhaps, for aught we know, was born 
 Not half a furlong from that selfsame spring. 
 
 ' Now, here is neither grass nor pleasant shade, 
 
 The sun on drearier hollow never shone ; 
 So will it be, as I have often said, 
 
 Till trees and stones and fountain all are gone.' 160 
 
 * Gray-headed shepherd, thou hast spoken well ; 
 
 Small difference lies between thy creed and mine: 
 This beast not unobserved by Nature fell ; 
 
 His death was mourned by sympathy divine. 
 
THE SPARROW'S NEST. j^ 
 
 ' The Being that is in the clouds and air, 
 
 That is in the green leaves among the groves, 
 
 Maintains a deep and reverential care 
 
 For the unoffending creatures whom he loves. 
 
 ' The pleasure-house is dust — behind, before, 
 
 This is no common waste, no common gloom ; 170 
 
 But Nature, in due course of time, once more 
 Shall here put on her beauty and her bloom. 
 
 ' She leaves these objects to a slow decay, 
 
 That what we are and have been may be known ; 
 
 But, at the coming of the milder day, 
 
 These monuments shall all be overgrown. 
 
 'One lesson, shepherd, let us two divide, 
 
 Taught both by what she shows and what conceals— 
 Never to blend our pleasure or our pride 
 
 With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.' 180 
 
 THE SPARROW'S NEST. 
 
 Behold, within the leafy shade. 
 Those bright blue eggs together laid ! 
 On me the chance-discovered sight 
 Gleamed like a vision of delight. 
 I started — seeming to espy 
 
 The home and sheltered bed, 
 The sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by 
 My father's house, in wet or dry 
 My sister Emmeline and I 
 Together visited. 
 
74 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 She looked at it and seemed to fear it, 
 Dreading, thougli wishing, to be near it 
 Such heart was in her, being then 
 A Httle prattler among men. 
 The blessing of my later years 
 
 Was with me when a boy: 
 She gave me eyes, she gave me ears ; 
 And humble cares, and delicate fears ; 
 A heart, the fountain of sweet tears ; 
 And love, and thought, and joy. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Stay near me — do not take thy flight ! 
 
 A little longer stay in sight ! 
 
 Much converse do I find in thee, 
 
 Historian of my infancy ! 
 
 Float near me ; do not yet depart ! 
 
 Dead times revive in thee : 
 Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art, 
 A solemn image to my heart, 
 
 My father's family ! 
 
 O, pleasant, pleasant were the days, 
 The time when in our childish plays 
 My sister Emmeline and I 
 Together chased the butterfly ! 
 A very hunter did I rush 
 
 Upon the prey: — with leaps and springs 
 I followed on from brake to bush ; 
 But she, God love her, feared to brush 
 
 The dust from off its wings ! 
 
BUTTERMERE. 
 
76 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH 
 
 "MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD." 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 
 
 A rainbow in the sky : 
 So was it when my life began ; 
 So is it now I am a man \ 
 So be it when I shall grow old, 
 
 Or let me die ! 
 The child is father of the man ; 
 And I conld wish my days to be 
 Bound each to each by natural piety. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 I 'vE watched you now a full half-hour, 
 Self-poised upon that yellow flower. 
 And, little butterfly, indeed 
 I know not if you sleep or feed. 
 How motionless ! — not frozen seas 
 
 More motionless ! and then 
 What joy awaits you, when the breeze 
 Hath found you out among the trees. 
 
 And calls you forth again ! 
 
 This plot of orchard-ground is ours; 
 My trees they are, my sister's flowers ; 
 Here rest your wings when they are weary; 
 Here lodge as in a sanctuary ! 
 
TO THE SMALL CELANDINE. 
 
 Come often to us, fear no wrong ; 
 
 Sit near us on the bough ! 
 We '11 talk of sunshine and of song, 
 And summer days when we were young; 
 Sweet childish days, that were as long 
 
 As twenty days are now. 
 
 77 
 
 TO THE SMALL CELANDINE. 
 
 Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, 
 Let them live upon their praises ; 
 Long as there 's a sun that sets, 
 
 Primroses will have their glory; 
 Long as there are violets. 
 
 They will have a place in story : 
 There's a flower that shall be mine, 
 'T is the little celandine. 
 
 Eyes of some men travel far 
 
 For the finding of a star ; 
 
 Up and down the heavens they go. 
 
 Men that keep a mighty rout ! 
 I 'm as great as they, I trow, 
 
 Since the day I found thee out. 
 Little flower ! — I '11 make a stir, 
 Like a sage astronomer. 
 
 Modest, yet withal an elf 
 Bold and lavish of thyself. 
 Since we needs must first have met 
 I have seen thee, high and low, 
 
yS SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Thirty years or more, and yet 
 
 'T was a face I did not know ; 
 Tliou hast now, go where I may. 
 Fifty greetings in a day. 
 
 Ere a leaf is on a bush, 
 
 In the time before the thrush 
 
 Has a thought about her nest, 
 
 Thou wilt come with half a call, 
 Spreading out thy glossy breast 
 
 Like a careless prodigal, 
 Telling tales about the sun 
 When we 've little warmth or none. 
 
 Poets — vain men in their mood — 
 Travel with the multitude : 
 Never heed them ; I aver 
 
 That they all are wanton wooers ; 
 But the thrifty cottager, 
 
 Who stirs little out of doors, 
 Joys to see thee near her home ; 
 Spring is coming, thou art come ! 
 
 Comfort have thou of thy merit, 
 Kindly, unassuming spirit ! 
 Careless of thy neighbourhood. 
 
 Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
 On the moor, and in the wood. 
 
 In the lane — there 's not a place, 
 Howsoever mean it be. 
 But 't is good enough for thee. 
 
 Ill befall the yellow flowers, 
 Children of the flaring hours ! 
 
TO THE SAME ELOVVER. 
 
 Buttercups, that will be seen, 
 Whether we will see or no \ 
 
 Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
 
 They have done as worldlings do, 
 
 Taken praise that should be thine, 
 
 Little, humble celandine ! 
 
 Prophet of delight and mirth. 
 Ill-requited upon earth ; 
 Herald of a mighty band, 
 
 Of a joyous train ensuing, 
 Serving at my heart's command. 
 
 Tasks that are no tasks renewing, 
 I will sing, as doth behoove, 
 Hymns in praise of what I love! 
 
 79 
 
 TO THE SAME FLOWER. 
 
 Pleasures newly found are sweet 
 When they lie about our feet : 
 February last, my heart 
 
 First at sight of thee was glad ; 
 All unheard of as thou art, 
 
 Thou must needs, I think, have had, 
 Celandine, and long ago. 
 Praise of which I nothing know. 
 
 I have not a doubt but he. 
 Whosoe'er the man might be. 
 Who the first with pointed rays — 
 Workman worthy to be sainted-— 
 
8o SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Set the sign-board in a blaze 
 
 When the rising sun he painted, 
 Took the fancy from a glance 
 At thy glittering countenance. 
 
 Soon as gentle breezes bring 
 
 News of winter's vanishing, 
 
 And the children build their bowers, 
 
 Sticking kerchief-plots of mould 20 
 
 All about with full-blov/n flowers, 
 
 Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold, 
 With the proudest thou art there, 
 Mantling in the tiny square. 
 
 Often have I sighed to measure 
 By myself a lonely pleasure, 
 Sighed to think I read a book 
 
 Only read, perhaps, by me ; 
 Yet I long could overlook 
 
 Thy bright coronet and thee, 30 
 
 And thy arch and wily ways. 
 And thy store of other praise. 
 
 Blithe of heart, from week to week 
 Thou dost play at hide-and-seek ; 
 While the patient primrose sits 
 
 Like a beggar in the cold. 
 Thou, a flower of wiser wits, 
 
 Slipp'st into thy sheltering hold, 
 Liveliest of the vernal train 
 When ye all are out again. 40 
 
 Drawn by what peculiar spell. 
 By what charm of sight or smell, 
 
RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 Does tlie dim-eyed curious bee, 
 Labouring for her waxen cells, 
 
 Fondly settle upon thee. 
 
 Prized above all buds and bells 
 
 Opening daily at thy side. 
 
 By the season multiplied? 
 
 Thou art not beyond the moon, 
 But a thing 'beneath our shoon :' 
 Let the bold discoverer thrid 
 
 In his bark the polar sea ; 
 Rear who will a pyramid ; 
 
 Praise it is enough for me, 
 If there be but three or four 
 Who will love my little flower? 
 
 THE LEECH-GATHERER; 
 
 Or, Resolution and Independence. 
 
 There was a roaring in the wind all night, 
 The rain came heavily and fell in floods ; 
 
 But now the sun is shining calm and bright ; 
 The birds are singing in the distant woods ; 
 Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods ; 
 
 The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters ; 
 
 And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. 
 
 All things that love the sun are out of doors ; 
 
 The sky rejoices in the morning's birth ; 
 The grass is bright with rain-drops ; on the moors 
 
 The hare is running races in her mirth ; 
 
 And with her feet she from the plashy earth 
 6 
 
82 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Raises a mist that, glittering in the sun, 
 
 Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. 
 
 I was a traveller then upon the moor, 
 
 I saw the hare that raced about with joy ; 
 I heard the woods and distant waters roar, 
 
 Or heard them not, as happy as a boy. 
 
 The pleasant season did my heart employ ; 
 My old remembrances went from me wholly, 20 
 
 And all the ways of men, so vain and melancholy. 
 
 But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might 
 
 Of joy in minds that can no further go, 
 As high as we have mounted in delight 
 
 In our dejection do we sink as low: 
 
 To me that morning did it happen so, 
 And fears and fancies thick upon nie came, 
 Dim sadness — and blind thoughts I knew not nor could 
 name. 
 
 I heard the skylark warbling in the sky. 
 
 And I bethought me of the playful hare : 3° 
 
 Even such a happy child of earth am I, 
 
 Even as these blissful creatures do I fare ; 
 
 Far from the world I walk, and from all care ; 
 But there may come another day to me — 
 Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty. 
 
 My whole life I have lived in pleasant thought, 
 As if life's business were a summer mood ; 
 
 As if all needful things would come unsought 
 To genial faith, still rich in genial good ; 
 But how can he expect that others should 4° 
 
 Build for him, sow for him, and at his call 
 
 Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all? 
 
THE LEECH-GATHERER. 
 
 83 
 
 1 thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy. 
 The sleepless soul that perished in his pride ; 
 
 Of him who walked in glory and in joy 
 
 Following his plough along the mountain-side. 
 By our own spirits are we deified ; 
 
 We poets in our youth begin in gladness, 
 
 But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness. 
 
 Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, ; 
 
 A leading from above, a something given, 
 
 Yet it befell that in this lonely place, 
 
 When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, 
 Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven 
 
 I saw a man before me unawares ) 
 
 The oldest man he seemed that ever wore gray hairs. 
 
 As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie 
 Couched on the bald top of an eminence, 
 
 Wonder to all who do the same espy, 
 
 By what means it could thither come and whence, f 
 So that it seems a thing endued with sense, 
 
 Like a sea-beast crawled forth, that on a shelf 
 
 Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun itself; 
 
 Such seemed this man, not all alive nor dead, 
 
 Nor all asleep — in his extreme old age. 
 His body was bent double, feet and head 
 
 Coming together in life's pilgrimage ; 
 
 As if some dire constraint of pain, or rage 
 Of sickness felt by him in times long past, 
 A more than human weight upon his frame had cast. 7 
 
 Himself he propped, limbs, body, and pale face, 
 
 Upon a long gray staff of shaven wood ; 
 And, still as I drew near with gentle pace, 
 
84 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Upon the margin of that moorish flood 
 Motionless as a cloud the old man stood, 
 That heaieth not the loud winds when they call 
 And moveth all together, if it move at all. 
 
 At length, himself uwsettlinjj, he the pond 
 Stirred with his staff, and fixedly did look 
 
 Upon the muddy water, which he conned £o 
 
 As if he had been reading in a book ; 
 And now a stranger's privilege I took, 
 
 Arid, drawing to his side, to him did say, 
 
 'This morning gives us promise of a glorious day.' 
 
 A gentle answer did the old man make, 
 
 In courteous speech which forth he slowly drew ; 
 
 And him with further words I thus bespake, 
 ' What occupation do you there pursue ? 
 This is a lonesome place for one like you.* 
 
 Ere he replied a flash of mild surprise 90 
 
 Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid eyes. 
 
 His words came feebly from a feeble chest, 
 But each in solemn order followed each, 
 
 With something of a lofty utterance drest — 
 
 Choice word and measured phrase, above the reach 
 Of ordinary men ; a stately speech, 
 
 Such as grave livers do in Scotland use. 
 
 Religious men, who give to God and man their dues. 
 
 He told, that to these waters he had come 
 To gather leeches, being old and poor — 100 
 
 Employment hazardous and wearisome ! 
 And he had many hardships to endure : 
 From pond to pond he roamed, from moor to moor, 
 
THE LEECH GA THERER. 
 
 85 
 
 Housing, with God's good help, by choice or chance, 
 And in this way he gained an honest maintenance. 
 
 The old man still stood talking by my side. 
 But now his voice to me was like a stream 
 
 Scarce heard, nor word from word could I divide ; 
 And the whole body of the man did seem 
 Like one whom I had met with in a dream, nc 
 
 Or like a man from some far region sent, 
 
 To give me human strength by apt admonishment. 
 
 My former thoughts returned — the fear that kills, 
 
 And hope that is unwilling to be fed ; 
 Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills, 
 
 And mighty poets in their misery dead. 
 
 Perplexed and longing to be comforted, 
 I\ry question eagerly did I renew, 
 ' How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" 
 
 He with a smile did then his words repeat, 120 
 
 And said that, gathering leeches, far and wide 
 
 He travelled, stirring thus about his feet 
 The waters of the pools where they abide. 
 'Once I could meet with them on every side, 
 
 But they have dwindled long by slow decay : 
 
 Yet still I persevere and find them where I may.' 
 
 While he was talking thus, the lonely place. 
 
 The old man's shape and speech — all troubled me: 
 
 In my mind's eye I seemed to see him pace 
 
 About the weary moors continually, 130 
 
 Wandering about alone and silently. 
 
 While I these thoughts within myself pursued, 
 
 He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed. 
 
86 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 And soon with this he otlier matter blended, 
 Cheerfully uttered, with demeanour kind. 
 
 But stately in the main ; and when he ended, 
 I could have laughed myself to scorn to find 
 In that decrepit man so firm a mind. 
 
 'God,' said I, 'be my help and stay secure; 
 
 I '11 think of the leech-gatherer on the lonely moor !' 
 
 COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, 
 Sept. 3, 1802. 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more fair; 
 Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
 A sight so touching in its majesty. 
 This city now doth like a garment wear 
 The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
 Open unto the fields and to the sky, 
 All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
 Never did sun more beautifully steep 
 In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill ; 
 Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep 1 
 The river glideth at his own sweet will. 
 Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep, 
 And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 
 
 IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND 
 FREE.' 
 
 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
 The holy time is quiet as a nun 
 Bieathless with adoration; the broad sun 
 Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 
 
LANGDALE PIKES- 
 
88 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The gentleness of heaven is on the sea. 
 
 Ivisten ! the mighty being is awake, 
 
 And doth with his eternal motion make 
 
 A sound like thunder everlastingly. 
 
 Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, 
 
 If thou appear untouched by solemn thought. 
 
 Thy nature is not therefore less divine. 
 
 Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, 
 
 And worshipp'st at the temple's inner shrine, 
 
 God being with thee when we know it not. 
 
 ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN 
 REPUBLIC. 
 
 Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee 
 
 And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth 
 
 Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
 
 Venice, the eldest child of Libert}'. 
 
 She was a maiden city, bright and free, 
 
 No guile seduced, no force could violate ; 
 
 And, when she took unto herself a mate, 
 
 She must espouse the everlasting sea. 
 
 And what if she had seen those glories fade. 
 
 Those titles vanish, and that strength decay? 
 
 Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 
 
 When her long life hath reached its final day. 
 
 Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade 
 
 Of that which once was great is passed away. 
 
TO TOUSSAINT VOUVERTURE.— LONDON, 1802. 89 
 
 TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. 
 
 TousSAiNT, the most unhappy man of men ! 
 Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough 
 Within thy hearing, or thy head be now 
 Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den — 
 O miserable chieftain, where and when 
 Wilt thou find patience ? Yet die not ; do thou 
 Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow : 
 Though fallen thyself, never to rise again. 
 Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind 
 Powers that will work for thee — air, earth, and skies ; 
 There 's not a breathing of the common wind 
 That will forget thee. Thou hast great allies ; 
 Thy friends are exultations, agonies, 
 And love, and man's unconquerable mind. 
 
 WRITTEN IN LONDON, September, 1802. 
 
 O Friend, I know not which way I must look 
 
 For comfort, being, as I am, opprest. 
 
 To think that now our life is only drest 
 
 For show — mean handiwork of craftsman, cook, 
 
 Or groom ! We must run glittering like a brook 
 
 In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; 
 
 The wealthiest man among us is the best; 
 
 No grandeur now in nature or in book 
 
 Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 
 
 This is idolatry, and these we adore; 
 
 Plain living and high thinking are no more ; 
 
 The homely beauty of the good old cause 
 
 Is gone — our peace, our fearful innocence, 
 
 And pure religion breathing household laws. 
 
90 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 LONDON, 1802. 
 
 Milton, thou sliouldst be living at this hour ! 
 
 England hath need of thee : she is a fen 
 
 Of stagnant waters ; altar, sword, and pen, 
 
 Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 
 
 Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
 
 Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 
 
 O, raise us up, return to us again, 
 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power ! 
 
 Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart ; 
 
 Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea. 
 
 Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free. 
 
 So didst thou travel on life's common way 
 
 In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
 
 'l"he lowliest duties on itself did lay. 
 
 'IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF.' 
 
 It is not to be thought of that the flood 
 Of British freedom, which to the open sea 
 Of the world's praise from dark antiquity 
 Hath flowed, ' with pomp of waters, unwithstood,' 
 Roused though it be full often to a mood 
 Which spurns the check of salutary bands — 
 That this most famous stream in bogs and sands 
 Should perish, and to evil and to good 
 Be lost forever. In our halls is hung 
 Armoury of the invincible knights of old : 
 
TO THE DAISY. 
 
 91 
 
 We nuist be free or die who speak the tongue 
 That Shakespeare spake, the faith and morals hold 
 Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung 
 Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 
 
 'WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN 'MEMORY.' 
 
 When I have borne in memory what has tamed 
 
 Great nations, how ennobling thoughts depart 
 
 When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
 
 The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed 
 
 I had, my country ! — am I to be blamed ? 
 
 Now, when I think of thee and what thou art, 
 
 Verily, in the bottom of my heart 
 
 Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed ! 
 
 For dearly must we prize thee, we who find 
 
 In thee a bulwark for the cause of men ; 
 
 And I by my affection was beguiled. 
 
 AVhat wonder if a poet now and then, 
 
 Among the many movements of his mind, 
 
 Felt for thee as a lover or a child ? 
 
 TO THE DAISY. 
 
 ' Her divine skill taught me this, 
 That from everything I saw 
 I could some instruction draw, 
 And raise pleasure to the height 
 Through the meanest object's sight. 
 By the murmur of a spring, 
 Or the least bousrh's rustlinsr. 
 
92 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 By a daisy vvliose leaves spread 
 Sluit wlieu Titan goes to bed, 
 Or a shady biisli or tree, 
 She could more infuse in me 
 Than all Nature's beauties can 
 In some other wiser man.' 
 
 G. WlTHKR. 
 
 In youth from rock to rock I went, 
 From hill to hill in discontent 
 Of pleasure high and turbulent, 
 
 Most pleased when most uneasy ; 
 But now my own delights I make, — 
 My thirst at every rill can slake, 
 And gladly Nature's love partake 
 
 Of thee, sweet daisy ! 
 
 Thee Winter in the garland wears 
 That thinly decks his few gray hairs ; 
 Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, 
 
 That she may sun thee ; 
 Whole summer fields are thine by right; 
 And Autumn, melancholy wight. 
 Doth in thy crimson head delight 
 
 When rains are on thee. 
 
 In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 
 Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane, 
 Pleased at his greeting thee again, 
 
 Yet nothing daunted 
 Nor grieved if thou be set at nought ; 
 And oft alone in nooks remote 
 We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, 
 
 When such are wanted. 
 
 Be violets in their secret mews 
 
 The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose ; 
 
EAGLE CRAG. 
 
94 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Proud be the rose, with rahis and dews 
 
 Her head impearling! 
 Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, 
 Yet hast not gone without thy fame ; 
 Thou art indeed by many a claim 
 
 The poet's darling. 
 
 If to a rock from rains he fly. 
 Or, some bright day of April sky, 
 Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie 
 
 Near the green holly, 
 And wearily at length should fare, 
 He needs but look about and there 
 Thou art — a friend at hand, to scare 
 
 His melancholy. 
 
 A hundred times, by rock or bower, 
 Ere thus I have lain couched an hour. 
 Have I derived from thy sweet power 
 
 Some apprehension. 
 Some steady love, some brief delight, 
 Some memory that had taken flight. 
 Some chime of fancy wrong or right. 
 
 Or stray invention. 
 
 If stately passions in me burn, 
 
 And one chance look to thee should turn, 
 
 I drink out of an humbler urn 
 
 A lowlier pleasure — 
 The homely sympathy that heeds 
 The common life our nature breeds, 
 A wisdom fitted to the needs 
 
 Of hearts at leisure. 
 
 Fresh-smitten by the morning ray, 
 When thou art up, alert and gay, 
 
TO THE SAME FLOWER. 
 
 Then-, cheerful flower, my spirits play 
 
 With kindred gladness; 
 And when at dusk by dews opprest 
 Thou sink'st, the imnge of thy rest 
 Hath often eased my pensive breast 
 
 Of careful sadness. 
 
 And all day long I number yet, 
 All seasons through, another debt, 
 Which I, wherever thou art met, 
 
 To thee am owing — 
 An instinct call it, a blind sense, 
 A happy, genial influence. 
 Coming one knows not how nor whence, 
 
 Nor whither going. 
 
 Child of the year, that round dost run 
 Thy pleasant course, when day 's begun 
 As ready to salute the sun 
 
 As lark or leveret. 
 Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain, 
 Nor be less dear to future men 
 Than in old time ; thou not in vain 
 
 Art Nature's favourite. 
 
 95 
 
 TO THE SAME FLOWER. 
 
 With little here to do or see 
 Of things that in the great world be, 
 Dais}', again I talk to thee. 
 For thou art worthy, 
 
gS SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Thou unassuming common-place 
 Of nature, with that homely face, 
 And yet with something of a grace 
 Which Love makes for thee ! 
 
 Oft on the dappled turf at ease 
 
 I sit and play with similes, lo 
 
 Loose types of things through all degrees. 
 
 Thoughts of thy raising ; 
 And many a fond and idle name 
 I give to thee for praise or blame, 
 As in the humour of the game. 
 
 While I am gazing. 
 
 A nun demure of lowly port; 
 
 Or sprightly maiden of Love's court. 
 
 In thy simplicity the sport 
 
 Of all temptations ; 20 
 
 A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 
 A starveling in a scanty vest ; 
 Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 
 
 Thy appellations. 
 
 A little Cyclops, with one eye 
 
 Staring to threaten and defy. 
 
 That thought comes next — and instantly 
 
 The freak is over, 
 The shape will vanish — and behold 
 A silver shield with boss of gold, 3° 
 
 That spreads itself, some faery bold 
 
 In fight to cover ! 
 
 I see thee glittering from afar. 
 And then thou art a pretty star; 
 Not quite so fair as many are 
 In heaven above thee. 
 
TO THE DAISY. 
 
 Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
 Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ; — 
 May peace come never to his nest 
 Who shall reprove thee ! 
 
 Bright _/?(?7fw/ for by that name at last, 
 
 When all my reveries are past, 
 
 I call thee, and to that cleave fast ! 
 
 Sweet silent creature, 
 That breath'st with me in sun and air, 
 Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
 My heart with gladness and a share 
 
 Of thy meek nature ! 
 
 97 
 
 TO THE DAISY. 
 
 Bright Flower, whose home is everywhere, 
 
 Bold in maternal Nature's care. 
 
 And all the long year through the heir 
 
 Of joy or sorrow ! 
 Methinks that there abides in thee 
 Some concord with humanity, 
 Given to no other flower I s-ee 
 
 The forest thorough. 
 
 Is it that man is soon deprest — 
 
 A thoughtless thing, who, once unblest, 
 
 Does little on his memory rest 
 
 Or on his reason } 
 And thou wouldst teach him how to find 
 A shelter under every wind, 
 A hope for times that are unkind 
 
 And every season ? 
 7 
 
98 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Thou wander'st the wide world about, 
 Unchecked by pride or scrupulous doubt, 
 With friends to greet thee or without, 
 
 Yet pleased and willing ; 
 Meek, yielding to the occasion's call, 
 And all things suffering from all, 
 'J'hy function apostolical 
 
 In peace fulfilling. 
 
 THE GREEN LINNET. 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 
 Their snow-white blossoms on my head, 
 With brightest sunshine round me spread 
 
 Of spring's unclouded weather, 
 In this sequestered nook how sweet 
 To sit upon my orchard-seat, 
 And birds and flowers once more to greet. 
 
 My last year's friends together ! 
 
 One have I marked, the happiest guest 
 In all this covert of the blest : 
 Hail to thee, far above the rest 
 
 In joy of voice and pinion ! 
 Thou, linnet, in thy green array, 
 Presiding spirit here to-day, 
 Dost lead the revels of the May, 
 
 And this is thy dominion. 
 
 While birds and butterflies and flowers 
 Make all one band of paramours, 
 Thou, ranging up and down the bowers. 
 Art sole in thy employment; 
 
TO A HIGHLAND GIRL. 99 
 
 A life, a presence like the air, 
 Scattering thy gladness without care, 
 Too blest with any one to pair, 
 Thyself thy own enjoyment. 
 
 Amid yon tuft of hazel-lrees. 
 That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 
 Behold him perched in ecstasies, 
 
 Yet seeming still to hover — 
 There ! where the flutter of his wings 
 Upon his back and body flings 3° 
 
 Shadows and sunny glimmerings. 
 
 That cover him all over. 
 
 My dazzled sight he oft deceives, 
 A brother of the dancing leaves. 
 Then flits and from the cottage-eaves 
 
 Pours forth his song in gushes ; 
 As if by that exulting strain 
 He mocked and treated with disdain 
 The voiceless form he chose to feign 
 
 While fluttering in the bushes. 4° 
 
 TO A HIGHLAND GIRL 
 (at inversnaid, upon loch lomond). 
 
 Sweet Highland girl, a very shower 
 
 Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 
 
 Twice seven consenting years have shed 
 
 Their utmost bounty on thy head ; 
 
 And these gray rocks, that household lawn, 
 
 Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn, 
 
SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 This fall of water that cloth make 
 A murmur near the silent lake, 
 This little bay, a quiet road 
 That holds in shelter thy abode — 
 In truth, together do ye seem 
 Like something fashioned in a dream, 
 Such forms as from their covert peep 
 When earthly cares are laid asleep. 
 Yet, dream or vision as thou art, 
 I bless thee with a human heart : 
 God shield thee to thy latest years! 
 Thee neither know I nor thy peers, 
 And yet my eyes are filled with tears. 
 
 With earnest feeling I shall pray 20 
 
 For thee when I am far away ; 
 For never saw I mien or face 
 In which more plainly I could trace 
 Benignity and home-bred sense 
 Ripening in perfect innocence. 
 Here scattered like a random seed. 
 Remote from men, thou dost not need 
 The embarrassed look of shy distress 
 And maidenly shamefacedness ; 
 Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 30 
 
 The freedom of a mountaineer — 
 A face with gladness overspread, 
 Soft smiles by human kindness bred ; 
 And seemliness complete that sways 
 Thy courtesies about thee plays. 
 With no restraint but such as springs 
 From quick and eager visitings 
 Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
 Of thy few words of English speech — 
 
TO A HIGHLAND GIRL. 
 
 A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife 
 That gives thy gestures grace and life ! 
 So have I, not unmoved in mind, 
 Seen birds of tempest-loving kind 
 Thus beating up against the wind. 
 
 What hand but would a garland cull 
 For thee who art so beautiful ? 
 O, happy pleasure here to dwell 
 Beside thee in some heathy dell. 
 Adopt your homely ways and dress, 
 A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! 
 But I could frame a wish for thee 
 More like a grave reality : 
 Thou art to me but as a wave 
 Of the wild sea, and I would have 
 Some claim upon thee, if I could, 
 Though but of common neighbourhood. 
 What joy to hear thee, and to see ! 
 Thy elder brother I would be, 
 Thy father— anything to thee ! 
 
 Now thanks to Heaven that of its grace 
 Hath led me to this lonely place ! 
 Joy have I had, and going hence 
 I bear away my recompense. 
 In spots like these it is we prize 
 Our memory, feel that she hath eyes ; 
 Then why should I be loath to stir? 
 I feel this place was made for her ; 
 To give new pleasure like the past, 
 Continued long as life shall last. 
 Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart, 
 Sweet Highland girl, from thee to part ; 
 
 so 
 
SELECT POEMS OF WOKDSlVORrH. 
 
 For I, methinks, till I grow old, 
 As fair before me shall behold 
 As I do now the cabin small, 
 The lake, the bay, the waterfall, 
 And thee, the spirit of them all ! 
 
 THE SOLITARY REAPER. 
 
 Behold her, single in the field, 
 
 Yon solitary Highland lass, 
 Reaping and singing by herself; 
 
 Stop here, or gently pass ! 
 Alone she cuts and binds the grain 
 And sings a melancholy strain ; 
 O, listen, for the vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound ! 
 
 No nightingale did ever chant 
 
 So sweetly to reposing bands 
 Of travellers in some shady haunt 
 
 Among Arabian sands : 
 A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 
 In springtime from the cuckoo-bird, 
 Breaking the silence of the seas 
 Among the farthest Hebrides. 
 
 Will no one tell me what she sings ? 
 
 Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
 For old, unhappy, f;ir-off" things. 
 
 And battles long ago ; 
 Or is it some more humble lay, 
 Familiar matter of to-day ? 
 
YARROJV UNVISITED. jq» 
 
 Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
 That has been, and may be again ? 
 
 Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
 As if her song could have no ending ; 
 
 I saw her singing at her work, 
 And o'er the sickle bending. 
 
 I listened till I had my fill ; 
 
 And when I mounted up the hill, 30 
 
 The music in my heart I bore 
 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 YARROW UNVISITED. 
 
 From Stirling Castle we had seen 
 
 The mazy Forth unravelled, 
 Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, 
 
 And with the Tweed had travelled ; 
 And when we came to Clovenford, 
 
 Then said my 'winsome Marrow,' 
 'Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside 
 
 And see the Braes of Yarrow.' 
 
 ' Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town. 
 
 Who have been buying, selling, 
 Go back to Yarrow — 't is their own — 
 
 Each maiden to her dwelling ! 
 On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 
 
 Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ! 
 But we will downward with the Tweed, 
 
 Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 
 
104 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ' There 's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, 
 
 Both lying right before us; 
 And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed 
 
 The Untwhites sing in chorus ; 2° 
 
 There 's pleasant Tiviotdale, a land 
 
 Made blithe with plough and harrow: 
 Why throw away a, needful day 
 
 To go in search of Yarrow ? 
 
 ' ^Vhat 's Yarrow but a river bare, 
 
 That glides the dark hills under? 
 There are a thousand such elsewhere 
 
 As worthy of your wonder.' 
 Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn ; 
 
 My true-love sighed for sorrow, 3° 
 
 And looked me in the face, to think 
 
 I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 
 
 ' O, green,' said I, ' are Yarrow's holms, 
 
 And sweet is Yarrow flowing! 
 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 
 
 But we will leave it growing. 
 Cer hilly path and open strath 
 
 We '11 wander Scotland thorough ; 
 But, though so near, we will not turn 
 
 Into the dale of Yarrow. 40 
 
 'Let beeves and home-bred kine paitake 
 
 The sweets of Burn-mill meadow, 
 I'he swan on still Saint ALary's Lake 
 
 Float double, swan and shadow ! 
 We will not see them, will not go 
 
 To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
 Enough if in our hearts we know 
 
 There 's such a place as Yarrow. 
 

 fp-w ' J 
 
io6 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ' Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ! 
 
 It must, or we shall rue it : 
 We have a vision of our own ; 
 
 Ah ! why should we undo it? 
 The treasured dreams of times long past, 
 
 We '11 keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
 For vi^hen we 're there, although 't is fair, 
 
 'T will be another Yarrow ! 
 
 'If care with freezing years should come 
 
 And wandering seem but folly, 
 Should we be loath to stir from home 
 
 And yet be melancholy, 
 Should life be dull and spirits low, 
 
 'T will soothe us in our sorrow 
 That earth has something yet to show, 
 
 The bonny holms of Yarrow !' 
 
 'SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.' 
 
 She was a phantom of delight 
 
 When first she gleamed upon my sight, 
 
 A lovely apparition, sent 
 
 To be a moment's ornament : 
 
 Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, 
 
 Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 
 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 
 From May-time and the cheerful dawn — 
 
 A dancing shape, an image gay, 
 
 To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 
 
 I saw her upon nearer view, 
 A spirit, yet a woman too ! 
 
'/ WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD: 107 
 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 
 And steps of virgin liberty ; 
 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet; 
 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food ; 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 20 
 
 And now I see with eye serene 
 
 The very pulse of the machine ; 
 
 A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 
 A traveller between life and death ; 
 
 The reason firm, the temperate will. 
 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
 
 A perfect woman, nobly planned. 
 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
 
 And yet a spirit still, and bright 
 
 With somethins: of an angel light. 3° 
 
 ♦I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD. 
 
 I WANDERED lonely as a cloud 
 
 That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 A host of golden daffodils, 
 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the Milky Way, 
 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay: 
 
lo8 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but they 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee. 
 
 A poet could not but be gay 
 In such a jocund company; 
 
 I gazed and gazed, but little thought 
 
 What wealth the show to me had brought. 
 
 For oft, when on my couch I lie 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 
 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude, 
 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET. 
 
 Where art thou, my beloved son. 
 
 Where art thou, worse to me than dead ? 
 O, find me, prosperous or undone ! 
 Or, if the grave be now thy bed, 
 Why am I ignorant of the same, 
 That I may rest, and neither blame 
 Nor sorrow may attend thy name ? 
 
 Seven years, alas ! to have received 
 
 No tidings of an only child ; 
 To have despaired, and have believed, 
 
 And be forevermore beguiled, 
 Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss ! 
 I catch at them, and then I miss ; 
 Was ever darkness like to this.-" 
 
THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET. 
 
 He was among the prime in wortii, 
 An object beauteous to beiiold : 
 Well born, well bred, I sent him forth 
 
 Ingenuous, innocent, and bold: 
 If things ensued that wanted grace. 
 As hath been said, they were not base, 
 And never blush was on my face. 
 
 Ah ! little doth the 3/oung one dream, 
 
 When full of play and childish cares, 
 What power is in his wildest scream, 
 
 Heard by his mother unawares ! 
 He knows it not, he cannot guess: 
 Years to a mother bring distress. 
 But do not make her love the less. 
 
 Neglect me ! no, I suffered long 
 
 From that ill thought, and, being blind, 
 
 Said, 'Pride shall help me in my wrong: 
 Kind mother have I been, as kind 
 
 As ever breathed.' And that is true; 
 
 I 've wet my path with tears like dew, 
 
 Weeping for him when no one knew. 
 
 My son, if thou be humbled, poor. 
 Hopeless of honour and of gain, 
 
 O, do not dread thy mother's door. 
 Think not of me with grief and pain! 
 
 I now can see with better eyes ; 
 
 And worldly grandeur I despise, 
 
 And Fortune with her gifts and lies. 
 
 Alas ! the fowls of heaven have wings, 
 And blasts of heaven will aid their flight 
 
 They mount — how short a voyage brino-s 
 The wanderers back to their delight ' 
 
 109 
 
SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Chains tie us clown by land and sea ; 
 And wishes, vain as mine, may be 
 All that is left to comfort thee. 
 
 Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, 
 Maimed, mangled by inhuman men ; 
 
 Or thou upon a desert thrown 
 Inheritest the lion's den, 
 
 Or hast been summoned to the deep, 
 
 Thou, thou and all thy mates, to keep 
 
 An incommunicable sleep. 
 
 I look for ghosts, but none will force 
 Their way to me : 't is falsely said 
 That there was ever intercourse 
 
 Between the living and the dead; 
 For, surely, then I should have sight 
 Of him I v/ait for day and night. 
 With love and longings infinite. 
 
 My apprehensions come in crowds ; 
 
 I dread the rustling of the grass ; 
 The very shadows of the clouds 
 
 Have power to shake me as they pass. 
 I question things, and do not find 
 One that will answer to my mind, 
 And all the world appears unkind. 
 
 Beyond participation lie 
 
 My troubles, and beyond relief: 
 
 If any chance to heave a sigh, 
 They pity me, and not my grief. 
 
 Then come to me, my son, or send 
 
 Some tidings that my woes may end ; 
 
 I have no other earthly friend ! 
 
ODE TO DUTY. 
 
 ODE TO DUTY. 
 
 'Jam lion consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum lecte 
 faceie possim, sed nisi recte faceie non possim.' 
 
 Stern daughter of the voice of God ! 
 
 O Duty ! if that name thou love 
 Who art a light to guide, a rod 
 
 To check the erring and reprove ; 
 Thou, who art victory and law 
 When empty terrors overawe, 
 From vain temptations dost set free, 
 And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! 
 
 There are who ask not if thine eye 
 
 Be on them ; who, in love and truth, lo 
 
 Where no misgiving is, rely 
 
 Upon the genial sense of youth ; 
 Glad hearts, without reproach or blot. 
 Who do thy work and know it not : 
 Long may the kindly impulse last ! 
 But thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast ! 
 
 Serene will be our days and bright, 
 
 And happy will our nature be. 
 When love is an unerring light. 
 
 And joy its own security ; so 
 
 And they a blissful course may hold 
 Even now who, not unwisely bold, 
 Live in the spirit of this creed, 
 Yet seek thy firm support according to their need. 
 
112 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 I, loving freedom and untried — 
 
 No sport of every random gust, 
 Yet being to myself a guide — - 
 
 Too blindly have reposed my trust; 
 And oft, when in my heart was heard 
 
 Thy timely mandate, I deferred 3° 
 
 The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
 But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 
 
 Through no disturbance of my soul 
 
 Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
 I supplicate for thy control, • 
 
 But in the quietness of thought. 
 Me this unchartered freedom tires ; 
 I feel the weight of chance desires ; 
 My hopes no more must change their name, 
 I long for a repose that ever is the same. 40 
 
 Stern lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace. 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 
 As is the smile upon thy face. 
 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 
 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
 Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; 
 And the most ancient heavens, througii thee, are fresh and 
 strong. 
 
 To humbler functions, awful power, 
 
 I call thee : I myself commend 5° 
 
 Unto thy guidance from this hour ; 
 
 O, let my weakness have an end ! 
 Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
 The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
 
TO A YOUNG LADY. 113 
 
 The confidence of reason give, 
 
 And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live! 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY 
 
 WHO HAD BEEN REPROACHED FOR TAKING LONG WALKS IN 
 THE COUNTRY. 
 
 Dear child of Nature, let them rail ! 
 There is a nest in a green dale, 
 
 A harbour and a hold, 
 Where thou, a wife and friend, shalt see 
 Thy own delightful days, and be 
 
 A light to young and old. 
 
 There, healthy as a shepherd-boy, 
 And treading among flowers of joy 
 
 Which at no season fade, 
 Thou, while thy babes around thee cling, 10 
 
 Shalt show us how divine a thing 
 
 A woman may be made. 
 
 Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die. 
 Nor leave thee, when gray hairs are nigh, 
 
 A melancholy slave ; 
 But an old age serene and bright, 
 And lovely as a Lapland night, 
 
 Shall lead thee to thy grave. 
 
114 SELECT FORM a OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR. 
 
 Who is the happy warrior? Wlio is he 
 That every man in arms should wish to be ? 
 It is the generous spirit who, when brought 
 Among the tasks of real life, hath wrouglit 
 Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought ; 
 Whose high endeavors are an inward light 
 That makes the path before him always bright ; 
 Who, with a natural instinct to discern 
 What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn, 
 Abides by this resolve, and stops not there. 
 But makes his moral being his prime care ; 
 Who, doomed to go in company with pain 
 And fear and bloodshed — miserable train ! — 
 Turns his necessity to glorious gain ; 
 In face of these doth exercise a power 
 Which is our human nature's highest dower; 
 Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves 
 Of their bad influence, and their good receives ; 
 By objects which might force the soul to abate 
 Her feeling rendered more compassionate ; 
 Is placable, because occasions rise 
 So often that demand such sacrifice ; 
 More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, 
 As tempted more; more able to endure 
 As more exposed to suffering and distress; 
 Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. 
 'T is he whose law is reason ; who depends 
 Upon that law as on the best of friends ; 
 AVhence, in a state where men are tempted still 
 To evil for a jruard against worse ill. 
 
Ii6 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 And what in quality or act is best 
 
 Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, 
 
 He fixes good on good alone, and owes 
 
 To virtue every triumph that he knows : 
 
 Who, if he rise to station of command, 
 
 Rises by open means, and there will stand 
 
 On honourable terms, or else retire 
 
 And in himself possess his own desire; 
 
 Who comprehends his trust, and to the same 
 
 Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim, 4° 
 
 And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait 
 
 For wealth or honours or for worldly state ; 
 
 Whom they must follow, on whose head must fall 
 
 Like showers of manna, if they come at all ; 
 
 Whose powers shed round him, in the common strife 
 
 Or mild concerns of ordinary life, 
 
 A constant influence, a peculiar grace ; 
 
 But who, if he be called upon to face 
 
 Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined 
 
 Great issues, good or bad for human kind, 5° 
 
 Is happy as a lover, and attired 
 
 With sudden brightness, like a man inspired ; 
 
 And through the heat of conflict keeps the law 
 
 In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw ; 
 
 Or if an unexpected call succeed. 
 
 Come when it will, is equal to the need : 
 
 He who, though thus endued as with a sense 
 
 And faculty for storm and turbulence. 
 
 Is yet a soul whose master-bias leans 
 
 To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes — Oo 
 
 Sweet images ! which, wheresoe'er he be, 
 
 Are at his heart, and such fidelity 
 
 It is his darling passion to approve; 
 
 More brave for this, that he hath much to love, 
 
 'T is, finally, the man who, lifted high. 
 
POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 Conspicuous object in a nation's eye, 
 Or left uiithouglit of in obscurity, — - 
 Who, witli a toward or untoward lot, 
 Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not, 
 Plays, in the many games of life, that one 
 Where what he most doth value must be won ; 
 Whom neither shape of danger can dismay 
 Nor thought of tender happiness betray; 
 Who, not content that former worth stand fast, 
 Looks forward, persevering to the last, 
 From well to better, daily self-surpassed ; 
 Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth 
 Forever and to noble deeds give birth, 
 Or he must go to dust without his fame 
 And leave a dead unprofitable name. 
 Finds comfort in himself and in his cause. 
 And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws 
 His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause. 
 This is the happy warrior ; this is he 
 That every man in arms should wish to be. 
 
 1^7 
 
 POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 An Orpheus ! an Orpheus ! yes, Faith may grow bold, ' 
 And take to herself all the wonders of old ; 
 Near the stately Pantheon you '11 meet with the same 
 In the street that from Oxford hath borrowed its name. 
 
 His station is there ; and he works on the crowd, 
 He sways them with harmony merry and loud; 
 He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim — 
 Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him .'' 
 
ij8 select poems of WORDSWORTH. 
 
 What an eager assembly! what an empire is this! 
 The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss ; lo 
 
 The mourner is cheered and the anxious have rest, 
 And the guilt-burdened soul is no longer opprest. 
 
 As the moon brightens round her the clouds of the night, 
 So he, where he stands, is a centre of light ; 
 It gleams on the face there of dusky-browed Jack, 
 And the pale-visaged baker's, with basket on back. 
 
 That errand-bound 'prentice was passing in haste — 
 What matter? he 's caught, and his time runs to waste. 
 The newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret ; 
 And the half-breathless lamplighter — he 's in the net ! 20 
 
 The porter sits down on the weight which he bore ; 
 The lass with her barrow wheels hither her store ; 
 If a thief could be here, he might pilfer at ease ; 
 She sees the musician, 't is all that she sees ! 
 
 He stands, backed by the wall ; he abates not his din ; 
 His hat gives him vigour, with boons dropping in 
 From the old and the young, from the poorest ; and there ! 
 The one-pennied boy has his penny to spare. 
 
 O, blest are the hearers, and proud be the hand 
 
 Of the pleasure it spreads through so thankful a band ! 3° 
 
 I am glad for him, blind as he is! — all the while 
 
 If they speak 't is to praise, and they praise with a smile. 
 
 That tall man, a giant in bulk and in height, 
 Not an inch of his body is free from delight ; 
 Can he keep himself still if he would ? O, not he ! 
 The music stirs in him like wind through a tree. 
 
SOiVNETS. 
 
 119 
 
 Mark that cripple who leans on his crutch ; like a tower 
 That long has leaned forward, leans hour after hour ! 
 That mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, 
 While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. 4 
 
 Now, coaches and chariots, roar on like a stream ! 
 Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream : 
 They are deaf to your murmurs — they care not for you, 
 Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue ! 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room. 
 And hermits are contented with their cells, 
 And students with their pensive citadels ; 
 Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom. 
 Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom 
 High as the highest peak of Furness Fells 
 Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells. 
 In truth, the prison unto which we doom 
 Ourselves no prison is ; and hence for me, 
 In sundry moods, 't was pastime to be bound 
 W^ithin the sonnet's scanty plot of ground; 
 Pleased if some souls — for such there needs must be- 
 Who have felt the weight of too much libertv 
 Should find brief solace there, as I l;.ue found. 
 
 Wings have we, and as far as we can go 
 We may find pleasure ; wilderness and wood, 
 Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood 
 
5 SELECT FOEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. 
 
 Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, 
 
 Are a substantial world, both pure and good : 
 
 Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 
 
 Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
 
 There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, 
 
 Matter wherein right voluble I am, 
 
 To which I listen with a ready ear: 
 
 Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear — 
 
 The gentle lady marriert to the Moor, 
 
 And heavenly Una with her milk-white lamb. 
 
 Nor can 1 not believe but that hereby 
 
 Great gains are mine, for thus I live remote 
 
 From evil-speaking; rancour, never sought. 
 
 Comes to me not, malignant truth or lie. 
 
 Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I 
 
 Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought ; 
 
 And thus from day to day my little boat 
 
 Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 
 
 Blessings be with them and eternal praise. 
 
 Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares — 
 
 The poets, who on earth have made us heirs 
 
 Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays! 
 
 O, might my name be numbered among theirs, 
 
 Then gladly would I end my mortal days ! 
 
 The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
 Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers. 
 Little we see in Nature that is ours; 
 
TO SLEEP. 
 
 We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
 The sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 
 The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
 And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers — 
 For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; 
 It moves us not. Great God ! I 'd rather be 
 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, 
 So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
 Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn, 
 Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, 
 Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 
 
 To Sleep. 
 
 A FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, 
 One after one ; the sound of rain and bees 
 Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas. 
 Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky, 
 By turns have all been thought of, yet I lie 
 Sleepless, and soon the small birds' melodies 
 Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees. 
 And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 
 Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay. 
 And could not win thee, sleep, by any stealth : 
 So do not let me wear to-nigh-t away. 
 Without thee what is all the morning's wealth ? 
 Come, blessed barrier between day and day. 
 Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! 
 
122 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OK 
 EARLY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
 The earth, and every common sight, 
 
 To me did seem 
 Apparelled in celestial light, 
 The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
 It is not now as it hath been of yore ; 
 Turn wheresoe'er I may. 
 By night or day, 
 The things which 1 have seen I now can see no more. 
 
 The rainbow comes and goes, lo 
 
 And lovely is the rose ; 
 
 The moon doth with delight 
 Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 
 
 Waters on a starry night ^ 
 
 Are beautiful and fair ; 
 The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
 But yet I know, where'er I go. 
 That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. 
 
 Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. 
 
 And while the young lambs bound -^ 
 
 As to the tabor's sound. 
 
 To me alone there came a thought of grief: 
 
 A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 
 
 And 1 aiiain am stron". 
 
BRIDGE IN ST. JIIHN S VALE- 
 
124 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 
 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; 
 I hear the echoes through the mountains throng; 
 The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
 And all the earth is gay : 
 
 Land and sea 3° 
 
 Give themselves up to jollity, 
 
 And with the heart of May 
 Doth every beast keep holiday. 
 Thou child of joy, 
 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy shepherd- 
 boy! 
 
 Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call 
 
 Ye to each other make ; I see 
 The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
 
 My heart is at your festival. 
 
 My head hath its coronal, 4° 
 
 The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 
 
 evil day if I were sullen 
 When Earth herself is adorning 
 
 This sweet May morning. 
 And the children are culling 
 
 On every side, 
 In a thousand valleys far and wide, ' / 
 Fresh flowers, while the sun shines w-arm, 
 And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm ! 
 
 1 hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 5° 
 But there 's a tree, of many one, 
 
 A single field which I have looked upon, 
 Both of them speak of something that is gone ; 
 
 The pansy at my feet 
 
 Doth the same tale repeat. 
 Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
 Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 
 
ODE ON IMMORTALITY. 
 
 125 
 
 Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
 Tiie soul that rises with us, our life's star, 
 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting, (xi 
 
 And Cometh from afar ; 
 Not in entire forgetfulness, 
 And not in utter nakedness, 
 But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
 
 From God, who is our home. 
 Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
 Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
 
 Upon the growing bo}^, 
 But he beholds the light and whence it flows, 
 
 He sees it in his joy; 70 
 
 The youth, who daily farther from the East 
 Must travel, still is nature's priest. 
 And by the vision splendid 
 Is on his way attended; 
 At length the man perceives it die away. 
 And fade into the light of common day. 
 
 Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
 Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 
 And even with something of a mother's mind, 
 And no unworthy aim. 
 
 The homely nurse doth all she can 
 To make her foster-child, her inmate man. 
 
 Forget the glories he hath known 
 And that imperial palace whence he came. 
 
 Behold the child among his new-born blisses, 
 A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 
 See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. 
 Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
 
126 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
 See at his feet some little plan or chart, 
 Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
 Shaped by himself with newly learned art — 
 A wedding or a festival, 
 A mourning or a funeral ; 
 
 And this hath now his heart, 
 And unto this he frames his song. 
 
 Then will he fit his tongue 
 To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 
 
 But it will not be long 
 
 Ere this be thrown aside. 
 
 And with new joy and pride 
 The little actor cons another part, 
 Filling from time to time his ' humorous stage ' 
 With all the persons, down to palsied age. 
 Tiiat Life brings with her in her equipage, 
 
 As if his whole vocation 
 
 Were endless imitation. 
 
 Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 
 
 Thy soul's immensity; 
 . Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
 Thy heritage; thou eye among the blind, 
 That, deaf .and silent, read'st the etern;il deep, 
 Haunted forever by the eternal mind — 
 I Mighty prophet ! seer blest ! 
 
 On whom those truths do rest 
 Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
 In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
 Thou, over whom thy immortality 
 Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
 A presence which is not to be put by; 
 Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
 Of hea\'en-born freedom on thy being's height, 
 
ODE ON IMMORTALITY. 127 
 
 Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
 The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
 Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 
 Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, 
 And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
 Heavy as frost and deep almost as life ! 
 
 O joy, that in our embers 
 
 Is something that doth live, 13° 
 
 That nature yet remembers 
 What was so fugitive ! 
 The thought of out past years in me doth breed 
 Perpetual benediction ; not indeed 
 For that which is most worthy to be blest — 
 Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
 Of childhood, whether busy or at rest. 
 With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: 
 Not for these I raise 
 
 The song of thanks and praise ; 140 
 
 But for those obstinate questionings 
 Of sense and outward things, 
 Fallings from us, vanishings. 
 Blank misgivings of a creature 
 Moving about in worlds not realized, 
 High instincts before which our mortal nature 
 Did tremble iike a guilty thing surprised ; 
 But for tliose first affections. 
 Those shadowy recollections, ■ 
 Which, be they what they may, 150 
 
 Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
 Are yet a master light of all our seeing. 
 Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
 Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
 Of the eternal silence : truths that wake, 
 '^.^To perish never. 
 
128 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 
 Nor man nor boy, 
 
 Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
 
 Can utterly abolish or destroy ! i6o 
 
 Hence, in a season of calm weather, 
 Though inland far we be, 
 
 Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
 Which brought us hither, 
 Can in a moment travel thither, 
 
 And see the children sport upon the shore, 
 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 
 
 Then sing, ye birds! sing, sing a joyous song! 
 And let the young lambs bound 
 As to the tabor's sound ! 17° 
 
 We in thought will join your throng, 
 
 Ye that pipe and ye that play. 
 
 Ye that through your hearts to-day 
 
 Feel the gladness of the May ! 
 
 What though the radiance which was once so bright 
 
 Be now forever taken from my sight. 
 
 Though nothing can bring back the hour 
 
 Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower? 
 We will grieve not, ratiier find 
 Strength in what remains behind ; 180 
 
 In the primal sympathy 
 Which, having been, must ever be, •■ 
 In the soothing thoughts that spring 
 Out of human suffering, 
 In the faith that looks through death, 
 
 In years that bring the philosophic mind. 
 
 And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, 
 Think not of any severing of our loves ! 
 
ODE ON IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; 
 
 I only have relinquished one delight 
 
 To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
 
 I love the brooks which down their channels fret, 
 
 Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; 
 
 The innocent brightness of a new-born day 
 
 Is lovely yet ; 
 The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
 Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
 That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
 Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
 Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 
 To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 
 
 129 
 
 WYTHBURN CHURCH. 
 
BROUGHAM CASTLE. 
 
 SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE, 
 
 UPON THE RESTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD, THE SHEPHERD, 
 TO THE ESTATES AND HONOURS OF HIS ANCESTORS. 
 
 High in the breathless hall the minstrel sate, 
 And Eamont's murmur mingled with the song. 
 
 The words of ancient time I thus translate, 
 A festal strain that hath been silent long: 
 
 ' From town to town, from tower to tower, 
 The Red Rose is a gladsome flower. 
 Her thirty years of winter past, 
 The Red Rose is revived at last ; 
 She lifts her head for endless spring, 
 For everlasting blossoming. 
 Both Roses flourish. Red and \Vhite; 
 In love and sisterly delight 
 
SOXG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE. 131 
 
 The two that were at strife are blended, 
 
 And all old troubles now are ended. 
 
 Joy, joy to both ! but most to her 
 
 Who is the flower of Lancaster ! 
 
 Behold her how she smiles to-day 
 
 On this great throng, this bright array! 
 
 Fair greeting doth she send to all 
 
 From every corner of the hall ; 20 
 
 But chiefly from above the board, 
 
 Where sits in state our rightful lord, 
 
 A Clifford to his own restored ! 
 
 'They came with banner, spear, and shield ; 
 
 And it was proved in Bosworth field. 
 
 Not long the Avenger was withstood — 
 
 Earth helped him with the cry of blood. 
 
 Saint George was for us, and the might 
 
 Of blessed angels crowned the right. 
 
 Loud voice the land has uttered forth, 30 
 
 We loudest in the faithful North : 
 
 Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring. 
 
 Our streams proclaim a welcoming; 
 
 Our strong abodes and castles see 
 
 The glory of their loyalty. 
 
 ' How glad is Skipton at this hour. 
 
 Though she is but a lonely tower. 
 
 To vacancy and silence left, 
 
 Of all her guardian sons bereft — 
 
 Knight, squire or yeoman, page or groom ! 40 
 
 We have them at the feast of Brougham. 
 
 How glad Pendragon, though the sleep 
 
 Of years be on her ! She shall reap 
 
 A taste of this great pleasure, viewing 
 
 As in a dream her own renewing. 
 
132 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Rejoiced is Brough, right glad I deem 
 
 Beside her little humble stream, 
 
 And she that keepeth watch and ward 
 
 Her statelier Eden's course to guard ; 
 
 They both are happy at this hour, 5° 
 
 Though each is but a lonely tower : 
 
 But here is perfect joy and pride 
 
 For one fair house by Eamont's side, 
 
 This day distinguished without peer 
 
 To see her master and to cheer — 
 
 Him and his lady mother dear! 
 
 *0, it was a time forlorn 
 
 When the fatherless was born ! 
 
 Give her wings that she may fly, 
 
 Or she sees her infant die ! 60 
 
 Swords that are with slaughter wild 
 
 Hunt the mother and the child. 
 
 Who will take them from the light? 
 
 Yonder is a man in sight; 
 
 Yonder is a house — but where? 
 
 No, they must not enter there. 
 
 To the caves and to the brooks, 
 
 To the clouds of heaven she looks ; 
 
 She is speechless, but her eyes 
 
 Pray in ghostly agonies. 70 
 
 Blissful Mary, Mother mild. 
 
 Maid and Mother iindefiled, 
 
 Save a mother and her child ! 
 
 'Now who is he that bounds with joy 
 On Carrock's side, a shepherd-boy ? 
 No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass 
 Licht as the wind along the grass. 
 
SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE. 133 
 
 Can this be he who hither came 
 
 In secret, like a smothered flame, 
 
 O'er whom such thankful tears were shed 80 
 
 For shelter and a poor man's bread? 
 
 God loves the child ; and God hath willed 
 
 That those dear words should be fulfilled, 
 
 The lady's words, when forced away 
 
 The last she to her babe did say, 
 
 " My own, my own, thy fellow-guest 
 
 I may not be ; but rest thee, rest, 
 
 For lowly shepherd's life is best !" 
 
 ' Alas ! when evil men are strong 
 
 No life is good, no pleasure long. go 
 
 The boy must part from Mosedale's groves, 
 
 And leave Blencathara's rugged coves. 
 
 And quit the flowers that summer brings 
 
 To Glenderamakin's lofty springs — 
 
 Must vanish, and his careless cheer 
 
 Be turned to heaviness and fear. 
 
 Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise ! 
 
 Hear it, good man, old in days ! 
 
 Thou tree of covert and of rest 
 
 For this young bird that is distrest, zoo 
 
 Among thy branches safe he lay, 
 
 And he was free to sport and play 
 
 When falcons were abroad for prey. 
 
 ' A recreant harp that sings of fear 
 And heaviness in Clifford's ear ! 
 I said, when evil men are strong 
 No life is good, no pleasure long — 
 A weak and cowardly untruth ! 
 Our Clifford was a happy youth, 
 
134 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 And thankful through a weary time 
 
 That brought him up to manhoocrs prime. 
 
 Again he wanders forth at will, 
 
 And tends a flock from hill to hill. 
 
 His garb is humble ; ne'er was seen 
 
 Such garb with such a noble mien. 
 
 Among the shepherd-grooms no mate 
 
 Hath he, a child of strength and state, 
 
 Yet lacks not friends for simple glee, 
 
 Nor yet for higher sympathy. 
 
 To his side the fallow-deer 
 
 Came, and rested without fear ; 
 
 The eagle, lord of land and sea, 
 
 Stooped down to pay him fealty ; 
 
 And both the undying fish that swim 
 
 Through Bowscale Tarn did wait on him. 
 
 The pair were servants of his eye 
 
 In their immortality ; 
 
 'J'hey moved about in open sight, 
 
 To and fro, for his delight. 
 
 He knew the rocks which angels haunt 
 
 On the mountains visitant, 
 
 He hath kenned them taking wing; 
 
 And the caves where fairies sing 
 
 He hath entered, and been told 
 
 By voices how men lived of old. 
 
 Among the heavens his eye can see 
 
 Face of thing that is to be ; 
 
 And, if men report him right. 
 
 He could whisper words of might. 
 
 Now another day is come, 
 
 Fitter hope and nobler doom ; 
 
 He hath thrown aside his crook, 
 
 And hath buried deep his book. 
 
 Armour rusting in his halls 
 
.CUNMAIL RAISE. 
 
136 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 On the blood of Clififord calls : 
 
 "Quell the Scot," exclaims the lance; 
 
 Bear me to the heart of France, 
 
 Is the longing of the shield. 
 
 Tell thy name, thou trembling field — 
 
 Field of death, where'er thou be, 150 
 
 Groan thou with our victory ! 
 
 Happy day and mighty hour, . 
 
 When our Shepherd, in his power. 
 
 Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword, 
 
 To his ancestors restored 
 
 Like a reappearing star, 
 
 Like a glory from afar. 
 
 First shall head the flock of war!' 
 
 Alas ! the fervent harper did not know 
 
 That for a tranquil soul the lay was framed, 160 
 
 Who, long compelled in humble walks to go. 
 
 Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed. 
 
 Love had he found in huts where poor men lie ; 
 
 His daily teachers had been woods and rills. 
 The silence that is in the starry sky, 
 
 The sleep that is among the lonely hills. 
 
 In him the savage virtue of the race. 
 
 Revenge, and all ferocious thoughts, were dead : 
 
 Nor did he change, but kept in lofty place 
 
 The wisdom which adversity had bred. 170 
 
 Glad were the vales, and every cottage hearth ; 
 
 The shepherd lord was honoured more and more; 
 And, ages after he was laid in earth, 
 
 ' The good Lord Clifford ' was the name he bore. 
 
LAODAMIA. 127 
 
 LAODAMIA. 
 
 ' With sacrifice, before the rising morn 
 
 Performed, my slaughtered lord have I required ; 
 
 And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn, 
 Him of the infernal gods have I desired. 
 
 Celestial pity I again implore : 
 
 Restore him to my sight, great Jove, restore !' 
 
 So speaking, and by fervent love endowed 
 
 With faith, the suppliant heavenward lifts her hands. 
 
 While, like the sun emerging from a cloud. 
 
 Her countenance brightens and her eye expands; lo 
 
 Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows, 
 
 And she expects the issue in repose. 
 
 O terror ! what hath she perceived ? O joy ! 
 
 What doth she look on } whom doth she behold ? 
 Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy ? 
 
 His vital presence ? his corporeal mould .-• 
 It is — if sense deceive her not — 't is he ! 
 And a god leads him, winged Mercury ! 
 
 Mild Hermes spake, and touched her with his wand 
 That calms all fear: ' Such grace hath crowned thy prayer, 
 
 Laodamia, that at Jove's command 21 
 
 Thy husband walks the patlis of upper air. 
 
 He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space \ 
 
 Accept the gift, behold him face to face !' 
 
138 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Forth sprang the impassioned queen her lord to clasp ; 
 
 Again that consummation she essayed; 
 But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp 
 
 As often as that eager grasp was made. 
 The phantom parts, but parts to reunite 
 And reassume his place before her sight. 30 
 
 ' Protesilaus, lo ! thy guide is gone ! 
 
 Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice : 
 This is our palace, yonder is thy throne ; 
 
 Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice. 
 Not to appall me have the gods bestowed 
 This precious boon and blest a sad abode.' 
 
 ' Great Jove, Laodamia, doth not leave 
 
 His gifts imperfect. Spectre though I be, 
 
 I am not sent to scare thee or deceive; 
 
 But in reward of thy fidelity. 4° 
 
 And something also did my worth obtain ; 
 
 For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain. 
 
 'Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold 
 
 That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand 
 
 Should die ; but me the threat could not withhold. 
 A generous cause a victim did demand ; 
 
 And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain, 
 
 A self-devoted chief — by Hector slain.' 
 
 * Supreme of heroes — bravest, noblest, best ! 
 
 Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, 5° 
 
 Which then, when tens of thousands were depressed 
 
 By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore ; 
 Thou found'st — and I forgive thee — here thou art — - 
 A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. 
 
LAODAMJA. 139 
 
 ' But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 
 
 Wert kind as resolute and good as brave ; 
 And he whose power restores thee hath decreed 
 
 Thou shouldst elude the malice of the grave: 
 Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair 
 As when their breath enriched Thessalian air, 60 
 
 ' No spectre greets me — no vain shadow this ; 
 
 Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side! 
 Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss 
 
 To me this day a second time thy bride !' 
 Jove frowned in heaven ; the conscious Parcae threw 
 Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. 
 
 'This visage tells thee that my doom is past : 
 
 Know, virtue were not virtue if the joys 
 Of sense were able to return as fast 
 
 And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys 7° 
 
 Those raptures duly, Erebus disdains ; 
 Calm pleasures there abide, n)ajestic pains. 
 
 'Be taught, O faithful consort, to control 
 
 Rebellious passion ! for the gods approve 
 The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul, 
 
 A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 
 Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn 
 When I depart, for brief is my sojourn.' 
 
 * Ah, wherefore ? Did not Hercules by force 
 
 Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb 80 
 
 Alcestis, a reanimated corse, 
 
 Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom ? 
 
 Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years, 
 
 And -^son stood a youth 'mid youthful peers. " 
 
140 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ' The gods to us are merciful, and they 
 Yet further ma}' relent \ for mightier far 
 
 Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway 
 Of magic potent over sun and star, 
 
 Is love, though oft to agony distressed, 
 
 And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast. 
 
 ' But if thou goest, I follow.' — ' Peace !' he said. 
 
 She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered ; 
 The ghastly colour from his lips had fled ; 
 
 In his deportment, shape, and mien appeared 
 Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, 
 Brought from a pensive though a happy place. 
 
 He spake of love, such love as spirits feel 
 
 In worlds whose course is equable and pure — 
 
 No fears to beat away, no strife to heal, 
 
 The past unsighed for, and the future sure — 
 
 Spake of heroic arts in graver mood 
 
 Revived, with finer harmony pursued ; 
 
 Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there 
 In happier beauty — more pellucid streams, 
 
 An ampler ether, a diviner air. 
 
 And fields invested with purpureal gleams ; 
 
 Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day 
 
 Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. 
 
 Yet there the soul shall enter which hath earned 
 That privilege by virtue. ' 111,' said he, 
 
 'The end of man's existence I discerned, 
 Who from ignoble games and revelry 
 
 Could draw, when we had parted, vain delight, 
 
 While tears were thy best pastime, day and night; 
 
LAO DAM/A. 141 
 
 ' And while my youthful peers before my eyes — 
 
 Each hero following his peculiar bent- 
 Prepared themselves for glorious enterprise 
 
 By martial sports, or, seated in the tent, 
 Chieftains and kings in counsel were detained, 
 What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. 120 
 
 ' The wished-for wind was given : I then revolved 
 
 The oracle upon the silent sea. 
 And, if no worthier led the way, resolved 
 
 That of a thousand vessels mine should be 
 The foremost prow in pressing to the strand, 
 Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. 
 
 ' Yet bitter, ofttimes bitter, was the pang 
 
 When of thy loss I thought, beloved wife ! 
 On thee too fondly did my memory hang, 
 
 And on the joys we shared in mortal life, 130 
 
 The paths which we have trod — these fountains, flowers, 
 My new-planned cities and unfinished towers. 
 
 * But should suspense permit the foe to cry, 
 " Behold, they tremble! haughty their array, 
 
 Yet of their number no one dares to die !" — 
 In soul I swept the indignity away : 
 
 Old frailties then recurred ; but lofty thought, 
 
 In act embodied, my deliverance wrought. 
 
 'And thou, though strong in love, art all loo weak 
 
 In reason, in self-government too slow; 140 
 
 I counsel thee by fortitude to seek 
 
 Our blest reunion in the shades below. 
 
 The invisible world with thee hath sympathized ; 
 
 Be thy affections raised and solemnized. 
 
14' 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Learn, by a mortal yearning, to ascend 
 
 Towards a higher object. Love was given, 
 
 Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end ; 
 For this the passion to excess was driven — 
 
 That self might be annulled, her bondage prove 
 
 The fetters of a dream, opposed to love,' 150 
 
 Aloud she shrieked, for Hermes reappears ! 
 
 Round the dear shade she would have clung — 't is vain ; 
 The hours are past — too brief had they been years — 
 
 And him no mortal effort can detain. 
 Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day, 
 He through the portal takes his silent way, 
 And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse she lay. 
 
 Ah ! judge her gently who so deeply loved — 
 Her who in reason's spite, yet without crime, 
 
 Was in a trance of passion thus removed ; 160 
 
 Delivered from the galling yoke of time 
 
 And these frail elements, to gather flowers 
 
 Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. 
 
 Yet tears to human suffering are due; 
 
 And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown 
 
 Are mourned by man — and not by man alone. 
 
 As fondly he believes. Upon the side 
 
 Of Hellespont — such faith was entertained — 
 
 A knot of spiry trees for ages grew 
 
 From out the tomb of him for whom she died ; 17° 
 
 And ever, when sucii stature they had gained 
 
 That Ilium's walls were subject to their view. 
 
 The trees' tall summits withered at the sight — 
 
 A constant interchange of growth and blight! 
 
YARJWIV VISITED. 
 
 YARROW VISITED, September, 1814. 
 
 And is this — Yarrow? This the stream 
 
 Of which my fancy cherished 
 So faithfully a waking dream? 
 
 An image that hath perished ! 
 O that some minstrel's harp were near 
 
 To utter notes of gladness, 
 And chase this silence from the air 
 
 That fills my heart with sadness ! 
 
 Yet why? a silvery current flows 
 
 With uncontrolled meanderings ; 
 Nor have these eyes by greener hills 
 
 Been soothed in all my wanderings. 
 And through her depths Saint Mary's Lake 
 
 Is visibly delighted ; 
 For not a feature of those hills 
 
 Is in the mirror slighted. 
 
 A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow vale, 
 
 Save where that pearly whiteness 
 Is round the rising sun diff"used, 
 
 A tender hazy lorightness ; 
 Mild dawn of promise! that excludes 
 
 All profitless dejection, 
 Though not unwilling here to admit 
 
 A pensive recollection. 
 
 Where was it that the famous Flower 
 
 Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? 
 His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 
 
 On which the herd is feeding; 
 
 143 
 
144 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 And haply from this crystal pool, 
 
 Now peaceful as the morning, 
 The water-wraith ascended thrice, 
 
 And gave his doleful warning. 
 
 Delicious is the lay that sings 
 
 The haunts of happy lovers, 
 The path that leads them to the grove, 
 
 The leafy grove that covers ; 
 And pity sanctifies the verse 
 
 That paints, by strength of sorrow, 
 The unconquerable strength of love — 
 
 Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 
 
 But thou, that didst appear so fair 
 
 To fond imagination, «s 
 
 Dost rival in the light of day 
 
 Her delicate creation ; 
 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 
 
 A softness still and holy, 
 The grace of forest charms decayed 
 
 And pastoral melancholy. 
 
 That region left, the vale unfolds 
 
 Rich groves of lofty stature, 
 With Yarrow winding through the pomp 
 
 Of cultivated nature ; 
 And, rising from those lofty groves. 
 
 Behold a ruin hoary ! 
 The shattered front of Newark's towers. 
 
 Renowned in Border story. 
 
 Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom. 
 For sportive youth to stray in, 
 
 For manhood to enjoy his strength, 
 And age to wear away in ! 
 
146 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, 
 
 A covert for protection 
 Of tender thoughts that nestle there, 
 
 The brood of chaste affection. 
 
 How sweet, on this autumnal day, 
 
 The wild-wood fruits to gather. 
 And on my true-love's forehead plant 
 
 A crest of blooming heather ! 
 And what if I enwreathed my own ? 
 
 'T were no offence to reason ; 
 The sober hills thus deck their brows 
 
 To meet the wintry season. 
 
 I see — but not by sight alone, 
 
 Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 
 A ray of fancy still survives — 
 
 Her sunshine plays upon thee ! 
 Thy ever-youthful waters keep 
 
 A course of lively pleasure ; 
 And gladsome notes my lips can breathe. 
 
 Accordant to the measure. 
 
 The vapours linger round the heights — 
 
 They melt, and soon must vanish \ 
 One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — 
 
 Sad thought, which I would banish, 
 But that I know, where'er I go. 
 
 Thy genuine image. Yarrow, 
 Will dwell with me — to heighten joy. 
 
 And cheer my mind in sorrow. 
 
TO B. R. IIAYDON.— NOVEMBER i. ^^^ 
 
 TO B. R. HAYDON. 
 
 High is our calling, friend ! Creative art — ■ 
 Whether the instrument of words she use 
 Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues — 
 Demands the service of a mind and heart, 
 Though sensitive, yet in their weakest part 
 Heroically fashioned, to infuse 
 Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse 
 While the whole world seems adverse to desert. 
 And O, when Nature sinks, as oft she may, 
 Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress, 
 Still to be strenuous for the bright reward 
 And in the soul admit of no decay, 
 Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness — 
 Great is the glory, for the strife is hard ! 
 
 NOVEMBER i. 
 
 How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright 
 
 The effluence from yon distant mountain's head. 
 
 Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky can shed, 
 
 Shines like another sun — on mortal sight 
 
 Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night 
 
 And all her twinkling stars ! Who now would tread, 
 
 If so he might, yon mountain's glittering head — 
 
 Terrestrial, but a surface by the flight 
 
 Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing 
 
 Unswept, unstained ? Nor shall the aerial powers 
 
I4& 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure, 
 
 White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure, 
 
 Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring 
 
 Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers. 
 
 INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAM- 
 BRIDGE. 
 
 Tax not the royal saint with vain expense. 
 
 With ill-matched aims the architect who planned. 
 
 Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
 
 Of white-robed scholars only, this immense 
 
 And glorious work of fine intelligence ! 
 
 Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 
 
 Of nicely calculated less or more. 
 
 So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense 
 
 These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof, 
 
 Self-poised and scooped into ten thousand cells. 
 
 Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 
 
 Lingering and wandering on as loath to die ; 
 
 Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 
 
 That they were born for immortality. 
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 Etherkal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! 
 
 Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? 
 Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
 
 Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? — 
 
'SCORJV NOT THE SONNET: 
 
 Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
 Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! 
 
 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 
 
 A privacy of glorious h'ght is thine, 
 Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
 
 Of harmony with instinct more divine 
 
 Type of the wise who soar, but never roam, 
 True to the kindred points of heaven and home! 
 
 ijf? 
 
 'SCORN NOT THE SONNET.' 
 
 Scorn not the sonnet ; critic, you have frowned, 
 Mmdiess of its just honours. With this key 
 Shakespeare unlocked his heart ; the melody 
 Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound ; 
 A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound ; 
 Camoens soothed with it an exile's ^x'\q{ ■ 
 The sonnet glittered a gay myrtle letaf 
 Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned 
 His visionary brow; a glowworm lamp. 
 It cheered-mild Spenser, called from fairy-land 
 To struggle through dark ways ; and when a damp 
 Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 
 The thuig became a trumpet, whence he blew 
 Soul-animating strains— alas, too few! 
 
155 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF IVOKDSIVOKTU. 
 
 THE WISHING-GATE. 
 
 Hope rules a land forever green : 
 
 All powers that serve the bright-eyed queen 
 
 Are confident and gay ; 
 Clouds at her bidding disappear ; 
 Points she to aught? the bliss draws near, 
 
 And fancy smooths the way. 
 
 Not such the land of wishes — there 
 Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer. 
 
 And thoughts with things at strife ; 
 Yet how forlorn, should ye depart, 
 Ye superstitions of the heart. 
 
 How poor were human life ! 
 
 When magic lore abjured its might, 
 Ye did not forfeit one dear right, 
 
 One tender claim abate ; 
 Witness this symbol of your sway, 
 Surviving near the public way— 
 
 The rustic Wishing-gate ! 
 
 Inquire not if the fiiiry race 
 
 Shed kindly influence on the place 
 
 Ere northward they retired ; 
 If here a warrior left a spell, 
 Panting for glory as he fell, 
 
 Or here a saint expired. 
 
 Enough that all around is fair. 
 Composed with Nature's finest care 
 
THE WISHING-GATE. 
 
^52 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 And in her fondest love — 
 Peace to embosom and content, 
 To overawe the turbulent, 
 
 The selfish to reprove. 
 
 Yea, even the stranger from afar, 
 Reclining on this moss-grown bar. 
 
 Unknowing and unknown. 
 The infection of the ground partakes. 
 Longing for his beloved, who makes 
 
 All happiness her own. 
 
 Then why should conscious spirits fear 
 The mystic stirrings that are here, 
 
 The ancient faith disclaim? 
 The local genius ne'er befriends 
 Desires whose course in folly ends, 
 
 Whose just reward is shame. 
 
 Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, 
 If some, by ceaseless pains outworn. 
 
 Here crave an easier lot ; 
 If some have thirsted to renew 
 A broken vow, or bind a true 
 
 With firmer, holier knot. 
 
 And not in vain, when thoughts are cast 
 Upon the irrevocable past. 
 
 Some penitent sincere 
 May for a worthier future sigh. 
 While trickles from his downcast eye 
 
 No unavailing tear. 
 
 The worldling, pining to be freed 
 From turmoil, who would turn or speed 
 The currrent of his fate. 
 
THE PRIMROSE OE THE ROCK. 
 
 Might stop before this favoured scene 
 At Nature's call, nor blush to lean 
 Upon the Wishing-gate. 
 
 The sage, who feels how blind, how weak 
 Is man, though loathe such help to seek, 
 
 Yet passing here might pause, 
 And yearn for insight to allay 
 Misgiving, while the crimson day 
 
 In quietness withdraws, 
 
 Or when the church-clock's knell profound 
 To Time's first step across the bound 
 
 Of midnight makes reply — 
 Time pressing on with starry crest 
 To filial sleep upon the breast 
 
 Of dread Eternitv! 
 
 153 
 
 THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 
 
 A ROCK there is whose homely front 
 
 The passing traveller slights; 
 Yet there the glowworms hang their lamps, 
 
 Like stars, at various heights, 
 And one coy primrose to that rock 
 
 The vernal breeze invites. 
 
 What hideous warfare hath been waged, 
 
 What kingdoms overthrown. 
 Since first I spied that primrose-tuft 
 
 And marked it for my own, 
 A lasting link in Nature's chain 
 
 From highest heaven let down ! 
 
154 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The flowers, still faithful to the stems, 
 
 Their fellowship renew ; 
 The stems are faithful to tiie root, 
 
 That worketh out of view ; 
 And to the rock the root adheres, 
 
 In every fibre true. 
 
 Close clings to earth the living rock, 
 Though threatening still to fall ; 
 
 The earth is constant to her sphere ; 
 And God upholds them all : 
 
 So blooms this lonely plant, nor dreads 
 Her annual funeral. 
 
 Here closed the meditative strain; 
 
 But air breathed soft that day, 
 The hoary mountain-heights were cheered. 
 
 The sunny vale looked gay, 
 And to the primrose of the rock 
 
 I gave this after-lay. 
 
 I sang — Let myriads of bright flowers, 
 
 Like thee, in field and grove 
 Revive unenvied. Mightier far 
 
 Than tremblings that reprove 
 Our vernal tendencies to hope. 
 
 Is God's redeeming love ; 
 
 That love which changed — tor wan disease, 
 
 For sorrow that had bent 
 O'er hopeless dust, for withered age — 
 
 Their moral element. 
 And turned the thistles of a curse 
 
 To types beneficent. 
 
VA/^/<OlV REVISITED. 155 
 
 Sin-blighted though we are, we too, 
 
 The reasoning sons of men, 
 From one oblivious winter called, 
 
 Shall rise and breathe again, 
 And in eternal summer lose 
 
 Our threescore years and ten. 
 
 To humbleness of heart descends 
 
 This prescience from on high, 5° 
 
 The faith that elevates the just 
 
 Before and when they die, 
 And makes each soul a separate heaven, 
 
 A court for Deity. 
 
 YARROW REVISITED. 
 
 The gallant youth, who may have gained, 
 
 Or seeks, a 'winsome Marrow,' 
 Was but an infant in the lap 
 
 When first I looked on Yarrow ; 
 Once more, by Newark's castle-gate 
 
 Long left without a warder, 
 I stood, looked, listened, and with thee. 
 
 Great Minstrel of the Border ! 
 
 Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day. 
 
 Their dignity installing 
 In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves 
 
 Were on the bough or falling ; 
 But breezes played and sunshine gleamed, 
 
 The forest to embolden. 
 Reddened the fiery hues and shot 
 
 Transparence through the golden. 
 
1^6 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 For busy ihoughts the stream flowed on 
 
 In foamy agitation, 
 And slept in many a crystal pool 
 
 For quiet contemplation. 
 No public and no private care 
 
 The freeborn mind enthralling, 
 We made a day of happy hours, 
 
 Our happy days recalling. 
 
 Brisk youth appeared, the morn of youth, 
 
 With freaks of graceful folly — 
 Life's temperate noon, her sober eve. 
 
 Her night not melancholy; 
 Past, present, future, all appeared 
 
 In harmony united, 
 Like guests that meet, and some from far, 
 
 By cordial love invited. 
 
 And if, as Yarrow, through the woods 
 
 And down the meadow ranging. 
 Did meet us with unaltered face. 
 
 Though we were changed and changing — 
 If then some natural shadows spread 
 
 Our inward prospect over. 
 The soul's deep valley was not slow 
 
 Its brightness to recover. 
 
 Eternal blessings on the Muse 
 
 And her divine employment! 
 The blameless Muse, who trains her sons 
 
 For hope and calm enjoyment. 
 Albeit sickness, lingering yet. 
 
 Has o'er their piMow brooded. 
 And Care waylays their steps — a sprite 
 
 Not easily eluded. 
 
157 
 
 5° 
 
 YARROW REVISITED. 
 
 For thee, O Scott, compelled to change 
 
 Green Eildon-hill and Cheviot 
 For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes, 
 
 And leave thy Tweed and Teviot 
 For mild Sorrento's breezy waves, 
 
 May classic Fancy, linking 
 With native Fancy her fresh aid, 
 
 Preserve thy heart from sinking! 
 
 O, while they minister to thee, 
 
 Each vying with the other, 
 May Health return to mellow age 
 
 With Strength, her venturous brother, 60 
 
 And Tiber, and each brook and rill 
 
 Renowned in song and story. 
 With unimagined beauty shine, 
 
 Nor lose one ray of glory ! 
 
 For thou, upon a hundred streams. 
 
 By tales of love and sorrow. 
 Of faithful love, undaunted truth. 
 
 Hast shed the power of Yarrow ; 
 And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, 
 
 Wherever they invite thee 70 
 
 At parent Nature's grateful call, 
 
 With gladness must requite thee. 
 
 A gracious welcome shall be thine. 
 
 Such looks of love and honour 
 As thy own Yarrow gave to me 
 
 When first I gazed upon her, 
 r>eheld what I had feared to see. 
 
 Unwilling to surrender 
 Dreams treasured up from early days. 
 
 The holy and the tender. g„ 
 
158 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 And what, for this frail world, were all 
 
 That mortals do or suffer, 
 Did no responsive harp, no pen, 
 
 Memorial tribute offer? 
 Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? 
 
 Her features, could they win us, 
 Unhelped by the poetic voice 
 
 That hourly speaks within us? 
 
 Nor deem that localized romance 
 
 Plays false with our affections, 
 Unsanctifies our tears — made sport 
 
 For fanciful dejections. 
 Ah, no ! the visions of the past 
 
 Sustain the heart in feeling 
 Life as she is — our changeful life. 
 
 With friends and kindred dealing. 
 
 Bear witness ye whose thoughts that day 
 
 In Yarrow's groves were centred. 
 Who through the silent portal arch 
 
 Of mouldering Newark entered, 
 And clomb the winding stair that once 
 
 Too timidly was mounted 
 By the Mast minstrel' — not the last! — 
 
 Ere he his tale recounted. 
 
 Flow on forever, Yarrow stream ! 
 
 Fulfil thy pensive duty, 
 Well pleased that future bards should chant 
 
 For simple hearts thy beauty ; 
 To dream-light dear while yet unseen, 
 
 Dear to the common sunshine, 
 And dearer still, as now I feel, 
 
 To memory's shadowy moonshine ! 
 
i6o SELECT rOEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 FROM ABBOTSFORD FOR NAPLES. 
 
 A TROUBLE, not of cloucls or weeping rain, 
 
 Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light 
 
 Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height. 
 
 Spirits of power, assembled there, complain 
 
 For kindred power departing from their sight ; 
 
 While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain. 
 
 Saddens his voice again and yet again. 
 
 Lift up your hearts, ye mourners ! for the might 
 
 Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; 
 
 Blessings and prayers, in nobler retinue 
 
 Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows, 
 
 Follow this wondrous potentate. Be true. 
 
 Ye winds of ocean and the midland sea, 
 
 Wafting your charge to soft Parthenope ! 
 
 DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS. 
 
 " Not to the earth confined, 
 Ascend to heaven." 
 
 Where will they stop, those breathing powers, 
 
 The spirits of the new-born flowers? 
 
 They wander with the breeze, they wind 
 
 Where'er the streams a passage find ; 
 
 Up from their native ground they rise 
 
 In mute aerial harmonies. 
 
 From iiumble violet, modest thyme. 
 
DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS. i6i 
 
 Exhaled, the essential odours climb, 
 
 As if no space below the sky 
 
 Their subtle flight could satisfy. lo 
 
 Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride 
 
 If like ambition be their guide. 
 
 Roused by tliis kindliest of May-showers, 
 The spirit-quickener of the flowers, 
 That with moist virtue softly cleaves 
 The buds and freshens the young leaves, 
 The birds pour forth their souls in notes 
 Of rapture from a thousand throats — 
 Here checked by too impetuous haste, 
 While there the music runs to waste, 20 
 
 With bounty more and more enlarged. 
 Till the whole air is overcharged. 
 Give ear, O man, to their appeal 
 And thirst for no inferior zeal. 
 Thou who canst think as well as feel ! 
 
 Mount from the earth ! aspire, aspire ! 
 So pleads the town's cathedral choir 
 In strains that from their solemn height 
 Sink, to attain a loftier flight ; 
 
 While incense from the altar breathes 30 
 
 Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths. 
 Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds 
 The taper-lights and curls in clouds 
 Around angelic forms, the still 
 Creation of the painter's skill, 
 That on the service wait concealed 
 One moment, and the next revealed. 
 Cast off" your bonds, awake, arise, 
 And for no transient ecstasies ! 
 
 What else can mean the visual plea 40 
 
 Of still or moving imagery — 
 The iterated summons loud, 
 
 1 1 
 
1 62 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Not wasted on the attendant crowd, 
 Nor wholly lost upon the throng 
 Hurrying the busy streets along? 
 Alas ! the sanctities combined 
 By art to unsensualize the mind 
 Decay and languish, or, as creeds 
 And humours change, are spurned like weeds ! 
 The priests are from their altars thrust, 5° 
 
 Temples are levelled with the dust, 
 And solemn rites and awful forms 
 Founder amid fanatic storms. 
 Yet evermore, through years renewed 
 In undisturbed vicissitude 
 Of seasons balancing their flight 
 On the swift wings of day and night, 
 Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door 
 Wide open for the scattered poor. 
 • Where flower-breathed incense to the skies oo 
 
 Is wafted in mute harmonies. 
 And ground fresh-cloven by the plough 
 Is fragrant with a humbler vow, 
 Where birds and brooks from leafy dells 
 Chime forth unwearied canticles, 
 And vapours magnify and spread 
 The glory of the sun's bright head — 
 Still constant in her worship, still 
 Conforming to the Eternal Will, 
 
 Whether men sow or reap the fields, 70 
 
 Divine monition Nature yields 
 That not by bread alone we live 
 Or what a hand of flesh can give. 
 That every day should leave some part 
 Free for a Sabbath of the heart : 
 So shall the seventh be truly blest. 
 From morn to eve with hallowed rest. 
 
MOSSGIEL FARM. 
 
 MOSSGIEL FARM. 
 
 163 
 
 ' There,' said a stripling, pointing with meet pride 
 Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, 
 ' Is Mossgiel Farm ; and that 's the very field 
 Where Burns ploughed up the daisy.' Far^and wide 
 A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried 
 Above sea-clouds, the peaks of Arran rose ; 
 And by that simple notice the repose 
 Of earth, sky, sea, and air was vivified. 
 Beneath ' the random bield of clod or stone ' 
 Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower 
 Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour 
 Have passed away ; less happy than the one 
 That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove 
 The tender charm of poetry and love. 
 
 MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UNUPLIFTED EYES. 
 
 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 
 
 To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 
 
 While a fair region round the traveller lies 
 
 Which he forbears again to look upon ; 
 
 Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 
 
 The work of fancy, or some happy tone 
 
 Of meditation, slipping in between 
 
 The beauty coming and the beauty gone. 
 
 If Thought and Love desert' us, from that day 
 
 Let us break off all commerce with the Muse. 
 
 With Thought and Love companions of our way, 
 
 Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, 
 
 The mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 
 
 Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 
 
1 64 SELECT POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. 
 
 A POET!— HE HATH PUT HIS HEART TO 
 SCHOOL.' 
 
 A poet! — he hath put his heart to school, 
 Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff 
 Which art hath lodged within his hand — must laugh 
 By precept only and shed tears by rule. 
 Thy art be nature •, the live current quaff, 
 And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool, 
 In fear that else, when critics grave and cool 
 Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph. 
 How does the meadow-flower its bloom unfold ? 
 Because the lovely little flower is free 
 Down to its root, and in that freedom bold ; 
 And so the grandeur of the forest-tree 
 Comes not by casting in a formal mould, 
 But from its own divine vitality. 
 
 'GLAD SIGHT WHEREVER NEW WITH OLD.' 
 
 Glad sight wherever new with old 
 
 Is joined through some dear homeborn tie ; 
 The life of all that we behold 
 
 Depends upon that mystery. 
 Vain is the glory of the sky, 
 
 The beauty vain of field and grove, 
 Unless, while with admiring eye 
 
 We gaze, we also learn to love. 
 
NOTES. 
 
ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES. 
 
 Cf. (confer), compare. 
 F. Q., Spenser's Faerie Queene. 
 Fol., following. 
 Id. (idem), the same. 
 
 K. or Knight, Prof. Wm. Knight's ed. of Wordsworth (Edinburgh, 18S2-86). 
 Myers, Mr. F. VV. H. Myers's Wordsworth (see p. 10, foot-note). 
 A'ew Eng. Did., the,Philological Society's New English Dictionary, edited by J. 
 A. H. Murray (Oxford, 1885). 
 
 T., Mr. H. \i.'X\xcmx'% Selections from lVords7uortli (hondon, 1874) 
 W., Wordsworth. 
 
 Other abbreviations will be readily understood. The line-numbers in the references 
 to Shakespeare are those of the " Globe" edition, which vary from those of Rolfe's edi- 
 tion only in scenes that are wholly or partly in prose. 
 
 Note. — The quotations from Principal Shairp are from his Studies in Poetry and 
 Philosoplty (1876) and his Aspects of Poetry (1881). These, with his Poetic Interpre- 
 tation of Nature (1877), we heartily commend to teachers and students. All three have 
 been reprinted in this country (Boston). In Stopford Brooke's Theology in the Eng- 
 lish Po,ts (London) nearly two hundred pages (93-286) are devoted to Wordsworth. 
 Mr. A. J. Symington's William ]\'ordsuiorth, a Biographical Slcetch (CA^sgow, 1881I 
 may be added to the books mentioned on p. 10 (foot-note). 'I'he best complete edition 
 of the poet is Knight's, mentioned above, in eight octavo volumes ; and the next best is 
 that in one volume published by Macmillan & Co. (London and New York) in 1888. 
 I'he best Selectio-iisfrom Wordsworth are Matthew Arnold's (see p. 22, foot-note) and 
 the one edited by Knight and other members of the English Wordsworth Society (Lon- 
 don, 18S1) ; both being on a more extended scale than the present volume. The Words- 
 worthiana, edited by Knight (Macmillan, 1889), is an admirable .selection from the 
 papers read to the Wordsworth Society, of which Mr. Hutton's (p. 167 fol. above) may 
 serve as a sample. 
 
THE WORDSWORTH GRAVES, GRASMERE CHUHCHVARD. 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "On Wordsworth's Two Styles," hy Mr. R. H. Hutton.* — 
 " The essential feature of Wordsworth's poetry has been described by 
 the greatest of our living critics in language that none of our Society is 
 at all likely to forget. After speaking of Goethe's experience of the 
 Iron Age, Matthew Arnold says of Wordsworth: 
 
 ' He too upon a wintry clime 
 Had fallen — on this iron time 
 Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears- 
 He found us when the age had bound 
 Our souls in its benumbing round ; 
 He spoke and loosed our heart in tears. 
 He laid us as we lay at birth 
 On the cool flowery lap of earth. 
 
 * Read to the Wordsworth Society, May, 1882, and printed in IVords-Morthiana, p. 
 63 fol. 
 
J 68 NOTES. 
 
 Smiles broke from us and we had ease ; 
 The hills were round us, and the breeze 
 Went oer the sunlit fields again ; 
 Our foreheads felt the wind and rain. 
 Our youth returned ; for there was shed 
 On spirits that had long been dead, 
 Spirits dried up and closely furled, 
 The freshness of the early world. 
 Ah ! since dark days still bring to li;jht 
 Man's prudence and man's fiery might, 
 Time may restore us in his course 
 Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force ; 
 l>ut where will Kurope's latter hour 
 Again find Wordsworth's healing power? 
 Others will teach us how to dare, 
 And against fear our breast to steel ; 
 Others will strengthen us to bear; 
 But who, ah! who will make us feel? 
 Tlie cloud of mortal destiny. 
 Others will front it fearlessly ; 
 But who, like him, will put it by?' 
 
 I think this is rightly chosen as the characteristic of Wordsworth's poe- 
 try, that he puts by for us the ' cloud of mortal destiny,' that he restores 
 us the ' freshness of the early world ;' that he gives us back the magic 
 circle of the hills, makes us feel the breath of the wind and the coolness 
 of the rain upon our foreheads; and touches both the vigour of youth 
 and the peace of age with more of that serene lustre which dew gives to 
 the flowers than any other poet. But the same great critic has assured 
 us that, properly speaking, Wordsworth has no style, ' no assured poetic 
 style of his own;' and this though he freely admits that ' it is style, and the 
 elevation given by style, which chiefly makes the ed'ectiveness of Laoda- 
 inia.' For my part I should have said that as to Wordsworth's blank 
 verse Mr. Arnold is right; that in his blank verse Wordsworth is so de- 
 pendent on his matter that he runs through almost all styles, good and 
 bad. But in his rhymed verse I should have preferred to say — though 
 the admission may, perhaps, be used on behalf of Mr. Arnold's drift — 
 that Wordsworth had two distinct styles — the style of his youth and the 
 style of his age — the elastic style of fresh energy, born of his long devo- 
 tion to Nature's own rhythms, and the style of gracious and stately feel- 
 ing, born of his benignity, of his deepset, calm symj)athy with human 
 feeling — the style of The SoIita7y Reaper, and the style of Devotional 
 Incitements. Surely the style of the ver.se, 
 
 ' Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
 And sings .T melancholy strain ; 
 O, listen, for the vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound !' 
 
 is Wordsworth's, in as true a sense as the style of ' After life's fitful fe- 
 ver he sleeps well,' is Shakespeare's. Or again, is there not the person- 
 al stamp of Wordsworth indelibly imprinted on every line in the Song 
 at the Feast of Bnntghetm Castle '/ 
 
 ' No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass 
 Light as the wind along the grass. 
 Can this be he who hither came 
 In secret, like a smothered flame?' 
 
introduction: 169 
 
 Less personal, certainly less indelibly branded with Wordsworth's hand, 
 is what I call the later style. Still, I think such lines as these, in the 
 Devotional Incitements, describing the comparatively slight power of 
 Art, when compared with Nature, to excite reverence, have on them an 
 indelible impress of Wordsworth's developed genius, in its gracious, 
 pure, and serene solemnity : 
 
 ' The priests are fi om their ahars thrust ; 
 Temples are levelled with the dust ; 
 And solemn rites and awful forms 
 Founder amid fanatic storms. 
 Yet evermore, through years renewed 
 In undisturbed vicissitude 
 Of seasons balancing their fliglit 
 On the swift wings of day and night, 
 Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door 
 Wide open for the scattered poor.' 
 
 " The most characteristic earlier and the most characteristic later style 
 are alike in the limpid coolness of their effect — the effect in the earlier 
 style of bubbling water, in the later of morning dew. Both' alike lay the 
 dust, and take us out of the fret of life, and restore the trutli to feeling, 
 and cast over the vision of the universe 
 
 ' The image of a poet's heart, 
 How bright, how solemn, how serene !' 
 
 But the earlier and the later styles, even in their best specimens, do this 
 in very different ways, while the inferior specimens of each are marked 
 by very different faults. As models of the two styles at their best, I 
 would take, for instance. The Daffodils for the earlier, and The Prim- 
 rose of the Rock for the later; Yarroiu Unvisited for the earlier, and 
 Yarrow Revisited for the later; The leech-gatherer (or as Wordsworth 
 rather cumbrously called it. Resolution and Tidepoidence) for the earlier, 
 and Laodaniia for the later style. The chief diflerences between the two 
 styles seem to me these: That objective fact, especially when appealing 
 to the sense of vision, sometimes utterly bald and trivial, though often 
 very commanding in its effects, plays so much larger a part in the earlier 
 than the later ; that the earlier, when it reaches its mark at all, has a 
 pure elasticity, a passionless buoyancy (passionless, I mean, in the sense 
 of being devoid of the hotter passions) in it, almost unique in poetry; 
 and lastly, that in the greater of the earlier pieces emotion is uniformly 
 suggested rather than expressed; or, if I may be allowed the paradox, 
 expressed by reticence, by the jealous parsimony of a half-voluntary, half- 
 involuntary reserve. In the later style, on the other hand, objective fact 
 is much less prominent; bald moralities tend to take the place of bald 
 realities; and though the buoyancy is much diminished, emotion is much 
 more freely, frankly, and tenderly expressed, so that there is often in it a 
 richness and mellowness of effect quite foreign to Wordsworth's earlier 
 mood. The ruggedness of the earlier style is what one may call one of 
 knots and flinty protuberances; there is an occasional bleakness about it; 
 the passion with which passion is kept down, though often exalted, is 
 sometimes hard; there is a scorn of sweetness, an excess of simplicity, 
 which frequently touches siinplesse; and though the depth of feeling 
 
170 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 which is clammed up makes its surging voice heard in the happier in- 
 stances, yet in the less happy instances the success of the operation is 
 only too great, and leaves us oppressed with a sense of unexpected 
 blankness. 
 
 " In the later style, all this is changed. The keenness of sheer ob- 
 jective vision is still felt, but is less dominant; while emotion, no longer 
 restrained, flows naturally, and with a sweet and tender lustre shining 
 upon it, into musical expression. I may illustrate the difTerence be- 
 tween the two styles, so far as regards the degrees of their direct expres- 
 siveness, by a characteristic change which Wordsworth made in his later 
 editions in the beautiful poem entitled The Fountain. The poet, it 
 will be remembered, there remonstrates with the schoolmaster, whom he 
 calls Matthew, for speaking of himself as unloved in his old age : 
 
 ' Now both himself and me lie wrongs, 
 
 The man who thus complains! 
 I live and sing my idle songs 
 
 Upon these happy plains ; 
 And, Matthew, for thy children dead, 
 
 I '11 be a son to thee." 
 At this he grasped his hands, and said, 
 
 "Alas, that cannot be!'' 
 
 In the later editions, Wordsworth altered this to 
 
 ' At this he grasped my hand, and said, 
 "Alas, that cannot be!"' 
 
 The earlier reading looks like hard fact, and no doubt sounds a little 
 rough and abrupt. But I feel pretty sure, not only that the earlier ver- 
 sion expressed the truth as it was present to Wordsworth's inner eye 
 when he wrote the poem, but that it agreed better with the mood of those 
 earlier years, wiien the old man's wringing of his own hands, in a sort of 
 passion of protest against the notion that any one could take the place 
 of his lost child, would have seemed much more natural and dignified to 
 Wordsworth than the mere kindly expression of grateful feeling for 
 which he subsequently exchanged it. 
 
 " Now I will go a little into detail. Contrast the power, which is 
 very marked in both cases, of the poem on The Daffodils, with that on 
 The Primrose of the Roek. You all know the wonderful buoyancy of 
 that poem on the daffodils — the reticent passion with which the poet's 
 delight is expressed, not by dwelling on feeling, but by selecting as a fit 
 comparison to that ' crowd ' and ' host ' of golden daffodils the impression 
 produced on the eye by the continuousness of ' the stars that shine and 
 sparkle in the Milky Way,' the effect of wind, and of the exultation 
 which, wind produces, in the lines, 
 
 ' Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance ;' 
 
 and in the rivalry suggested between them and the waves: 
 
 ' The waves beside them danced, but they 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee.' 
 
 You all know the exiiuisitc simplicity of the conclusion, when the poet 
 tells us that, as often as they recur to his mind, and 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 — ' flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude,' 
 
 171 
 
 his heart 'with pleasure fills, and dances with the daifodils.' 
 
 " The great beauty of that poem is its wonderful buoyancy, its purely 
 objective way of conveying that buoyancy, and the extraordinary vivid- 
 ness with which ' the lonely rapture of lonely minds ' is stamped upon 
 the whole poem, which is dated 1804. Now turn to The Primivsc of 
 the Rock, which was written twenty-seven years later, in 1831. We find 
 the style altogether more ideal — reality counts for less, symbol for more. 
 There is far less elasticity, far less exultant buoyancy here, and yet a 
 grander and more stately movement. The reserve of power has almost 
 disappeared; but there is a graciousness absent before, and the noble 
 strength of the last verse is most gentle strength: 
 
 ' A rock there is whose homely front 
 The passing traveller slights ; 
 Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, 
 
 Like stars, at various heights ; 
 And one coy primrose to that rock 
 The vernal breeze invites. 
 
 ' What hideous warfare hath been waged, 
 
 What kingdoms overthrown, 
 Since first I spied that primrose-tuft 
 
 And marked it for my own ; 
 A lasting link in Nature's chain. 
 
 From highest heaven let down ! 
 
 ' The flowers, still faithful to the stems, 
 
 Their fellowship renew ; 
 The stems are faithful to the root. 
 
 That worketh out of view ; 
 And to the rock the root adheres 
 
 In every fibre true. 
 
 ' Close clings to earth the living rock, 
 
 Though threatening still to fall ; 
 The earth is constant to her sphere. 
 
 And God upholds them all : 
 So blooms this lonely plant, nor dreads 
 
 Her annual funeral.' 
 
 " It will be observed at once that in 7"//!? Daffodils there is no attempt 
 to explain the delight which the gay spectacle raised in the poet's heart. 
 He exults in the spectacle itself, and reproduces it continually in mem- 
 ory. The wind in his style blows as the wind blows in The Daffodils, 
 with a sort of physical rapture. In the later poem the symbol is every- 
 thing. The mind pours itself forth fully in reflective gratitude, as it 
 glances at the moral overthrow which the humble primrose of the rock — 
 and many things of human mould as humble and faithful, as the prim- 
 rose of the rock — has outlived. In point of mere expression, I should 
 call the later poem the more perfect of the two. The enjoyment of the 
 first lies in the intensity of the feeling which it somehow indicates with- 
 out expressing, of which it merely hints the force by its eager and springy 
 movement. 
 
 " Now, take the earliest and latest Yarrow, and note the same difTer- 
 
172 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 ence. How swift and bare and rapid, like the stream itself, as Words- 
 worth chooses to describe it — 
 
 ' A river bare 
 That glides tlie dark hills under ' — 
 
 is the verse in which he depreciates the reality, in order to enhance the 
 treasure of an unverified vision! Yarrow is represented as a fit home 
 chiefly for the country-people who go to market at Selkirk, and for the 
 wild birds-and ground game which fiy and burrow beside it: 
 
 ' Let Yarrow folk frae Selkirk Town, 
 
 Who have been buying, selling. 
 Go back to Yarrow — "t is their own — • 
 
 Eacli maiden to her dwelling. 
 On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 
 
 Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ; 
 But we will downward with the Tweed, 
 
 Nor turn aside to Yarrow.' 
 
 The charm of that is the charm of a perfectly bare representation of a 
 perfectly simple scene, enhanced by the suggestion which lurks every- 
 where that the common facts of life are pretty certain to seem common, 
 unless, indeed, you bring an imagination strong enough to transfigure 
 them; while if you do, the poet insists that the true magic is in you, and 
 not in the scene, since it is independent of the actual vision on which 
 the mind seems to feed. The beauty of the verse is almost all confined 
 to the thought itself; the only touch of extraneous beauty is the care- 
 less suggestion that 'the swan on still Saint Mary's Lake' may, if it 
 pleases, ' float double, swan and shadow,' without tempting them aside 
 to see it; and even that seems put in only to suggest, as it were, how 
 greatly the power of vividly imagining even such a sight as this exceeds 
 in significance the power which the mere eyes possess of discerning love- 
 liness even where they have taken in the forms and colour which ought 
 to suggest it. The whole beauty of the verses is in their bareness. The 
 poem may be said to have for its very subject the economy of imagina- 
 tive force, the wantonness of poetic prodigality, the duty of retaining in 
 the heart reserves of potential and meditative joy, on which you refuse 
 to draw all you might draw of actual delight: 
 
 ' Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
 It must, or we shall rue it ; 
 We have a vision of our own ; 
 Ah ! why should we undo it ?' 
 
 And the style corresponds to the thought; it is the style of one who ex- 
 ults in holding over, and being strong and buoyant enough to hold over, 
 a promised imaginative joy. A certain ascetic radiance — if the paradox 
 be permissible — a manly jubilation in being rich enough to sacrifice an 
 expected delight, makes the style sinewy, rapid, youthful, and yet care- 
 ful in its youthfulness, as jealous of redundancy as it is firm and elastic. 
 This was written in 1S03. Turn to Yai-nnv Kcvisitcd, which was writ- 
 ten twenty-eight years later, in 1831. The rhythm is the same, but how 
 different the movement; how much sweeter and slower, how many more 
 the syllables on which you must dwell, sometimes with what the ear ad- 
 mits to be an over-emphasis; how much richer the music, when it is mu- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 '73 
 
 sic; how much more hesitating, not to say vacillating, the reflection; and 
 how the versification itself renders all this, with its sedate pauses — 
 pauses, to use another poet's fine expression, ' as if Memory had wept ' — 
 its amplitude of tender feeling, its lingerings over sweet colours, its anx- 
 ious desire to find compensations for the buoyancy of youth in wise 
 reflection! — ■ 
 
 ' Once more by Newark's castle-gate 
 Long left without a warder, 
 I stood, looked, listened, and with thee, 
 Gieat Minstrel of the Border! 
 
 ' Grave thoughts ruled wide 'on that sweet day, 
 
 Their dignity installing 
 In gentle bosoms, while sere leaves 
 
 Were on the bough or falling ; 
 But breezes played and sunshine gleamed, 
 
 The forest to embolden, 
 Reddened tne fiery hues and shot 
 
 Transparence through the golden. 
 
 ' For busy thoughts the stream flowed on 
 
 In foamy agitation, 
 And slept in many a crystal pool 
 
 For quiet contemplation. 
 No public and no private care 
 
 The freeborn mind enthralling, 
 We made a day of happy hours. 
 
 Our happy days recalling. 
 
 ****** 
 
 ' And if, as Yarrow, through the woods 
 
 And down the meadow ranging, 
 Did meet us with unaltered face, 
 
 Though we were changed and changing— 
 If then some natural shadows spread 
 
 Our inward prospect over. 
 The soul's deep valley was not slow 
 
 Its brightness to recover.' 
 
 The expression there is richer, freer, more mellow; but the reserve force 
 is spent; all the wealth of the moment — -and perhaps something more 
 than the wealth of the moment, something which was not wealth, though 
 mistaken for it — was poured out. One cannot but feel now and again 
 that, as Sir Walter said of his aged harper, 
 
 ' His trembling hand had lost the ease 
 Which marks security to please. 
 And scenes long past of joy and pain 
 Came wildering o'er his aged brain.' 
 
 " Mr. Arnold places almost all the really first-rate work of Words- 
 worth in the decade between the years 1798 and 1808. I think he is 
 right here. But I should put Wordsworth's highest perfection of style 
 much nearer the later date than the earlier; at least if, as I hold, the 
 Song at the Feast of Brotighani Castle touches the very highest point 
 which he ever reached. The Leech-gatherer was written in the same 
 year, though its workmanship is not nearly so perfect. Let me contrast 
 its style with that of Laodamia, of which the subject is closely analogous, 
 and which was written only seven years later, in 18 14; though these 
 
174 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 seven years mark, as it appears to me, a very great transformation of 
 style. Both poems treat of Wordsworth's favourite theme — the strength 
 which the human heart has, or ought to have, to contain itself in adverse 
 circumstances, and the spurious character of that claim of mere emotion 
 to command us by which we are so often led astray. The Leech-gath- 
 erer has much less of buoyancy than the earlier poems, and something 
 here and there of the stateliness of the later style, especially in the 
 noble verse: 
 
 ' I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy, 
 The sleepless soul that perished in his pride; 
 Of him who walked i« glory and in joy. 
 
 Following his plough, along the mountain-side : 
 By our own spirits are we deified ; 
 We poets in our youth begin in gladness, 
 But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.' 
 
 But on the whole, the poem is certainly marked by that emphatic visual 
 imagination, that delight in the power of the eye, that strength of re- 
 serve, that occasional stiffness of feeling, and that immense rapture of 
 reverie, which characterize the earlier period, though it wants the more 
 rapid and buoyant movement of that period. Take the wonderful de- 
 scription of The Lecch-gatheirr\iya\SQ\{\ 
 
 ' Himself he propped — his body, limbs, and face — 
 
 Upon a long gray staff of shaven wood : 
 And still, as I drew near with gentle pace, 
 
 Upon the margin of tliat moorish flood, 
 
 Motionless as a cloud, the old man stood; 
 That heareth not the loud winds when they call, 
 And moveth all together, if it move at all.' 
 
 Or take the description of the reverie into which the old man's words 
 threw Wordsworth: 
 
 ' The old man still stood talking by my side. 
 
 But now his voice to me was like a stream 
 Scarce heard, nor word from word could I divide; 
 
 And the whole body of the man did seem 
 
 Like one whom I had met with in a dream, 
 Or like a man from some far region sent, 
 To give me human strength by apt admonishment.' 
 
 " Tn turning to Z(7i;'(/i:7w/(7, we see that a great change of style — a great 
 relaxation of the high tension of the earlier power — and with it a great 
 increase in grace and sweetness has come. When Protesilaus announces 
 that his death was due to his having offered up his own life for the suc- 
 cess of the Greek host, by leaping first to the strand where it was de- 
 creed that the first comer should pcri.sh, Laodamia replies: 
 
 ' " Supreme f>f heroes — bravest, noblest, best ! 
 Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, 
 Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest 
 
 By doubt, jiropelled thee to the fatal shore ; 
 Thou found'st, and I forgive thee — here thou art — ■ 
 A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. 
 
 ' " But thou, though capable of sternest deed, 
 Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave ; 
 And he whose power restores thee hath decreed 
 1 hat thou shouldst cheat the malice oi the grave: 
 
nVTRODUCTIOiV. 175 
 
 Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair 
 
 As when their breath enriched Thessalian air. 
 
 "No spectre greets me — no vain shadow this; 
 
 Come, blooming hero, place thee by my side ! 
 Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss 
 
 To nie, this day a second time thy bride !" 
 Jove frowned in heaven ; the conscious Parcae threw 
 Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. 
 
 ' "This visage tells thee that my doom is past: 
 
 Know, virtue were not virtue, if the joys 
 Of sense were able to return as fast 
 
 And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys 
 Those raptures duly, Erebus disdains ; 
 Calm pleasures there abide, majestic pains. 
 
 ' " Be taught, O faithful consort, to control 
 
 Rebellious passion ; for the gods approve 
 The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul, 
 
 A fervent, not ungovernable, love. 
 Thy transports moderate ; and meekly mourn 
 When I depart, for brief is my sojourn."' 
 
 There is certainly an air of classic majesty and a richness of colour 
 about this which contrasts curiously with the strong sketch of the lonely 
 leech - gatherer, though there seems to me a fitness in the fact that the 
 style of the poem which paints the humble self-reliance of desolate for- 
 titude is for the most part cast in the mould of a bare and almost bleak 
 dignity. 
 
 " But I must come to an end. The later style has, I think, this ad- 
 vantage over the earlier, that where its subject is equally fine — which, 
 as I admit, it often is not — the workmanship is far more complete, often 
 almost of crystal beauty, and without the blots, the baldness, the dead- 
 wood, which almost all Wordsworth's earlier works exhibit. Where, for 
 instance, in all the range of poetry, shall we find a more crystal piece of 
 workmanship than the sonnet — written, I think, as late as 1827, and ad- 
 dressed to Lady Beaumont in her seventieth year — with which I may 
 conclude this paper: 
 
 ' Such age how beautiful ! O lady bright, 
 Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined 
 By favouring nature and a saintly mind 
 To something purer and more exquisite 
 Than flesh and blood — whene'er thou meet'st my sight, 
 When I behold thy blanched unwiihered cheek. 
 Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white, 
 And head that droops because the soul is meek, 
 Thee with the welcome snowdrop I compare, 
 That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb 
 From desolation toward the genial prime. 
 Or with the moon conquering earth's misty air, 
 And filling more and more with crystal light 
 As pensive evenijig deepens into night.' " 
 
EXTRACT. i-j-j 
 
 EXTRACT 
 
 FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM COMPOSED IN ANTICIPATION OF 
 LEAVING SCHOOL. 
 
 This was written in 1786, and first printed in 1815. The following 
 note concerning it is from those dictated by Wordsworth in 1S43, at the 
 request of his friend, Miss Isabella Fenwick, giving the circumstances 
 under which many of his poems were composed : 
 
 "Written at Hawkshead. The beautiful image with which this 
 poem concludes suggested itself to me while I was resting in a boat along 
 with my companions under the shade of a magnificent row of sycamores, 
 which then extended their branches from the shore of the promontory 
 upon which stands the ancient, and at that time the more picturesque, Hall 
 of Coniston, the seat of the Le Flemings from very early times. The 
 poem of which it was the conclusion was of many hundred lines, and 
 contained thoughts and images most of which have been dispersed 
 through my other writings." 
 
 3-5. That, wkeresoeer, etc. A MS. copy mentioned by Knight 
 reads : 
 
 " That when the close of Hfe draws near,* 
 And I must quit this earthly sphere, 
 If in that hour a tender tie," etc. 
 
 9-14. Thus, 7vliile the siiii, etc. The text is that of the ed. of 1845, 
 which we have followed except in the occasional instances mentioned in 
 these notes. The ed. of 18 15 reads: 
 
 " Thus when the sun, prepared for rest, 
 Hath gained the precincts of the west, 
 Though his departing radiance fail 
 To illuminate the hollow vale," etc. 
 
 The ed. of 1S32 has: 
 
 " Thus from the precincts of the west, 
 The sun, when sinking down to rest," etc. 
 
 The ed. of 1836 changes "dihen in this latter to " while." In 1820 the 
 last line was changed to "On the dear mountain-tops where first he 
 rose," but the reading of 1815 (as in the text) was restored in 1845. It 
 is strange that the poet should have made any changes in this poem or 
 the next. 
 
 WRITTEN IN VERY EARLY YOUTH, 
 
 Probably written in 1786, and first printed in 1807. 
 4. Is cropping audibly, etc. The ed. of 1807 has " Is up and cropping 
 yet his later meal." In 8 below, it has " seems" for comes. 
 
 * Knight has "dear," which is either his misprint or a slip of the pen in the MS. 
 12 
 
i-jS AZOTES. 
 
 THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN, 
 
 Written in 1797, and published in 1800. Wordsworth says in his 
 MS. notes: " This arose out of my observation of the affecting music of 
 these birds hanging in this way in the London streets during the fresh- 
 ness and stillness of the Spring morning." 
 
 Myers (p. 1 6) remarks: "Wordsworth's limitations were inseparably 
 connected with his strength. And just as the flat scenery of Cambridge- 
 shire had only served to intensify his love for such elements of beauty 
 and grandeur as still were present in sky and fen, even so the bewilder- 
 ment of London taught him to recognize with an intenser joy such frag- 
 ments of things rustic, such aspects of things eternal, as were to be 
 found amidst that rush and roar. To the frailer spirit of Hartley Cole- 
 ridge the weight of London might seem a load impossible to shake off. 
 ' And what hath Nature,' he plaintively asked- - 
 
 ' And what hath Nature but the blank void sky 
 And the thronged river toiling to the main?" 
 
 But Wordsworth saw more than this. He became, as one may say, the 
 poet not of London considered as London, but of London considered as 
 a part of the country. . . . Among the poems describing these sudden 
 shocks of vision and memory none is more exquisite than the Jki'vchc of 
 Poor Susan. The picture is one of those which come home to many a 
 country heart with one of those sudden 'revulsions into the natural' 
 which philosophers assert to be the essence of human joy. But noblest 
 and best known of all these poems is the Sonnet on IVcstininstcr Bridge, 
 ' Earth hath not anything to show more fair;' in which Nature has re- 
 asserted her dominion over the works of all the multitude of men; and 
 in the early clearness the poet beholds the great city — as Sterling imag- 
 ined it on his dying bed — ' not as full of noise and dust and confusion, 
 but as something silent, grand, and everlasting.' And even in later life, 
 when Wordsworth was often in London, and was welcome in any socie- 
 ty, he never lost this external manner of regarding it. He was always 
 of the same mind as the group of listeners in his Power of Music : 
 
 ' Now, Coaclies and Chariots! roar on like a stream I 
 Here .ire twenty souls happy as souls in a dream : 
 They are deaf to your murmurs, they care not for you, 
 Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue.'"' 
 
 The following stanza is appended to the poem in the ed. of iSoo: 
 
 " Poor outcast ! return — to receive thee once more 
 The house of the father will open its door. 
 And thou* once again, in thy plain russet gown, 
 May'st hear the thrush sing from a tree of its own." 
 
 I. IVood Street. There are at least four streets of this name in Lon- 
 don, but the one meant here is evidently that which runs from Cheap- 
 
 " Knight, in his collation of the various readings, makes this read "then ;" but, if it 
 reads thus in the ed. of 1800, it is obviously a misprint for "thou. " 
 
JVE ARE seven:' 
 
 179 
 
 side northward. Lothbury (7) is a street behind the Bank of England, 
 not far away. 
 
 "WE ARE SEVEN." 
 
 The history of this poem (first printed in i\\^ Lyrical Ballads, 1798) is 
 given by Wordsworth as follows : 
 
 "Written at Alfoxden in the spring of 1798, under circumstances 
 somewhat remarkable. The little girl who is the heroine I met within 
 the area of Goodrich Castle in the year 1793. Having left the Isle of 
 Wight and crossed Salisbury Plain ... I proceeded by Bristol up the 
 Wye, and so on to North Wales, to the Vale of Chvydd, where I spent 
 my summer under the roof of the father of my friend, Robert Jones. In 
 reference to this poem I will here mention one of the most remarkable 
 facts in my own poetic history and that of Mr. Coleridge. In the 
 spring of the year 179S, he, my sister, and myself started from Alfox- 
 den, pretty late in the afternoon, with a view to visit Lenton and the 
 Valley of Stones near it; and as our united funds were very small, we 
 agreed to defray the expense of the tour by writing a poem, to be sent 
 to the New Monthly Magazine set up by Phillips the bookseller, and 
 edited by Dr. Aikin. Accordingly we set ofT and proceeded along the 
 Quantock Hills towards Watchet, and in the course of this walk was 
 planned the poem of the Ancient Mariner, founded on a dream, as Mr. 
 Coleridge said, of his friend, Mr. Cruikshank. ... As we endeavoured 
 to proceed conjointly (I speak of the same evening) our respective man- 
 ners proved so widely different that it would have been quite presump- 
 tuous in me to do anything but separate from an undertaking upon 
 which I could only have been a clog. We returned after a few days 
 from a delightful tour, of which I have many pleasant, and some of 
 them droll enough, recollections. We returned by Dulverton to Alfox- 
 den. The Ancient Mariner grew and grew till it became too impor- 
 tant for our first object, which was limited to our expectation of five 
 pounds, and we began to talk of a volume, which was to consist, as Mr. 
 Coleridge has told the world, of poems chiefly on supernatual subjects 
 taken from common life, but looked at, as much as might be, through 
 an imaginative medium. Accordingly I wrote The Idiot Boy, ' He)- 
 eyes are luild,' etc., ' We are Seven,' The Thoj-n, and some others. To 
 return to ' IVe are Seven,' the piece that called forth this note, I com- 
 posed it while walking in the grove at Alfoxden. My friends will not 
 deem it too trifling to relate that while walking to and fro I composed 
 the last stanza first, having begun with the last line. When it was all 
 but finished, I came in and recited it to Mr. Coleridge and my sister, 
 and said, ' A prefatory stanza must be added, and I should sit down 
 to our little tea-meal with greater pleasure if my task were finished.' I 
 mentioned in substance what I wished to be expressed, and Coleridge 
 immediately threw off the stanza thus: 
 
 ' A little child, dear brother Jem,' etc. 
 
i8o NOTES. 
 
 I objected to the rhyme, ' dear brother Jem,' as being ludicrous, but we 
 
 all enjoyed the joke of hitching in our friend, James T 's name, who 
 
 was familiarly called Jem. He was tlie brother of the dramatist, and 
 this reminds me of an anecdote which it may be worth while here to no- 
 tice. The said Jem got a sight of the Lyrical BaHads as it was going 
 through the press at Bristol, during which time I was residing in that 
 city. One evening he came to me with a grave face, and said, ' Words- 
 worth, I have seen the volume that Coleridge and you are about to pub- 
 lish. There is one poem in it which I earnestly entreat you will cancel, for, 
 if published, it will make you everlastingly ridiculous.' I answered that 
 I felt much obliged by the interest he took in my good name as a writer, 
 and begged to know what was the unfortunate piece he alluded to. He 
 said, ' It is called " ll'c are Seven." ' ' Nay !' .said I, ' that shall take its 
 chance, however,' and he left me in despair. I have only to add that in 
 the spring of 1841 I revisited Goodrich Castle, not having seen that part 
 of the Wye since I met the little girl there in 1793. It would have 
 given me greater pleasure to have found in the neighbouring hamlet 
 traces of one who had interested me so much; but that was impossible, 
 as unfortunately I did not even know her name. The ruin, from its 
 position and features, is a most impressive object. I could not but 
 deeply regret that its solemnity was impaired by a fantastic new castle 
 set up on a projection of the same ridge, as if to show how far modern 
 art can go in surpassing all that could be done by antiquity and nature 
 with their united graces, remembrances, and associations." 
 
 I. A simple child. According to Knight, the ed. of 1798 has " A 
 simple child, dear brother Jim," not "Jem," as in Wordsworth's MS. 
 note. 
 
 19. Conway. The town of that name in North W^ales. 
 
 44. A>!d sing a song to them. The reading of 1S36, that of 1798 be- 
 ing "I sit and sing to them." 
 
 54. And when the grass luas dry. The ed. of 1798 has " And all the 
 summer day;" changed in 1827 as in the text. 
 
 63. Qtiick ivas the little maid's reply. The reading of 179S (changed 
 in 1836) is " The little maiden did reply." 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. 
 
 Written and published in 1798. Wordsworth says: " Actually com- 
 posed while I was sitting by the side of the brook that runs down from 
 the Comb, in which stands tlie village of Alford, through the grounds of 
 Alfoxden. It was a chosen resort of mine. The lirook fell down a 
 sloping rock so as to make a waterfall consideral)le for that country, 
 and across tlie pool below had fallen a tree, an ash if I rightly remem- 
 ber, from which rose, perpendicularly, boughs in search of the light in- 
 tercepted by the deep shade above. The bouglis liore leaves of green 
 that for want of .sunshine had faded into almost lily-white; and from 
 the underside t)f this natural sylvan bridge depended long and beautiful 
 
TO MY SISTER. i8i 
 
 tresses of ivy which waved gently in the breeze that might, poetically 
 speaking, be called the breath of the waterfall. This motion varied of 
 course in proportion to the power of water in the brook. When, with 
 dear friends, I revisited this spot, after an interval of more than forty 
 years, this interesting feature of the scene was gone. To the owner of 
 the place I could not but regret that the beauty of this retired part of 
 the grounds had not tempted him to make it more accessible by a path, 
 not broad or obtrusive, but sufficient for persons who love such scenes 
 to creep along without difficulty." 
 
 9. That green bozver. The ed. of 1798 has "sweet" iox green, which 
 dates from 1836. 
 
 15. Tlie least motion which they made. Matthew Arnold, in his Se- 
 lections (English ed.), has "that they made," which is better, but it is 
 not given in Knight's collation. Cf. note on Complaint of Forsaken 
 Indian Woman, 4. 
 
 21, 22. J f this belief, etc. The reading of 1798 is: 
 
 " If I these thoughts may not prevent, 
 
 If such be of my creed the plan," etc. 
 
 In 1820 the present reading was adopted, except that line 21 had "is," 
 changed to be in 1S27. 
 
 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 Written and printed in 1798. The poet gives its history as follows: 
 " Composed in front of Alfoxden House. My little boy-messenger on 
 this occasion was the son of Basil Montagu. The larch mentioned in 
 the first stanza ^\as standing when I revisited the place in May, 1841, 
 more than forty years after. I was disappointed that it had not im- 
 proved in appearance as to size, nor had it acquired anything of the maj- 
 esty of age, which, even though less perhaps than any other tree, the 
 larch sometimes does. A few score yards from this tree, grew, when 
 we inhabited Alfoxden, one of the most remarkable beech -trees ever 
 seen. The ground sloped both towards and from it. It was of im- 
 mense size, and threw out arms that struck into the soil, like those of 
 the banyan-tree, and rose again from it. Two of the branches thus in- 
 serted themselves twice, which gave to each the appearance of a serpent 
 moving along by gathering itself up in folds. One of the large boughs 
 of this tree had been torn off by the wind before we left Alfoxden, but 
 five remained. In 1841 we could barely find the spot where the tree 
 had stood. So remarkable a production of nature could not have been 
 wilfully destroyed." 
 
 26. Than years of toiling reason. The first reading (changed in 
 1836) was " Than fifty years of reason." 
 
 29. Ojtr hearts will make. The ed. of 1798 has " may " for will; 
 changed in 1826. 
 
i82 jYOTES. 
 
 EXrOSTUI.ATION AND REPLY. 
 
 Wordsworth says: "This, poem is a favourite among the Quakers, as 
 I have learnt on many occasions. It was composed in front of the house 
 at Alfoxden, in the spring of lygS." It was printed the same year in 
 the Lyrical Ballads, and is one of the. very few poems in which the au- 
 thor made no alterations. 
 
 13. Estlrwaite lake. A lakelet, about two miles long and a third of a 
 mile wide, west of Windermere and south of the village of Hawkshead, 
 where Wordsworth went to school (see p. 16 above). 
 
 THE TABLES TURNED. 
 
 Written and published in 1798. 
 
 1-4. Up! up! my friend, etc. In the ed. of 1798 the lines are ar- 
 ranged thus: 
 
 " Ul) ! up ! my friend, and clear your looks ; 
 Why all this toil and trouble? 
 Up! lip! my friend, and quit your books; 
 Or surely you 11 grow double.'" 
 
 13. Throstle. A diminutive of thnisli. Cf. Shakespeare, 1\I. of V. 
 i. 2. 65: " if a throstle sing," etc. 
 
 14. He too is no mean preacher. The original reading (changed in 
 1815) was " And he is no mean preacher." 
 
 THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. 
 
 Written and published in 1798, with the following prefatory note: 
 "When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his 
 journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer- 
 skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel if the situation of the 
 place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions 
 Jntend to jnirsue; and if he is unable to follow or overtake them, he 
 perishes alone in the desert, unless he should have the good fortune to 
 fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or 
 still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, 
 Wc'i.xwiif, Journey from Hudson s Bay to the A^orthern Ocean. In the 
 high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the North- 
 ern Lights vary in their position in the air, they make a rustling and a 
 crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem." 
 
 4. The stars, they loere among my dreams. The reading in Matthew 
 Arnold's Selections is " The stars were mingled \\ith my dreams." This 
 is better, but it is not given in Knight's collation of the texts, and we 
 
LIXES WRITTEN ABOVE TINTERX ABBEY. 183 
 
 suspect it to be Arnold's own emendation. In 30 below he has " My 
 friends;" not mentioned by Knight, and perhaps a misprint due to the 
 Mv friends just above. See on Lines Written in Early Spring, 15. 
 
 6. I heard, I saw, the flashes drive. The ed. of 179S has " I saw the 
 crackling flashes drive," which was changed in 1820 to " I heard and 
 saw the flashes drive," and in 1827 to the reading in the text. 
 
 23, 24. Too soon I yielded to despair, etc. The original reading 
 
 (changed in 1815) was; 
 
 "Too soon despair o'er me prevailed, 
 Too soon my heartless spirit failed."' 
 
 36. A most strange working. The ed. of 1798 has "something" for 
 7mrking ; changed in 181 5. 
 
 40. A helpless child. Originally " a little child;" changed in 1815. 
 
 61-70. Young as I am, etc. This stanza is omitted in the eds. from 
 I Si 5 to 1S32, and also in Arnold's and Knight's .Selections. To our 
 thinking, the poem ends more effectively without it. The ed. of 1798 
 has in line 61: " My journey will be shortly run;" and in 6g, 70: 
 
 " I feel my body die away, 
 I shall not live another day." 
 
 The present text dates from 1836. 
 
 The rhyme of know and no (64, 65) is to be noted. In Italian poetry, 
 as in Spanish and Portuguese, words identical in sound may be rhymed 
 if they differ in sense. Chaucer, Spenser, and Milton indulge in the 
 same license, as do some of our more recent poets — Tennyson and I>ow- 
 ell, for example. Cf. the rhyme of complains and plains in The Foun- 
 tain, 58, 60. 
 
 LINES 
 
 COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE 
 BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 3I, I798. 
 
 Wordsworth says: " No poem of mine was composed under cir- 
 cumstances more pleasant for me to remember than this. I began it 
 upon leaving Tintern, after crossing the Wye, and concluded it just as I 
 was entering Bristol in the evening, after a ramble of four or five days, 
 with my sister. Not a line of it was altered, and not any part of it 
 written down till I reached Bristol. It was published almost immedi- 
 ately after in the little volume of which so much has been said in these 
 Notes."* 
 
 Myers (p. 33) remarks: " The Lines written above Tintern Abbey have 
 become, as it were, the locus classictes, or consecrated formulary of the 
 Wordsworthian faith. They say in brief what it is the work of the 
 poet's biographer to say in detail." Again (p. 129) he says: " So con- 
 gruous in all ages are the aspirations and the hopes of men that it would 
 
 * The Lyrical Ballads, 1 798. 
 
i84 
 
 NO TES. 
 
 l)e rash indeed to attempt to assign tlie moment when any spiritual truth 
 rises for the first time on liuman consciousness. But thus much, I think, 
 may be fairly said, that the maxims of Wordsworth's form of natural re- 
 ligion were uttered before Wordsworth only in the sense in which the 
 maxims of Christianity were uttered before Christ. To compare small 
 things with great — or, rather, to compare great things with things vastly 
 greater — the essential spirit of the Lines near Ti)itern Abbey was for 
 practical purposes as new to mankind as the essential spirit of the Ser- 
 mon on the Mount. Not the isolated expression of moral ideas, but 
 their fusion into a whole in one memorable personality, is that which 
 connects them forever with a single name. Therefore it is that Words- 
 worth is venerated; because to so many men — indifferent, it may be, to 
 literary or poetical effects, as such — he has shown by the subtle intensity 
 of his own emotion how the contemplation of Nature can be made a re- 
 vealing agency, like Love or Prayer — an opening, if indeed there be any 
 opening, into the transcendent world." 
 
 T. states " the connection of thought " in the poem as follows; 
 
 " After five long years the poet once more looks upon the sylvan Wye. 
 Nor, during that absence among far other scenes, has the memory of a 
 spot so beautiful and quiet ever left him. Nay niore, it may be that to 
 the unconscious influence of those beauteous forms he owes the highest 
 of his poetic moods — that mood in which the soul transcends the world 
 of sense, and views the world of being and the mysterious harmony of 
 the universe. He believes that this is so; at least he knows how often 
 the memory of this quiet beauty has cheered the dreariness of life and 
 soothed its fever. 
 
 "And now he once more stands beside the real scene of his dreams, 
 and his present sensations mingle with his past, not without a painful 
 feeling that the past has in a measure faded and belongs to his former 
 self, yet feeling that the joy of the present moment will recur through 
 years to come. 
 
 " For although he is no longer his former self, no longer feels the 
 same all-sufficing passion for the mere external forms and colours of 
 Nature, is no longer filled with the same gladness of mere animal life, 
 yet Nature has not forsaken, but only fulfilled her kindly purpose tow- 
 ards her worshipper. Taught by her, he has reached a more serene and 
 higher region; higher because more human in its interest, more thought- 
 ful in its nature, more moral in its object. 
 
 " And even if he had not reached this higher mood, none the less by 
 sympathy with his sister could he feel the full joys of his former self. 
 That she should now be as he was then is his wish and prayer; for 
 doubtless she too will be led by Nature, who never leaves her task in- 
 complete, to the higher and more tranquil mood which is the ripe fruit 
 of former fiowers. And so, whatever sorrows might befall her in after 
 times, both he and she could with joy remember that Nature by such 
 scenes and by his aid had wrought in her an unfailing source of com- 
 fort." 
 
 3. Tlicse waters, etc. The valley of the Wye between Monmouth 
 and Che]istow (where it joins the Severn) is famous for its beauty. As 
 
LINES IVKITTEN ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY. 185 
 
 Wordsworth notes, "the river is not affected by the tides a few miles 
 above Tintern." T. quotes Tennyson, In Alcmonam : 
 
 " There twice a day the Severn fills, 
 The salt sea-water passes by, 
 And hushes half the babbling Wye, 
 And makes a silence in the hills. 
 
 The tide flows down, the wave again 
 Is vocal in its wooded walls." 
 
 4. IVifk a sweet inland inurimtr. The reading of 1798. In 1845 
 sweet was changed to " soft." 
 
 13-15. Are clad . . . landscape. The reading of 1802. That of 
 1798 was : 
 
 " Among the woods and copses lose themselves, 
 Nor with their green and simple hue disturb 
 The wild green landscape. Once again I see," etc. 
 
 The ed. of 1845 reads: 
 
 " Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 
 'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see," etc. 
 
 19. Sent lip in silence, etc. " The silence is made noticeable by the 
 human life implied by the smoke, but of which there is no other sign " 
 (T.). 
 
 After this line the ed. of 1798 had the line, "And the low copses — 
 coming from the trees," etc. 
 
 23, 24. These beauteous forms, etc. The first reading (changed in 
 1827) was: 
 
 " Thougli absent long. 
 These forms of beauty have not been to me," etc. 
 
 29-31. Felt in the blood, etc. T. compares The Fountain, 'K^-'^i and 
 / wandered lonely, 19-24. 
 
 33. As have no slight or trivial influence. The ed. of 1798 has " As 
 may have had no trivial influence;" changed in 1820. 
 
 48. While with an eye,Q\.z. "The feeling that 'this unintelligible 
 world ' is yet the work of a spirit ' working harmoniously through the 
 all,' and the intense joy produced by the energy of the poet's highest 
 powers freed from the bonds of sense, give, in the first place, a quiet 
 undisturbed by doubt or by the ' passing shows of being,' and secondly, 
 and as a consequence, a perception of the highest and truest life " (T.). 
 
 54. The fever of the world. Cf. Macbeth, iii. 2. 23: "life's fitful 
 fever." 
 
 55. Hung upon. Weighed down, oppressed. 
 
 62. I'he picture of the mind. The memory of his former visit to the 
 place. 
 
 85. Aching joys. T. compares Shelley: 
 
 "Till joy forget itself again, 
 And too intense is turned to pain." 
 
 87. Other gifts have folhnved, etc. Cf. Ode on Innnortalily, 175-1S0. 
 107. Of eve and ear, etc. ' ' This line has a close resemblance to an 
 
i86 AZOTES. 
 
 admirable line of Young's, the exact expression of which I do not recol- 
 lect " (W.). We do not know that any editor or commentator has rec- 
 ognized the line referred to. 
 
 no. T/ic anchor of my piin-st thoughts. "It is by means of the 
 knowledge of nature, rendered possible by the senses, that the soul can 
 best hold fast in faith to her noblest conceptions" (T.). 
 
 114. Genial. Sympathetic; recalling with renewed pleasure the im- 
 pressions of his former visit. 
 
 116. J\[y dearest friend. His sister Dorothy. 
 
 135. Therefore, etc. " Since Nature will not fail to crown the first 
 dizzy raptures of her worshipper with her second and higher gift " (T.). 
 
 140. .1 sober pleasure. .For the antithesis, cf. Milton, Counts, 260: 
 
 " Vet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense 
 And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; 
 15ut snch a sacred and liome-felt delight, 
 Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 
 I never heard till now.'' 
 
 144. If solitude, or fear, or pain, eic. "What prophetic pathos do 
 these words assume when we remember how long and mournfully, ere 
 life ended, those wild eyes were darkened !" (Shairp). Cf. Myers (p. 
 28) : " ' The shooting lights of her wild eyes' reflected to the full the 
 strain of imaginative emotion which was mingled in the poet's nature 
 with that spirit of steadfast and conservative virtue which has already 
 given to the family a Master of Trinity, two bishops, and other divines 
 and scholars of weight and consideration. In the poet himself the con- 
 servative and ecclesiastical tendencies of his character became more and 
 more apparent as advancing years stifTened the movements of the mind. 
 In his sister the ardent element was less restrained; it showed itself in a 
 most innocent direction, but it brought with it a heavy punishment. 
 Her pa.ssion for nature and her afTection for her brother led her into 
 mountain rambles which were beyond her strength, and her last years 
 were spent in a condition of physical and mental decay." 
 
 "SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS." 
 
 Written in Germany in 1799, and first printed in 1800. No changes 
 have been made in the te.\t. 
 
 Myers (p. 33), referring to the poet's sojourn at Goslar (see p. 15 
 above), remarks: " Here it was that the meinory of some emotion 
 prompted the lines on Lucy. Of the history of that emotion he has told 
 us nothing; I forbear, therefore, to inquire concerning it, or even to 
 speculate. That it was to the poet's honour, I do not doubt; but who 
 ever learned such secrets rightly? or who should wish to learn? It is best 
 to leave the sanctuary of all hearts inviolale, and to respect the reserve 
 not only of the living but of the dead. Of these poems, almost alone, 
 Wordsworth in his autobiographical notes has said nothing whatever. 
 
'■/ TRAVELLED AMONG UA'K'NOIVN MENr 187 
 
 One of them he suppressed for years,* and printed only in a later vol- 
 ume. One can, indeed, well imagine that there may be poems which a 
 man may be willing to give to the world only in the hope that their pa- 
 thos will be, as it were, protected by its own intensity, and that those 
 who are worthiest to comprehend will be least disposed to discuss them." 
 
 George Brimley refers to this poem as " tender and graceful, sad, holy, 
 and beautiful as a Madonna." 
 
 2. Beside the springs of Dove. This beautiful stream, dear to anglers 
 and poets, has its source near Buxton in Derbyshire, and flows south- 
 ward into the Trent. Charles Cotton sings of it thus: 
 
 " O my beloved iiynipli, fair Dove, 
 Princess of rivers, how I love 
 
 Upon thy flowery banks to lie," etc. 
 
 See Walton's Complete Angler lox many other allusions to its ch?.rms. 
 
 "I TRAVELLED AMONG UNKNOWN MEN." 
 
 Written in Germany in 1799, but not published until 1807. 
 
 15, 16. And thine too is, etc. The ed. of 1807 has "is too" and 
 "Which" for That. The latter change was made in 1815, the former 
 in 1836. 
 
 Sara Coleridge says of this stanza ; " A friend, a true poet himself, to 
 whom I owe some new insight into the merits of Mr. Wordsworth's 
 poetry, and who showed me, to my surprise, that there were nooks in 
 that rich and varied region some of the shy treasures of which I was 
 not perfectly acquainted with, first made me feel the great beauty of 
 this stanza ; in which the poet, as it were, spreads day and night over 
 the object of his affections, and seems, under the influence of his pas- 
 sionate feeling, to think of England, whether in light or darkness, only 
 as her play-place and verdant home." 
 
 "THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN AND SHOWIER." 
 
 Written in Germany in 1799, and published in 1800. The only 
 change in the text (made in 1802) is in line 23, which originally read " A 
 beauty that shall mould her form." 
 
 Hon. Roden Noel, in a paper read before the Wordsworth Society in 
 1884, remarks: "In that loveliest of lyrics. Three years she grezv, we 
 have the picture of Lucy, to whom Nature was ' law and impulse,' ' an 
 
 * The reference is to / 'J'ravcded antono- Unknoivn 3Teit. 
 
iSS NOTES. 
 
 overseeing power to kindle or restrain,' to whom the cloud lent state 
 and the willow grace, into whose face from the rivulets passed ' beauty 
 horn of murmuring sound,' to whom belonged ' the silence and the calm 
 of mute insensate things.' " 
 
 Mr. W. A. Heard, in a paper read to the same society the same year, 
 says: "Wordsworth does not separate the physical and the spiritual: 
 nothing is solely physical in its eflect, everything has a spiritual result. 
 This combination of physical and spiritual teaching in nature is the idea 
 embodied in Three years she grew. One stanza is specially apposite : 
 'And she shall lean her ear,' etc. This is not only true poetry, but it 
 has a Platonic felicitousness of language as the expression of a philoso- 
 phy." 
 
 George Erimley calls the poem " the most exquisite description ever 
 written of an English country girl, half child, half woman, with the 
 wildness and witchery of a sylphide, the grace of a duchess, and the 
 purity of an angel." 
 
 II. Shall feel an overseeing power, Qic. T coxa^^&xQ'i Tiiitern Abbey, 
 io8 fol. 
 
 20. For her the willow bend. Lending her its lithe grace. 
 
 "A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL." 
 
 Written in 1799, published in 1800. "A poem impassioned beyond 
 the comprehension of those who fancy that Wordsworth lacks passion, 
 merely because in him passion is neither declamatory nor, latently, 
 sensual " (Aubrey de Vere). 
 
 7. Rolled roiiml ill earth's diiirual course, eic Cf. Shakespeare, Tem- 
 pest, i. 2. 396 : 
 
 " Full fathom five thy father lies ; 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange." 
 
 See also Bryant, Thanatopsis : 
 
 " Earth that nourished thee shall claim 
 Thy growth to be resolved to earth again ; 
 And. lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 Thine individual being, shall thou go 
 To mix forever with the elements — 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock. 
 And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain 
 Turns with his share and treads upon." 
 
 To the same puriwrt, but in a different vein, are Hamlet's speculations 
 on " the noble dust of Alexander" (v. i. 224 fol.). 
 
MATTHEW.— THE FOUNTAIN. 189 
 
 MATTHEW. 
 
 Written in 1799, published in 1800. The only textual change is 
 the substitution of dciu (1815) for the original "oil" in line 24. The 
 following note was prefixed to the poem ; 
 
 " In the School of is a tablet, on which are inscribed, in gilt 
 
 letters, the names of the several persons who have been Schoolmasters 
 there since the foundation of the school, with the time at which they en- 
 tered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one of those names the 
 author wrote the following lines." 
 
 In the later MS. notes we find this ; 
 
 "Such a tablet as is here spoken of continued to be preserved in 
 Hawkshead School, though the inscriptions were not brought down to 
 our time. This and other poems connected with Matthew would not 
 gain by a literal detail of facts. Like the Wanderer in The Excursion, 
 this Schoolmaster was made up of several, both of his class and men of 
 other occupations. I do not ask pardon for what there is of untruth in 
 such verses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough if, be- 
 ing true and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a manner not 
 unworthy of a poet's calling." 
 
 2. Hath tempered so Jicr clay. For the technical teiitpcr (= moisten, 
 for moulding), cf. Lear, i. 4. 326 : 
 
 " Old fond eyes, 
 Beweep this cause again, I 11 pluck ye out, 
 And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
 To temper clay." 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 Written in 1799, published in 1800. 
 
 g. ""Now, Mattheiv," &Xc. The original reading (changed in 1820) 
 was , " Now, Matthew, let us try to match," etc. 
 
 10. This zvaters pleasant tune. Cf. Coleridge, A nciejit Jl/ariner : 
 
 " A noise like of a hidden brook 
 In the leafy month of June, 
 That to the sleeping woods all night 
 Singeth a quiet tune." 
 
 21. Down to the vale, etc. The reading of 1800, changed for the 
 worse in 1836 to " No check, no stay, this streamlet fears." 
 
 35. Mourns less, etc. " He wrings from the temporary sadness 
 fresh conviction that the ebbing away, both in spirit and appearance, of 
 the brightest past, sad as it must ever be, is not so sad a thing as the 
 weak yearning which, in departing, it often leaves stranded on the soul 
 
IQO 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 to cling to the appearance when the spirit is irrevocably gone" (Hut- 
 ton). 
 
 37. 38. The blackbird, etc. We follow the ed. of 1800 rather than 
 that of 1S36, which reads : 
 
 " The blackbird amid leafy trees, 
 The lark above the hill." 
 
 45. But we are pressed by heavy laws. Which compel us to do what 
 we have done or what others will expect of us. 
 
 5g. / live. The pronoun is of course emphatic. 
 
 60. Plains. For the rhyme, see on Complaint of Forsaken Indian 
 Wotnan, 61-70. 
 
 63. At this he grasped my hand. For the original reading (changed 
 in 1815), see p. 170 above. 
 
 THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. 
 
 Written in 1799, published in 1800. 
 
 25-28. And just above, etc. The reading of 1802, that of 1800 being 
 as follows . 
 
 " And on that slope of sprnigmg corn 
 The selfsame crimson hue 
 Fell from the sky that April morn. 
 The same which now I view." 
 
 29-31 IVith rod and line, etc. The ed. of 1800 reads; 
 
 " Witlj rod and line my silent sport 
 I plied by Derwent's wave, 
 And, coming to the church, stopped short,"' etc. 
 
 In 181 5 the first two lines were altered as in the text, and in 1S36 the 
 third line was made " And, to the churchyard come, stopped short." 
 60. Wilding. Wild apple, or cralj-apple. Cf. Spenser, F. Q. iii. 7- 
 
 17: ' .... 
 
 " Oft from the forrest wddings he did bring. 
 Whose sides empurpled were with smyling red." 
 
 HART-LEAP WELL. 
 
 Written and published in 1800, with the following prefatory note : 
 " Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from 
 Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads from 
 Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkalile Chase, 
 the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the 
 second part of the following poem, which monuments do now exist as I 
 have there described them." 
 
HART-LEAP WELL. 
 
 191 
 
 The following is from the later MS. notes : 
 
 " Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The first eight stanzas were com- 
 posed extempore one winter evening in the cottage ; when, after having 
 tired myself with labouring at an awkward passage in L'he Brothers, 1 
 started with a sudden impulse to this to get rid of the other, and finished 
 it in a day or two. My sister and I had passed the place a few weeks be- 
 fore in our wild winter journey from Sockburn on the banks of the Tees 
 to Grasmere. A peasant whom we met near the spot told us the story 
 so far as concerned the name of the well and the hart, and pointed out 
 the stones. Both the stones and the well are objects that may easily be 
 missed; the tradition by this time may be extinct in the neighborhood : 
 the man who related it to us was very old." 
 
 3, 4. He tiir7ted aside, etc. This is the reading of 1800. That of 
 1836 is as follows : 
 
 " And now. as he approached a vassal's door, 
 ' Bring forth another horse f he cried aloud." 
 
 21. He cheered and chid. The ed. of iSoo has " chid and cheered ," 
 changed in 1827. The present order is more natural. 
 
 27. This chase, etc. The reading of 1802, the earlier being . " This 
 race it looks not like an earthly race." 
 
 35. Cracked his 'whip. The early reading was " smacked his whip;" 
 changed in 1820. 
 
 38. Glorious feat. The ed. of 1800 has "glorious fact," and in 40 
 "All foaming like a mountain cataract;" changed in 1820. 
 
 46, Never had living man, etc. The reading of 1S20, that of i8oo 
 being, " Was never man in such a joyful case," with " place " as the 
 rhyme. 
 
 49. Climbing. Originally "turning;" changed in 1802. 
 
 50. Four roods. The ed. of 1800 has " Nine roods," changed in 
 1S45. The poet appears to have decided that 148}^ feet was too much 
 for the three leaps of the hart. 
 
 51. Three several hoof-marks, etc. The ed. of 1800 reads, " Three 
 several marks which with his hoofs the beast" (changed in 1802); and 
 the next line had "verdant" lor grassy until 1820. 
 
 . 54. Human eyes. Originally "living eyes," changed in 1836. 
 65. Gallant stag. Until 1827 the reading was "gallant brute." 
 70. Paramour. Lady-love, mistress, originally not used in a bad 
 sense. Cf. Spenser, Shep. Kal. April, 139. 
 
 " Bring Coronations, and Sops in wine, 
 Worne of Paramours. ' 
 
 75. Swale. A river in Yorkshire which unites with the Ure to form 
 the Ouse. 
 
 80. And far and wide, etc. The ed. of 1800 has " The fame where- 
 of through many a land did ring;" changed in 1815. 
 
 82. The living well. For the use of living, cf. John, iv. 10. 
 
 90. Led his wondering paramour. Till 1820 the reading was "jour- 
 neyed with his paramour." 
 
192 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 98. .To freeze the blood. The ed. of 1800 has " curl " {or freeze, sub- 
 stituted in 1802. 
 
 loi. Ha-iocs . . . Richiiiond. Towns in Yorkshire. 
 
 113. The hill. It was " hills" until 1815. 
 
 150. The fountain. The rirst reading was " this fountain;" changed 
 in 1832. 
 
 153. The seenfed thorn. The original reading, changed in 1836 to 
 " the flowering thorn." 
 
 157. A^oiu here is. Until 1827 the reading was " But now here 's." 
 
 THE SPARROW'S NEST. 
 
 Written in iSoi, published in 1807. The poet's MS. note says ; 
 " Written in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere. At the end of the 
 garden of my father's house at Cockermouth was a high terrace that 
 commanded a fine view of the river Derwent and Cockermouth Castle. 
 This was our favourite play-ground. The terrace-wall, a low one, was 
 covered with closely-clipt privet and roses, which gave an almost imper- 
 vious shelter to birds that built their nests there. The latter of these 
 stanzas alludes to one of those pests." 
 
 1-4. Behold . . . delight. The reading of 1807 (changed in 1815) 
 was as follows ; 
 
 " Look, five blue eggs are gleamins; there ! 
 Few visions have I sein more fair. 
 Nor many prospects of delight 
 More pleasing than that simple sight!" 
 
 g. Afv sister Emmeliue. It was his only sister Dorothy. 
 II, 12. She looked at it, etc. The original reading, not improved by 
 the change in 1845 to 
 
 " She looked at it as if she feared it. 
 Still wishing, dreading to be near it." 
 
 15. The I'lessing of my later years. This his sister really was to him. 
 See Myers, chap, iii., or .Shairp's Studies in Poetry, p. 28 fol. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Written in 1802, published in 1807. Wordsworth says of it ; " Writ- 
 ten in the orchard. Town-end, Grasmere. My sister and I were parted 
 immediately after the death of our mother, who died in 1778, both being 
 very young." 
 
 Dorothy, in her Journal, says. " Wliilc we were at breakfast W. 
 wrote the poem to a Butterfly. The thought came upon him as we 
 
"J/K HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLDr 
 
 193 
 
 were talking about the pleasure we both always felt at the sight of a 
 butterfly. I told him that I used to chase them a little, but that I was 
 afraid of brushing the dust off their wings and did not catch them." 
 
 • " MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD." 
 
 According to Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, this was written 
 March 26, 1802, at Town-end, Grasmere. It was first published in 
 1807. 
 
 Coleridge, in The Friend, remarks; " I am informed that these lines 
 have been cited as a specimen of despicable puerility. So much the 
 worse for the citer; not willingly in his presence would I behold the sun 
 setting behind our mountains. . . . But let the dead bury their dead ! 
 The poet sang for the living." 
 
 The last three lines of the poem were originally prefixed as a motto 
 to the Ode on Immortalitv. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Written April 20, 1802, in the orchard at Town-end, and published 
 in 1807. 
 
 12, 13. Here rest your zoings, etc. The first reading (changed in 
 1815) was : 
 
 " Stop here whenever you are weary, 
 And rest as in a sanctuary!" 
 
 Sanctuary is here used in the sense of an asylum or place of refuge in 
 which a person was privileged from persecution or arrest. Cf. Richard 
 III., iii. I. 27 -. 
 
 " The queen your mother and your brother York 
 Have taken sanctuary;" 
 
 that is, in the Sanctuary at Westminster, which was within the precincts 
 of the Abbey. See also Browning, Ring and Book, i. 1394 ; " Took 
 sanctuary within the holier blue," etc. 
 
 TO THE SMALL CELANDINE. 
 
 Written at Town-end, April 30, 1802, and published in 1807. In a 
 prefatory note the poet says: " It is remarkable tliat this flower, com- 
 ing out so early in the spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 in such profusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English verse. 
 What adds much to the interest that attends it is its habit of shutting it- 
 self up and opening out, according to the degree of light and tempera- 
 ture of the air." 
 
 The flower is the Ficaria ramtnculoides, and another popular name 
 for it in England is ihe pilcworf. It is also known as the sivallow-wort, 
 not, says Gerard in his Herbal, " because it first springeth at the coming 
 in of the swallows, or dieth when they go away, for it may be found all 
 the year, but because some hold opinion that with this herbe the dams 
 restore eyesight to their young ones when their eye be put out." 
 
 i6. Like a sage astronomer. Until 1836 sage was " great." 
 
 27. Her ftest. Originally " its nest;" changed in 1832. 
 
 58. Hl-requiied upon earth. The reading up to 1836 was "Scorned 
 and slighted upon earth." 
 
 61, 62. Serving at my heart's eommaiid, etc. Originally (till 1836) 
 the reading was : 
 
 " Singing at my heart's command, 
 
 In the lanes my thoughts ptiisuing." 
 
 Pursuing was an imperfect rhyme to ensuing, or what is called an 
 " identical " rhyme. 
 
 TO THE SAME FLOWER. 
 
 Written May i, 1802; published in 1807. 
 
 14. When the rising sun he painted. The Sun and Rising Sun are 
 common names for inns in England. 
 
 20. Keixhief -plots. That is, no larger than a kerchief. 
 
 38. Thy sheltering hold. " Thy sheltered hold " until 1832. 
 
 39. Liveliest of the vernal train. This reading dates back only to 
 1846, the earlier one being " Bright as any of the train." 
 
 50. '''' Beneath our shoon." Cf. Milton, Com us, 624: 
 
 " Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain 
 Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon." 
 
 For shoon, see also yoshua, ix. 5. 
 
 51, 52. Let the liold discoverer thrid, etc. A much-tinkered couplet. 
 The ed. of 1S07 has 
 
 " Let, as old Magellan did, 
 Others roam about the sea ;" 
 that of 1820: 
 
 " Let, with bold adventurers' skill,* 
 Otliers thrid the polar sea ;'' 
 and that of 1827 : 
 
 " Let the bold adventurer thrid 
 In his bark the polar sea." 
 
 The present reading dates from 1846. Thrid is an old form of thread. 
 
 * We suspect that the rhymin;; line was " Rear a pyramid who will ;'' but Knight (on 
 whom we are dependent for most of these varice lea tones) gives no such reading. 
 
THE LEECH-GATHERER. jp^ 
 
 THE LEECH-GATHERER, 
 
 Or, Resolution and Independen'ce. 
 
 Written at Town-end, May 7, 1802, and printed in 1807. A pref- 
 atory note says: "This old man I met a few hundred yards from my 
 cottage; and the account of him is taken from his own mouth." 
 
 See Mr. Hutton's comments on the style of the poem (p. 174 above). 
 Coleridge remarks that " This fine poem is especially characteristic of the 
 author: there is scarce a defect or excellence in his writings of which it 
 would not present a specimen." 
 
 Wordsworth himself, referring to the poem, says: " I describe myself 
 as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness 
 and beauty of Nature; and then as depressed, even in the midst of those 
 beautiful objects, to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet 
 in the midst of the happiness of Nature is described as overwhelmed by 
 the thoughts of the miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest 
 of all men, namely, poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed 
 with it that I consider the manner in which I am rescued from my dejec- 
 tion and despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person 
 reading the poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and con- 
 trolled, expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought 
 forward ? A lonely place, ' a pond, by which an old man %vas, far from 
 all house or home:'* not stood, nor sat, but was — the figure presented in 
 the most naked simplicity possible. The feeling of spirituality or su- 
 pernaturalness is again referred to as being strong in my mind in this 
 passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can he be doing? I 
 then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to judge with per- 
 fect confidence; but this I can confidently affirm, that though I believe 
 God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot conceive a figure more 
 impressive than that of an old man like this, the survivor of a wife and 
 ten children, travelling alone among the mountains and all lonely places, 
 carrying with him his own fortitude, and the necessities which an unjust 
 state of society has laid upon him. You speak of his speech as tedious. 
 Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feelings of the 
 author. ... It is in the character of the old man to tell his stoiy, which 
 an impatient reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens ! such a fig- 
 ure, in such a place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and 
 pleased old man, telling such a tale !" 
 
 Myers, quoting the above (p. 138), adds: "The naive earnestness of 
 this passage suggests to us how constantly recurrent in Wordsworth's 
 mind were the two trains of ideas which form the substance of the poem; 
 the interaction, namely (if so it may be termed), of the moods of Nature 
 with the moods of the human mind; and the dignity and interest of man 
 as man, depicted with no complex background of social or political life, 
 
 * One would infer that this was a quotation from the poem, but it does not appear in 
 any published form of it. 
 
196 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 but set amid the primary affections and sorrows, and the wild aspects of 
 
 the external world." 
 
 13. IViat, glittering. The reading till 1827 was " which, glittering." 
 29. Warbling in the sky. Originally "singing in the sky;" changed 
 
 in 1820. 
 
 43. CItatterton, the viaTvellotis boy. Thomas Chatterton, born in 1752, 
 whose forgeries of old English poetry deceived for a time the scholars 
 and critics, and who died by his own hand in 1770. 
 
 44. His pride. Until 1815 it was " its pride." 
 
 45. Him who ivalked in glory, etc. The allusion to Burns is obvious. 
 
 46. Following his plough, etc. Originally " Behind his plough, upon 
 the mountain-side;" changed in 1820. 
 
 53, 54. JVhen I with these untozvard thoughts, etc. Until 1S20, the 
 reading was : 
 
 " When Uf) and clown my fancy thus was driven, 
 And I with these untoward thoughts had striven." 
 
 After this stanza the following was added in the eds. of 1807 and 1815: 
 
 " My course I stopped as soon as I espied 
 The old man in that naked wilderness; 
 Close by a pond, upon the further side, 
 He stood alone ; a minute's space I guess 
 I watched him, he continuing motionless : 
 To the pool's further margin tlien I drew. 
 He being all the while before me full in view." 
 
 57. As a huge stone, etc. Wordsworth, in his preface to the ed. of 
 1815, commenting upon imagination "employed upon images in a con- 
 junction by which they modify each other," remarks : " Take these im- 
 ages separately, and how unaffecting the picture compared with that 
 produced by their being thus connected with, and opposed to, each 
 other ! 
 
 ' As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie 
 Couched on the bald top of an eminence, 
 Wonder to all who do the same espy 
 By what means it could thither come, and whence, 
 So that it seems a thing endued with sense, 
 Like a sea-beast crawled forth, which on a shelf 
 Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun himself 
 
 Such seemed this man ; not all alive or dead, 
 Nor all asleep, in his extreme old age- 
 Motionless as a cloud the old man stood, 
 That heareth not the loud winds when they call, 
 And moveth altogether if it move at all' 
 
 In these images, the conferring, the abstracting, and the modifying pow- 
 ers of the Imagination, immediately and mediately acting, are all brought 
 into conjunction. The stone is endowed with something of the power 
 of life to approximate it to the sea-beast; and the sea-beast stripped of 
 some of its vital qualities to assimilate it to the stone; which intermedi- 
 ate image is thus treated for the purpt)se of bringing the original image, 
 that of the stone, to a nearer resemblance to the figure and condition of 
 the aged man, who is divested of so much of the indications of life and 
 
UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. 
 
 197 
 
 motion as to bring him to the point where the two objects unite and co- 
 alesce in just comparison. After what has been said, the image of the 
 cloud need not be commented upon." 
 
 67. Life s pilgriinai^c. It was " their pilgrimage " until 1827. 
 
 71. Limbs, body, and pale face. The reading of 1836, the earlier be. 
 ing "his body, limbs, and face." 
 
 74. Upon the margin, etc. The first reading (changed in 1820) was 
 " Beside the little pond or moorish flood." 
 
 82. And now a stranger s privilege L took. Until 1820 the line was 
 " And now such freedom as I could I took." 
 
 88. What occupation do you there ptirsiie ? The reading until 1820 
 was " What kind of work is that which you pursue?" 
 
 90, gi. Ere he replied, etc. The ed. of 1807 has : 
 
 " He answered me with pleasure and surprise ; 
 And there was, while he spoke, a fire about his eyes." 
 
 That of 1820 reads : 
 
 " He answered, while a flash of mild surprise 
 Broke from the sable orbs of his yet vivid eyes." 
 
 In 1836 the present reading was adopted. 
 
 99. He told, that to these waters, etc. Until 1S27 it was " He told me 
 that he to this pond had come." 
 
 104. Housing. Finding a lodging. 
 
 112. By apt admonishment. The first reading was " and strong ad- 
 monishment." In 1820 and was changed to by, and in 1827 strong to 
 apt. 
 
 WJ. Perplexed and longing to be comforted. At first " And now, not 
 knowing what the old man said;" changed in 1815 to "But now per- 
 plexed by what the old man said;" and in 1820 as in the text. 
 
 120-126. He with a smile, etc. A poor stanza, which Coleridge con- 
 trasts with those that precede and follow it. 
 
 123. The pools. It was " the ponds" until 1827. 
 
 UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. 
 
 Wordsworth, in the ed. of 1807, where this sonnet was first printed, 
 gives the date of composition as " September 3, 1802," adding " written 
 on the roof of a coach, on my way to France;" but, according to his sis- 
 ter's diary, it was on the 30th of July, 1802, that they left London for 
 Dover, en route for Calais. The following is the entry: '''fitly 30. — 
 Left London between five and six o'clock of the morning outside the 
 Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The city, .St. Paul's, with the 
 river — a multitude of little boats, made a beautiful sight as we crossed 
 Westminster Bridge; the houses not overhung by their clouds of smoke, 
 and were spread out endlessly; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such 
 a pure light, that there was something like the purity of one of Nature's 
 own "rand siiectacles." 
 
198 NOTES. 
 
 Lord Coleridge, at a meeting of the Wordsworth Society, in 1882, told 
 how Bishop Thirlwall, after being kept till past daybreak in the House 
 of Lords, being asked if he did not feel much exhausted, replied, " Yes, 
 perhaps so; but I was more than repaid by walking out upon Westmin- 
 ster Bridge after the division, seeing London in the morning light as 
 Wordsworth saw it, and repeating to myself his noble sonnet as I walked 
 home." 
 
 At the same meeting a letter was read from Mr. Robert Spence Wat- 
 son, in which he says: " Many years ago, I think it was in 1859, I 
 chanced to be passing (in a pained and distressed state of mind, occa- 
 sioned by the death of a friend) over Waterloo Bridge * at half-past 
 three in the morning. It was broad daylight, and I was alone. Never 
 when alone in the remotest recesses of the Alps, with nothing around me 
 but the mountains, or upon the plains of Africa, alone with the wonder- 
 ful glory of the Southern night, have I seen anything to approach the so- 
 lemnity — the soothing solemnity — of the city, sleeping under the early 
 sun. 'Earth hath not anything to show more fair.' How simply, yet 
 how perfectly, Wordsworth has interpreted it. It was a happy thing for 
 us that the Dover coach left at so untimely an hour in the morning. It 
 was this sonnet, I think, that first opened my eyes to Wordsworth's 
 greatness as a poet. Perhaps nothing that he has written shows more 
 strikingly that vast sympathy which is his peculiar dower." 
 
 Caroline Fox, in her Alcmorics of Old Fi'it'iids, says: " Mamma spoke 
 of the beauty of Rydal, and asked whether it did not rather spoil him 
 [Wordsworth] for common scenery. ' O, no!' he said, ' it rather opens 
 my eyes to see the beauty there is in all; tiod is everywhere, and thus 
 nothing is common or devoid of beauty. No, ma'am, it is the feeling 
 that instructs the seeing. Wherever there is a heart to feel, there is also 
 an eye to see; even in a city you have light and shade, reflections, prob- 
 ably views of the water and trees, and a blue sky above you, and can you 
 want for beauty with all these ? People often pity me while residing in 
 a city, but they need not, for I can enjoy its characteristic beauties as 
 well as any.' " 
 
 See also the quotation from Myers in notes on Poor Susan, p. 178 
 above. 
 
 4. Like a garment. T. cjuotes Psalm civ. 2. 
 
 "IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING." 
 
 Written on the beach near Calais, August, 1802; published in 1807. 
 
 1. // is a beauteous eveni)ig, calm and free. The reading of 1807, to 
 which the poet returned in 1846, after changing it in 1836 to " Air sleeps, 
 — from strife or stir the clouds are free," and in 1842 to " A fairer face 
 of evening cannot be." 
 
 2. As a nun. Cf. Milton, Comus, i8g: 
 
 * Waterloo Bridge crosses the Thames some distance below Westminster, which is 
 close to the Houses of Parliament. 
 
EXTlNCTIOiX OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC. 
 
 " When the gray-hooded Even, 
 Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed." 
 
 199 
 
 5. The gentleness of heaven is on the sea. The reading of 1807, 
 changed for the worse in 1836 to " broods o'er the sea." 
 
 6. Listen ! Changed in 1836 to " But list !" and restored in 1842. 
 
 g. Dear child ! dear girl ! His sister. See on Tintern Abbey, 116, 
 144, and The Sparrozv s Nest, 15. 
 
 ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC. 
 
 Of the same date as the preceding sonnet. 
 
 1. Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee. At the close of the 
 Fourth Crusade, in 1202, the Venetians, who had been united with the 
 French in the expedition, became possessors of the Morea, part of Thes- 
 saly, the Cyclades, some of the Byzantine cities, and the coasts of the 
 Hellespont, with three eighths of Constantinople. 
 
 2. The safeguard of the West. "This may refer to the prominent 
 part which Venice took in the Crusade, or to the development of her 
 naval power, which made her mistress of the Mediterranean for many 
 years, and an effective bulwark against invasions from the East" (K.). 
 Cf. Byron, Childe Harold, iv. 14 : 
 
 " Though making many slaves, herself still free. 
 And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite." 
 
 4. The eldest child of Liberty. Venice was founded by refugees from 
 the mainland when Italy was invaded by Attila. " In the midst of the 
 waters, free, indigent, laborious, and inaccessible, they gradually coal- 
 esced into a republic " (Gibbon). 
 
 6. A\' guile seduced. That is, whom (or which) no guile seduced, 
 etc. The semicolon at the end of the preceding line in all the editions 
 disguises the construction, as we understand it. 
 
 8. She must espouse the everlasting sea. Referring to the ceremony 
 of "wedding the Adriatic," performed on Ascension Day, when the 
 Doge threw a ring into the sea from the state galley Bucentaur (or Btc- 
 ceutoro) in token of the maritime supremacy of the Republic. Cf . Childe 
 Harold, iv. 11 : 
 
 " The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ; 
 And, annual marriage now no more renewed, 
 The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, 
 Neglected garment of her widowhood!" 
 
 The Venetian Republic became extinct in 1797, about five years be- 
 fore this sonnet was written. By the treaty of Campo Formio, its terri- 
 tories were divided between the Emperor Francis and Napoleon. 
 
 " Venice, lost and won, 
 Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done. 
 Sinks, like a seaweed, into whence she rose !" 
 
NOTES. 
 
 TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. 
 
 Written in August, 1802, published in 1807. 
 
 Francois Dominique Toussaint was born at Kuda in San Domingo in 
 1743. His father and mother were l)oth African slaves. He was a 
 Royalist in political sympathies until 1794, when the action pf the 
 French Convention giving liberty to the slaves won him to the side of 
 the Republic. He was made a general of division by Laveux, and 
 wrested the whole northern part of the island from the English. In 
 admiration of his achievements Laveux exclaimed, " Mais cet homme 
 fait ouverture partout " (This man opens the way everywhere); and 
 from that time he was called Toussaint L'Ouverture. In 1796 he was 
 appointed commander-in-chief of the French army of San Domingo, 
 and both the British and the Spanish surrendered everything to him. 
 He became governor of the island, which prospered under his rule. In 
 1801, when Napoleon re-established slavery in San Domingo, Toussaint 
 professed obedience to the decree, but showed that he intended to resist 
 it. A powerful fleet was sent from France to enforce it, and Toussaint 
 was proclaimed an outlaw. After a desperate resistance he was finally 
 led to surrender by pledges on the part of the French that the liberty of 
 his people would be secured; but these pledges were basely violated, 
 and Toussaint himself was arrested, and in June, 1802, sent to Paris, 
 where he died after ten months' imprisonment. He had been two 
 months in prison when this sonnet was written.* 
 
 2-4. IVIiether the Usicuing rustic, etc. The reading of 1807 was : 
 
 " Whether the rural milkmaid by her cow 
 Sing in thy hearing, or th(vu liest now 
 Alone in some deep dungeon's earless gloom." 
 
 In 1815 this was changed to : 
 
 " Whether the all-cheering sun be free to shed 
 His beams around thee, or thou rest thy head 
 Pillowed in some dark dungeon's noisome den." 
 
 The ed. of 1820 reads : 
 
 " Whether the whistling rustic tend liis plough 
 Within thy hearing, or thou liest now 
 Buried in some deep dungeon's earless den." 
 
 The present text dates from 1827. 
 
 * For a much fuller account of Toussaint, see B. J. Lossing's article on "The Hor- 
 rors of San Domingo,'' in Har/>er's Magazine, vol. xliii. p. 76 I'ol. 
 
<N---«:sf;'!s -^ -^^N 
 
 TOUSSAINT LOUVERTURK. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 WRITTEN IN LONDON, SErTEMBER, 1802. 
 
 Published in 1807. A prefatory note says : 
 
 " This was written immediately after my return from France to Lon- 
 don, when I could not but be struck, as here described, with the vanity 
 and parade of our own country, especially in great towns and cities, as 
 contrasted with the quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the revolu- 
 tion had produced in France. This must be borne in mind, or else the 
 reader may think that in this and the succeeding sonnets I have exag- 
 gerated the mischief engendered and fostered among us by undisturbed 
 wealth. It would not be easy to conceive with what a depth of feeling 
 I entered into the struggle carried on by the Spaniards for their deliver- 
 ance from the usurped power of the French. Many times have I gone 
 from Allan Bank in Grasmere vale, where we were then residing, to the 
 top of the Raise-gap as it is called, so late as two o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, to meet the carrier bringing the newspaper from Keswick." 
 
 LONDON, 1802. 
 
 This sonnet, and the next two, were also written in September, 
 1802, and published in 1807. 
 
 8. Manners. "Courtesy springing from a chivalrous respect for our 
 fellovvf-men " (T.). 
 
 14. On herself. Originally "on itself;" changed in 1820. 
 
 "IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF." 
 
 5, 6. Roused though it he, etc. The reading of 1807 (changed in 
 1827) was : 
 
 " Road by which all might come and go that would, 
 And bear out freights of worth to foreign lands." 
 
 "WHEN I HAVE BORNE IN MEMORY." 
 
 3. Desert. Apparently pronounced ciesart, as in sonnet To B. J\. 
 Haydon, 8. Cf . Shakespeare, Sonnet 49. 10 : 
 
 " Within the knowledge of mine own desert, 
 And this my hand against myself uprear, 
 To guard the lawful reason on thy part." 
 
 See also Sonn. 17. 2 and 72. 6. 
 
 6. A^oiv, when, etc. Until 1845 the reading was " But when," etc. 
 
TO THE DAISY. 203 
 
 TO thp: daisy. 
 
 This and the two following poems were written at Town-end, Gras- 
 mere, in 1802, and published in 1807. 
 
 Tlie quotation from Wither (referring to his Muse) was prefixed in 
 1815. Rustling, in the 7th line (printed " rustelling " in some eds. of 
 Wordsworth), is a trisyllable. Cf. the lengthening of many similar words 
 in Shakespeare ; as ivrestler in As You Like It, ii. 2. 13 : " The parts 
 and graces of this wrestler," etc. 
 
 7, 8. And gladly, etc. This is the original reading, restored in 1843 
 after having been changed in 1836 to 
 
 " And Nature's love of thee partake, 
 Her much-loved Daisy !" 
 
 9-12. Thee Winter, etc. The reading of 1807 was: 
 
 " When soothed awhile by milder airs, 
 Thee Winter in his garland wears, 
 That thinly shades his few gray hairs ; 
 Spring cannot shun thee ;" 
 
 changed in 1827 to 
 
 " When Winter decks his few gray hairs. 
 Thee in the scanty wreath he wears ; 
 Spring parts the clouds with softest airs. 
 That she may sun thee." 
 
 The text dates from 1836. 
 
 17. A vioj-rice train. Like a company of the morrice-dancers asso- 
 ciated with the old Mayday games of England. See Douce's Illus- 
 trations of Shakespeare or Scott's Abbot, chap. xiv. , and the author's 
 note. 
 
 19-21. Pleased at his greeting, etc. The reading until 1836 was : 
 
 " If welcome once, thou count's! it gain ; 
 Thou art not daunted, 
 Nor car'st if thou be set at naught." 
 
 25. In their secret iiieivs. That is, in their hiding-places. The verb 
 mew originally meant to moult, or shed the feathers. Thence the noun, 
 applied to " the place, whether it be abroad or in tlie house, in which the 
 hawk is put during the time she casts, or doth change her feathers" (R. 
 Holmes's Academy of Armory). Cf. Spenser, /'. Q. i. 5. 20 : " forth com- 
 ming from her darksome mew," etc. According to Pennant {London), the 
 royal stables in London were called mews from the original use of the 
 buildings for keeping the king's falcons. 
 
 37. Should fare. Cf. Milton, jP. Z. ii. 940 : "nigh founder'd on he 
 fares," etc. 
 
 47. Chime. A MS. note of the poet in the ed. of 1836 substitutes 
 
204 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 "charm," but this does not appear in the more recent printed texts, 
 with the exception of Knight's Selections. 
 
 57, 58. Fresh-smitieii by the morning ray, etc. The reading until 
 1836 was : 
 
 " When, smitten by the morning ray, 
 I see thee rise, alert and gay." 
 
 60-64. ^Vith kindred gladness, etc. The original reading (changed 
 in 1815) was : 
 
 " With kindred motion. 
 At dusk, I 've seldom marked thee press 
 The ground, ns if in thankfuhiess. 
 Without some feehng, more or less, 
 Of true devotion." 
 
 73-80. Child of the year, etc. The reading of 1S07 was: 
 
 " Child of the year! that round dost run 
 Thy course, bold lover of the sun, 
 And cheerful when the day 's begun 
 
 As morning leveret. 
 Thou long the poet's praise shalt gain; 
 Thou wilt be more beloved by men 
 In times to come ; ihou not in vain 
 
 Art Nature's favourite." 
 
 In 181 5 lines 77-79 were made to read : 
 
 " Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain ; 
 Dear shalt thou be to future men 
 As in old time;— thou not in vain," etc. 
 
 The text dates back to 1836. 
 
 Thy long-lost praise. " See in Chaucer and tlie elder poets the hon- 
 ours formerly paid to this flower" (W.). Note especially the prologue 
 to The Legende of Good Women. 
 
 TO THE SAME FLOWER. 
 
 3. Daisy, again I talk to thee. The reading of 1807 was "Sweet 
 daisy, oft I tallc to thee;" changed in 1843 to "Yet once again I talk 
 to thee;" and in 1849 to the present text. 
 
 9, 10. Oft on the dappled turf , etc. The reading of 1820, the orig- 
 inal being : 
 
 " Oft do I sit by thee at ease, 
 And weave a web of similes." 
 
 41-46. Bright flower, etc. In all the standard eds. the lines are 
 pointed thus : 
 
 " Bright flower ! for by that name at last, 
 When all my reveries are past, 
 I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 
 
 Sweet silent creature ! 
 That breath'st with me in sun and air, 
 Do tliou, as thou ait wont, repair," etc. 
 
TO THE DAISY.— THE GREEN LINNET. 2 05 
 
 This cannot be right, but whether the division should be made at the 
 end of the 3d line or of the 5th is not perfectly clear. The former 
 seems preferable, and we point accordingly. 
 
 TO THE DAISY. 
 
 1-4. The reading of 2 in 1 807 was " A pilgrim bold in Nature's care." 
 The ed. of 1836 reads : 
 
 " Confiding flower, by Nature's care 
 
 Made bold, — who, lodging here or tliere, 
 Art all the long year through the heir 
 Of joy or sorrow." 
 
 The text is that of 1843. 
 
 6. Sonic concord -antli hiiinanity. The original reading, changed in 
 1836 to " Communion with humanity," but restored in 1843. 
 
 8. Thorough. Used for through, to which it was anciently equiva- 
 lent. Cf. Shakespeare, AI. N. D. ii. i. 3 : " Thorough bush, tliorough 
 briar," etc. See also Yanxnv Unvisited, 38. 
 
 23. Thy function apostolical. "I have been censured for the last 
 line but one — ' thy function apostolical' — as being little less than profane. 
 How could it be thought so? The word is adopted with reference to 
 its derivation, implying something sent on a mission; and assuredly this 
 little flower, especially when the subject of verse, may be regarded, in 
 its humble degree, as administering both to moral and to spiritual pur- 
 poses " (W.). 
 
 THE GREEN LINNET. 
 
 Composed in 1803 " in the orchard. Town-end, Grasmere, where the 
 bird was often seen as here described" (W.). It was first published in 
 1807. 
 
 1-8. Beneath these fruit-tree botighs, etc. The original reading was : 
 
 " The May is come again ; — how sweet 
 To sit upon my orchard-seat ! 
 And birds and flowers once more to greet, 
 
 My last year's friends together ; 
 My thoughts they all by turns employ; 
 A whispering leaf is now my joy, 
 And then a bird will be the toy 
 
 That doth my fancy tether." 
 
 In 1815 " birds and flowers " was changed to " flowers and birds;" and 
 in 1827 the present text was adopted. 
 
 20. Sole. Single. Cf. the law-term for an unmarried woman, ytv^w^ 
 sole. 
 
 25. Amid yon tuft. Knight, in his Selections, has "Upon yon tuft;" 
 but he does not give that reading in his collation of the texts. 
 
2o6 NOTES. 
 
 33-40. My dazzled sight, etc. The ed. of 1807 reads: 
 
 " While thus before my eyes he gleams, 
 A brother of the leaves he seems ; 
 When in a moment forth he teems 
 
 His little song in gushes ; 
 As if it pleased him to disdain 
 And mock the form which he did feign, 
 While he was dancing with the train 
 
 Of leaves among the bushes." 
 
 In 1820 line 38 was changed to its present form ; and in 1827 the stanza 
 was made to read ; 
 
 " My sight he dazzles, half deceives, 
 A bird so like the dancing leaves," 
 
 with the remainder as in the text, which was finally settled in 1832. 
 
 K. remarks : " This, of all Wordsworth's poems, is the one most dis- 
 tinctively associated with the orchard at Town-end, Grasmere." Cole- 
 ridge asks : " What can be more accurate, yet more lovely, than the two 
 concluding stanzas ?" 
 
 TO A HIGHLAND GIRL. 
 
 Written in 1803, but not published until 1815. In his MS. notes 
 the poet says : " This delightful creature and her demeanour are partic- 
 ularly described in my sister's Journal. The sort of prophecy with which 
 the verses conclude has, through God's goodness, been realized; and now, 
 approaching the close of my 73d year, I have a most vivid remembrance 
 of her and the beautiful objects with which she was surrounded." 
 
 5. That household lawn. The ed. of 1S07 has "this," changed to 
 that in 1836. 
 
 14. When earthly cares are laid asleep. After this line, the ed. of 
 1845 adds the couplet : 
 
 '• But, O fair creature ! in the light 
 Of common day so heavenly bright," 
 
 and changes the next line to " I bless thee, vision as thou art." The 
 reading of this line in 1807 was " Yet dream and vision as thou art;" 
 changed in 1836 as in the text. 
 
 18. Thee neither know /, etc. The reading until 1845 was " I nei- 
 ther know thee nor thy peers." 
 
 39. Thv few words of English speech, etc. Cf. Miss Wordsworth's 
 fournal : " One of the girls was exceedingly beautiful; and tlie figures 
 of both of tliem, in gray plaids falling to their feet, their faces only be- 
 ing uncovered, excited our attention i:)efore we spoke to them; but they 
 answered us so sweetly that we were quite delighted, at the same time 
 that they stared at us with an innocent look of wonder. I think I never 
 heard tlie English language sound more sweetly than from the mouth of 
 the elder of these girls, while she stood at the gate answering our inqui- 
 
THE SOLITARY R EATER. 
 
 207 
 
 ries, her face flushed with the rain; her pronunciation was clear and 
 distinct, without difficulty, yet slow, as if like a foreign speech." 
 
 44. Beating tip against the ^vind. A nautical phrase for "making 
 progress against the wind by alternate tacks in a zigzag line." The 
 New Eng. Diet, gives no example of it used figuratively, as here. Beat 
 is now more common among seamen than beat up. 
 
 47. Happy pleasure. No doubt the poet meant happy here to be 
 taken in the sense of fortunate, like the Latin felix. Cf. the play upon 
 the word in Macbeth, i. 3. 66 : " Not so happy, yet much happier" (not 
 so fortunate, but much more blessed). 
 
 54. Have. One of the English words that have no perfect rhyme, 
 tliough the poets often use it in rhymes. Cf. Shakespeare, Cynibeline, 
 iv. 2. 280 : 
 
 " Quiet consummation have, 
 And renowned be thy grave ;" 
 
 and Milton, Epitaph on Marchioness of Winchester, 47 : 
 
 " Gentle lady, may thy grave 
 Peace and qui^t ever have !" 
 
 In Coiiius, 238, it rhymes with ca7\\ and in Id. 888 with 7oave. 
 
 Other imperfect or peculiar rhymes in the present volume are calen- 
 dar, year {]i. 43), on, one (49), upon, one (124), 710. do (79), nought, sought, 
 remote (92, 120), creature, nature ((^"j, 127), stature, nature (1^^), gushes, 
 bushes (99), town, own (103), shado7v, meadow (loj^), sullen, culling{i2X), 
 forgetfulness, nakedness (125), weather, hither {12S}, mea/iderings, ivan- 
 derings (143), gather, heather (146) sunshine, moonshine (158). Note 
 also the bad rhymes to Yarrow (thorough, borough, sorrow, etc.) in the 
 Yarro7i' poems. Wordsworth, like Milton and many other poets, dis- 
 regards the rule that words differing only by an initial // are not perfect 
 rhymes. Thus, he has arts, hearts (70), art, heart (79, gi, 126, 147), old, 
 hold {go, 113), all, hall (131), etc. See also on When I have Borne in 
 Memory, 3. 
 
 72. Tor I, methinks, till I grow old, etc. Cf. Miss Wordsworth's 
 Journal : " At this day the innocent merriment of the girls, with their 
 kindness to us, and the beautiful face and figure of the elder, come to 
 my mind whenever I think of the ferryhouse and waterfall of Loch Lo- 
 mond, and I never think of the two girls but the whole image of that ro- 
 mantic spot is before me, a living image as it will be to my dying day." 
 
 THE SOLITARY REAPER. 
 
 Written in 1803, published in 1807. 
 
 5. Alone she cuts and binds the grain, etc. See p. 168 above. 
 10. .S";) S7ueefly to reposing bands. The original reading, unfortunately 
 changed in 1827 to " More welcome notes to weary bands." 
 
 13. ./ voice so thrilling ne'er was heard. The ed. of 1807 has " No 
 
2o8 NOTES. 
 
 sweeter voice was ever heard;" and that of 1827 " Such thrilling voice 
 was never heard." The text is that of 1836. 
 
 15. The silence of the seas. T. quotes The Ancient Mariner : 
 
 " We were the first that ever burst 
 Into that silent sea;' 
 and again : 
 
 " And we did speak onlj' to break 
 The silence of the sea;" 
 
 16. The farthest Hebrides. Cf. Lycidas, 156: "beyond the stormy 
 Hebrides." 
 
 29. / listened till I had my fill. The reading of 1807, which is clear- 
 ly better than " I listened, motionless and still," to which it was changed 
 in 1820. 
 
 30. And ti'hen. The ed. of 1807 had " And as," which was restored 
 in 1836 after being changed to And when in 1827. 
 
 YARROW UNVISITED. 
 
 Written in 1803, published in 1807. The prefatory note says : 
 " See the various poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of 
 the Yarrow; in particular the exquisite ballad of Hamilton, beginning : 
 
 ' Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride, 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow!' " 
 
 2. The inazv Forth. No note is needed on this and the other famil- 
 iar Scotch rivers mentioned. 
 
 5. Clovenford, or Clovenfords, is on the Tweed, a few miles above 
 Abbotsford. Dorothy Wordsworth says in h&r foitrnal : "At Cloven- 
 ford, being so near to the Yarrow, we could not but think of the possi- 
 bility of going thither, but came to the conclusion of reserving the pleas- 
 ure for some future time, in consequence of which, after our return, 
 William wrote the poem which I shall here transcribe." 
 
 6. MarrouK His sister. The word means "One of a pair, a mate, 
 a companion, an equal, a sweetheart," etc. It appears in early English 
 literature, but now survives only in the poetry and common speech of 
 Scotland and the North of England. 
 
 8. Braes. Hillsides, sloping banks (Scotch). 
 
 g. Let Yarro-io folk, etc. See p. 172 above. Selkirk, situated just 
 below the confluence of the Yarrow and the Ettrick, is the market-town 
 of the vicinity, 
 
 15. Doivnioai-d . The eds. down to 1S32 have "downwards." 
 
 17. Galla Water. The Galla, or Gala, is a branch of the Tweed, 
 celebrated in an old ballad versified by Burns; " Braw, braw lads of 
 Galla Water." 
 
 A haui^h is low ground or meadows on the bank of a river. Cf. 
 Burns, Sroteh Drink : " Let husky wheat the haughs adorn." 
 
YAKROPV UNVISITED. 
 
 209 
 
 19. Dryboroiigh. Drybuigh, pronounced Drybo7-o . 
 
 20. Lintwhites. Linnets. Cf. Tennyson, Claribel : "Her song the 
 lintvvhite swelleth." 
 
 21. Tiviotdalc. More properly Teviotdale, the valley of the Teviot. 
 33. Holms. Meadows. Cf . The Doivie Dens d Yarrow : 
 
 " Down in a glen he spied nine armed men 
 On the dowie holms o' Yarrow." 
 
 35. Fair Jiangs the apple, etc. The line is from Hamilton's ballad 
 mentioned above. Frae^irova.; as in g above. 
 
 37. Strath. A broad river-valley. Cf. Lady of the Lake, iii. 87: 
 " in lonely glen or strath." 
 
 38. Thorough. See on To the Daisy, 8 (p. 205 above). 
 
 43. Saint Mary s Lake. The source of the Yarrow. Scott refers to 
 it in Marmion, introd. to canto ii. 147: 
 
 " By lone Saint Mary's silent lake : 
 
 Thou know'st it well, — nor fern nor sedge, 
 
 Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
 
 Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
 
 At once upon the level brink, 
 
 And just a trace of silver sand 
 
 Marks where the water meets the land," etc. 
 
 In a note he says of the lake : " In the winter it is still frequented by 
 flights of wild swans ; hence my friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines : 
 
 ' The swans on sweet Saint Mary's Lake 
 Float double, swan and shadow.'" 
 
 Wordsworth afterwards said to Aubrey De Vere : " Scott misquoted in 
 one of his novels my lines on Yarrow. He makes me write : 
 
 ' The swans on sweet Saint Mary's Lake 
 Float double, swan and shadow ;' 
 
 but I wrote ' The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake.' Never could I 
 have written ' swans ' in the plural. The scene when I saw it, with its 
 still and dim lake under the dusky hills, was one of utter loneliness;- 
 there was one swan, and one only, stemming the water, and the pathet- 
 ic loneliness of the region gave importance to the one companion of the 
 swan — its own white image in the water. It was for that reason that I 
 recorded the swan and the shadow. Had there been many swans and 
 many shadows, they would have implied nothing as regards the charac- 
 ter of the place, and I should have said nothing about them." He 
 went on to comment on the fact that many who truly love Nature had 
 yet no eye to discern her. " Indeed," he added, " I have hardly ever 
 known any one but myself who had a true eye for Nature — one that 
 thoroughly understood her meanings and her teachings." 
 
 But Scott, in his description of Saint Mary's Lake, dwells particularly 
 on this very loneliness of the scene whereon Wordsworth lays such 
 stress. The passage, partially quoted above, continues thus : 
 
 " Far in the mirror, bright and blue, 
 Lach hill's huge outline you may view 
 
 14 
 
2IO NOTES. 
 
 Sliaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 
 
 Nor tree, nor busli, nor brake is there, 
 
 .S.ive where of land yon slender line 
 
 liears thwart the lake tlie scattered pine. 
 
 Yet even this nakedness has power, 
 
 And aids the feeling of the hour: 
 
 Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy 
 
 Where living thing concealed might lie; 
 
 Nor point retiring hides a dell 
 
 Where swain or woodman lone might dwell. 
 
 There 's nothing left to fancy's guess. 
 
 You see that .ill is loneliness ; 
 
 And silence aids— though the steep hills 
 
 Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
 
 In summer time so soft they weep. 
 
 The sound but lulls the ear asleep; 
 
 Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude. 
 
 So stilly is the solitude." 
 
 Surely we have here the "pathetic loneliness" of the " s/ill Saint 
 Mary's Lake." The sweet for still a.nd the plural S7vans were merely a 
 slip of memory, and the latter is explained by Scott's note, which shows 
 that he was thinking of the "flights" of the birds in winter. 
 
 49-56. Be Varmru's stream, etc. Shairp {Aspects of Poetiy) com- 
 ments on these lines thus: "And then the deep undertone of feeling 
 which lay beneath all the lighter chalTand seeming disparagement breaks 
 out in these two immortal stanzas " (as he prints the eight lines). 
 
 "After this ideal gleam," Shairp continues, "has for a moment bro- 
 ken over it, the light of common day again closes in, and the poem 
 ends with the comforting thought that 
 
 ' Should life be dull, .nnd spirits low, 
 'T will soothe ns in our sorrow 
 That earth has something yet to show. 
 The bonnie holms of Yarrow.' 
 
 The whole poem, if it contains only two stanzas [49-56] pitched in 
 Wordsworth's highest strain, is throughout in his most felicitous dic- 
 tion. The manner is that of the old ballad, with an infusion of mod- 
 em reflection, which yet does not spoil its naturalness. The metre is 
 that in which most of the old Yarrow ballads, irom The Doivie Dens 
 onward, are cast, with the second and the fourth lines in each stanza 
 ending in double rhymes, to let the refrain fall full on the fine melo- 
 dious name of Yarrow. It plays with the subject, rises and falls — now 
 light-hearted, now serious, then back to homeliness, with a most grace- 
 ful movement. It has in it something of that ethereality of thought 
 and manner which belonged to Wordsworth's earlier lyrics — those com- 
 posed during the last years of tlie preceding and the first few years of this 
 century. This peculiar ethereality — which is a thing to feel rather than 
 to describe — left him after about 1S05, and though replaced in the best 
 of his later poems by increased depth and mellowness of reflection, yet 
 could no more be compensated than the fresh gleam of new-fledged 
 leaves in spring can be made up for by their autumnal glors . " 
 .See also Mr. Ilutton's irititism, p. 172 al)o\c. 
 
'SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHTS 
 
 "SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT." 
 
 Written at Town-end in 1804, and published in 1S07. Words- 
 worth says that " the germ of tlie poem " was four lines (probably the 
 first four) "composed as a part of the verses on the Highland Girl." 
 He adds; "Though beginning in this way, it was written from my 
 heart, as is sufficiently obvious." As it stands, it is a tribute to his wife. 
 
 4. To be a moment' s ornament. " To fill but one single moment with 
 beauty too bright and ethereal to last " (T.). 
 
 8. From May-time, etc. Changed in the ed. of 1836 (no other) to 
 " From May-time's brightest, liveliest dawn." 
 
 22. The very pulse of the machine. To our modern taste machine 
 does not seem a happy word, but, as K. remarks, it has become " more 
 limited and purely technical " since Wordsworth wrote. Cf. the eu- 
 phuistic use of the word in the one instance in which Shakespeare has 
 it — Hamlet, ii. 2. 124 : " while this machine is to him " (while this bod- 
 ily organism is his). 
 
 24. Between life and death. The first reading was " betwixt life and 
 death;" changed in 1832. 
 
 29. And yet a spirit still, etc. Cf. The Prelude, xiv. 268 : 
 
 " She came, no more a phantom to adorn 
 A moment, but an inmate of the heart. 
 And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined 
 To penetrate the lofty and tlie low." 
 
 30. Of an angel light. The original reading, changed in 1S45 to " of 
 angelic light." 
 
 "I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD." 
 
 Written at Town-end in 1804, and published in 1807. Wordsworth 
 says : " The daffodils grew and still grow on the margin of UUeswater, 
 and probably may be seen to this day as beautiful in the month of March, 
 nodding their golden heads beside the dancing and foaming waves." 
 
 The following is from Miss Wordsworth's Journal : ^^ April 15, 
 1802. — When we were in the woods below Gowbarrow Park we saw a 
 few daflfodils close to the water-side. As we went along there were 
 more, and yet more; and, at last, under the boughs of the trees, we saw 
 there was a long belt of them along the shore. I never saw dafibdils so 
 beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones about them; some rest- 
 ed their heads on the stones as on a pillow; the rest tossed, and reeled, 
 and danced, and seemed as if they verily danced with the wind, they 
 looked so gay and glancing." Go-wbarroto Park is on the western shore 
 of UUeswater. 
 
 See Mr. Hutton's comments on the poem, p. 170 above. Sara Cole- 
 ridge exclaiins ; " How poetry multiplies bright images like a thousand- 
 fold kaleidoscope ! for how many ' inward eyes ' have those daffodils 
 danced and fluttered in the breeze, the waves dancing beside them ,'" 
 
2 12 NOTES. 
 
 4. Golden daffodils. The ed. of 1S07 has "dancing daffodils, " and 
 in the next line " Along the lake;" both changed in 1815. 
 
 6. Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. The ed. of 1807 has " Ten 
 thousand dancing," etc. 
 
 7-12. Continuous as the stars, etc. This stanza was added in 1815. 
 
 15. Could not hut be gay. The eds. down to 1836 have " be but." 
 
 16. Jocund company. The reading of 1815, the earlier being " laugh- 
 ing company." 
 
 21, 22. They flash upon that inrvard eye, etc. The poet tells us that 
 these two lines were contributed by his wife. 
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET. 
 
 Written at Town-end in 1804, published in 1S07. The poet says: 
 " This was taken from the case of a poor widow who lived in the town 
 of Penrith. Her sorrow was well known to Mrs. Wordsworth, to my 
 sister, and, I believe, to the whole town. She kept a shop, and when 
 she saw a stranger passing by, she was in the habit of going out into the 
 street to inquire of him after her son." 
 
 Coleridge refers to this poem as "that most affecting composition 
 which no mother, and, if I may judge by my own experience, no parent 
 can read without a tear." 
 
 10. To have despaired, and have believed. The original reading, for 
 which the ed. of 1836 substitutes " To have despaired, have hoped, be- 
 lieved," with " been " for be in the next line. 
 
 24. What power is /«, etc. The original reading (changed in 1832) 
 was " What power hath even," etc. 
 
 50-56. Perhaps some dungeon, etc. Mr. Myers (p. 106), commenting 
 upon Wordsworth's theory that " there neither is, nor can be, any essen- 
 tial difference between the language of prose and metrical composition," 
 selects this stanza " from one of his simplest and most characteristic po- 
 ems " to illustrate the inadequacy of the theory. He says : 
 
 " These lines, supposed to be uttered by 'a poor widow at Penrith,' 
 afford a fair illustration of what Wordsworth calls ' the language really 
 spoken by men,' with ' metre superadded.' ' What other distinction from 
 prose,' he asks, ' would we have?' We may answer that we would have 
 what he has actually given us, namely, an ajipropriate and attractive 
 music, lying both in the rhythm and in the actual sound of the words 
 used — a music whose complexity may be indicated here by drawing out 
 some of its elements in detail, at the risk of appearing pedantic and tech- 
 nical. We observe, then {a'), that the general movement of the lines is 
 unusually slow. They contain a very large proportion of strong accents 
 and long vowels, to suit the tone of deep and despairing sorrow. In six 
 places only out of twenty-eight is the accent weak where it might be ex- 
 pected to be strong (in the second syllable, namely, of the iamliic foot), 
 and in each of these cases the omission of a possible accent throws 
 greater weight on the next succeeding accent — on the accents, that is to 
 
THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET. 213 
 
 say, contained in the words inhuman, desert, lion, summoned, deep, and 
 sleep, (b) The first four lines contain subtle alliterations of the letters 
 d, h. 111, and th. In this connection it should be remembered that when 
 consonants are thus repeated at the beginning of syllables, those sylla- 
 bles need not be at the beginning of words ; and further, that repeti- 
 tions scarcely more numerous than chance alone would have occasioned 
 may be so placed by the poet as to produce a strongly-felt effect. If 
 any one doubts the effectiveness of the unobvious alliterations here in- 
 sisted on, let him read (i) 'jungle' for ' desert,' (2) 'maybe' for ' per- 
 haps,' (3) 'tortured' for 'mangled,' (4) 'blown' for 'thrown,' and he 
 will become sensible of the lack of the metrical support which the exist- 
 ing consonants give one another. The three last lines contain one or 
 two similar alliterations on which I need not dwell, {e) The words in- 
 heritest and sniiiiiioned 2ir& by no means such as ' a poor widow,' even at 
 Penrith, would employ ; they are used to intensify the imagined relation 
 which connects the missing man with (i) the wild beasts who surround 
 him, and (2) the invisible Power which leads ; so that something myste- 
 rious and awful is added to his fate. ((/) This impression is heightened 
 by the use of the word ineonimiinicahle in an unusual sense, ' incapable 
 of being communicated ivitli,' instead of ' incapable of being communi- 
 cated;' while {e) the expression ' to keep an incommunicable sleep ' for ' to 
 lie dead,' gives dignity to the occasion by carrying the mind back along 
 a train of literary associations of which the well-known ctTtpjiova vliypE- 
 Tov v-wvov of Moschus may be taken as the type. 
 
 "We must not, of course, suppose that Wordsworth consciously 
 sought these alliterations, arranged these accents, resolved to introduce 
 an unusual word in the last line, or hunted for a classical allusion. But 
 what the poet's brain does not do consciously it does unconsciously ; a 
 selective action is going on in its recesses simultaneously with the overt 
 train of thought, and on the degree of this unconscious suggestiveness 
 the richness and melody of the poetry will depend. 
 
 " No rules can secure the attainment of these effects ; and the very 
 same artifices which are delightful when used by one man seem mechan- 
 ical and offensive when used by another. Nor is it by any means al- 
 ways the case that the man who can most delicately appreciate the mel- 
 ody of the poetry of others will be able to produce similar melody 
 himself. Nay, even if he can produce it one year, it by no means fol- 
 lows that he will be able to produce it the next. Of all qualifications 
 for writing poetry this inventive music is the most arbitrarily distributed, 
 and the most evanescent. But it is the more important to dv.'ell on its 
 necessity, inasmuch as both good and bad poets ai-e tempted to ignore it. 
 The good poet prefers to ascribe his success to higher qualities ; to his 
 imagination, elevation of thought, descriptive faculty. The bad poet 
 can more easily urge that his thoughts are too advanced for mankind to 
 appreciate than that his melody is too sweet for their ears to catch. And 
 when the gift vanishes no poet is willing to confess that it is gone ; so 
 humiliating is it to lose power over mankind by the loss of something 
 which seems quite independent of intellect or character. And yet so it 
 is. For some twenty years at most (1798-1818) Wordsworth possessed 
 
214 
 
 /VOTES. 
 
 this gift of melody. During those years he wrote works which pro- 
 foundly influenced mankind. The gift then left him ; he continued as 
 wise and as earnest as ever, but his poems had no longer any potency, 
 nor his existence much public importance." Cf. pp. 25 and 167-175 
 above. 
 
 60. Between the living, etc. The reading of 1807 (changed in 1832) 
 was "Betwixt the living," etc. See on She 7vas a Phantom, 24. 
 
 ODE TO DUTY. 
 
 Written in 1805, published in 1807. Wordsworth says of it. " This 
 ode is on the model of Gray's Ode to Adversit\\\\\\u:\\ is copied from 
 Horace's Ode to Fortune. Many and many a time have I been twitted 
 by my wife and sister for having forgotten this dedication of myself to 
 the stern lawgiver. Transgressor indeed I have been, from hour to 
 hour, from day to day: I would fain hope, however, not more flagrantly 
 or in a worse way than most of my tuneful brethren. But these last 
 words are in a wrong strain. We should be rigorous to ourselves and 
 forbearing, if not indulgent, to others, and, if we make comparisons at all, 
 it ought to be with those who have morally excelled us." 
 
 James Russell Lowell, in his address as president of the Wordsworth 
 Society in 1884, refers to " the Ode to Duty, in which he speaks to us 
 out of an ampler ether than in any other of his poems, and which may 
 safely ' challenge insolent Greece and haughty Rome ' for a comparison 
 either in kind or degree." 
 
 The Dean of Salisbury, in a paper on " Wordsworth as an Ethical 
 Teacher" (read before the Wordsworth Society in May, 1S83), remarks: 
 "The Ode to Duty all lovers of Wordsworth have, or ought to have, 
 by heart. The poet evidently desires to bring into high relief the per- 
 fect play of a moral nature, wherein acts of virtue pass out of restraint 
 into the glorious freedom and liberty which are proper to man." 
 
 5. I'hou 7vho art victory and law, etc. " Our sense of right gains the 
 victory over imaginary terrors by making us feel that disobedience to the 
 law of right within us should alone make us fear " (T.). 
 
 7. From vain temptations, etc. " Duty sets free from the influence 
 of what only appears worth pursuing by rendering us morally incapable 
 of acting otherwise than she bids ; thus putting a stop to a moral strug- 
 gle which mankind from their weakness find, even when successful, to 
 be a ' weary strife ' " (T.). 
 
 8. And calm' st the 7aeary strife, etc. The ed. of 1807 reads: " From 
 strife and from despair; a glorious ministry;" changed in 1815. 
 
 12. The genial sense of youth. The natural impulses of youthful in- 
 nocence. See on Untern Abbey, W},. 
 
 15, 16. Long may the kindly impulse, etc. The reading of 1827, 
 which wc prefer to the earlier or later forms. The ed. of 1807 has : 
 
 '■ May joy be theirs while life shall last ! 
 And thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!" 
 
TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 215 
 
 That of 1836 is 
 
 " Oh ! if through confidence misplaced 
 They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast." 
 
 21, 22. And tfuy a bliss fill course, eXc. The reading of 1807 (changed 
 in 1827) was : 
 
 " And blest are they who in t!»e main 
 This faith, even n<i\v, do entertain : 
 Live in the spirit," etc. 
 
 This creed. That is, this faith in joy and love to guide them. 
 
 24. Yet seek thy Jirni support, etc. The reading of 1845. The ed. 
 of 1807 has, "Yet find that other strength, according to their need;" 
 changed in 1836 to " Vet find they firm support, according to their need." 
 
 29-31. And oft, 2u/ien in my heart, etc. The reading of 1807 was : 
 
 " Resolved that nothing e"er should press 
 Upon my present happiness, 
 I shoved unwelcome tasks away ; 
 But thee I now would serve," etc. 
 
 That of 181 5 was : 
 
 " And oft when in my heart was heard 
 Thy timely mandate, 1 deferred 
 The task imposed from d.iy to day ;" etc. 
 
 The present reading was adopted in 1827. 
 
 36. The quietness of thought. As "opposed to passion or feeling" 
 
 37. Unchartered. Unrestricted; like national freedom unrestrained 
 by a charter, or constitution. 
 
 40. That ever is the same. Until 1827 the reading was " which ever 
 is the same." 
 
 45-48. Floioers laugh before thee, etc. The obedience of nature to 
 physical law is beautifully compared to man's obedience to moral law. 
 It is in keeping with Wordsworth's conception of nature as having "a 
 true life of her own " and as being " the shape and image of right rea- 
 son, reason in the highest sense, embodied and made visible in order, in 
 stability, in conformity to eternal law" (Shairp). 
 
 53. Lowly wise. Wise through humility. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 WHO HAD BEEN REPROACHED FOR TAKING LONG WALKS L\ THE 
 COUNTRY. 
 
 Written in 1805, and published in 1807. 
 
 5. Thv own delightful days. The reading given by Matthew Arnold 
 in his Selections. The ed. of 1807 has " Thy slow delightful days," 
 which was changed in 1836 to " Thy own heart-stirring days." 
 
 8, g. And treading among flowers of joy, etc. The reading of 1827, 
 that of 1807 being 
 
2i6 NOTES. 
 
 " As if thy heritage were joy. 
 
 And pleasure were thy trade.'' 
 
 i6. Serene and bright. The ed. of 1807 had " alive and bright;' 
 changed in 181 5. 
 
 CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR. 
 
 Written in 1806, published in 1807. In the MS. notes on his po- 
 ems, Wordsworth says: " The course of the great war with the French 
 naturally fixed one's attention upon the military character, and, to the 
 honour of our country, there were many illustrious instances of the qual- 
 ities that constitute its highest excellence. Lord Nelson carried most of 
 the virtues that the trials he was exposed to in his department of the ser- 
 vice necessarily call forth and sustain, if they do not produce the con- 
 trary vices. But his public life was stained with one great crime, so 
 that, though many passages of these lines were suggested by what was 
 generally known as excellent in his conduct, I have not been able to 
 connect his name with the poem as I could wish, or even to think of 
 him with satisfaction in reference to the idea of what a warrior ought to 
 be. For the sake of such of my friends as may happen to read this note 
 I will add, that many elements of the character here pourtrayed were 
 found in my brother John,* who perished by shipwreck as mentioned 
 elsewhere. His messmates used to call him the Philosopher, from which 
 it must be inferred that the qualities and dispositions I allude to had not 
 esca]:)ed their notice. He often expressed his regret, after the war had 
 continued some time, that he had not chosen the Naval, instead of the 
 
 * John was a few years younger tlian Williatn, and captain of an East-Indiainan. In 
 iSnn he had .spent eight nmntlis with his brother at Grasmere. Mvers (p. 6q) says: 
 "The two brothers had seen httle of each other since childhood, and the poet had now 
 the delight of discovering in the sailor a character congenial to his own, and an appreci- 
 ation of poetry — and of tlie Lyricetl Ballads especially — which was intense and delicate 
 in an unusual degree. In both brothers, too. there was the same love of nature; and 
 after John's departure, the poet pleased himself with imagining the visions of Grasmere 
 whicli beguiled the watches of inany a night at sea. or with tracing the pathway which 
 the sailor's instinct had planned and trodden amid trees so thickly planted as to baffle a 
 less practised skill. John Wordsworth, on the other hand, looked forward to Grastnere 
 as the final goal of his wanderings, and intended to use his own savings to set the poet 
 free from worldly cares. 
 
 " Two more voyages tlie sailor made with such hopes as these, and amid a frequent 
 interchange of books and letters with his brother at home Then, in February. 1805. 
 he set sail from Portsmouth, in command of the ' .Abergavenny' East-Indiaman. bound 
 for India and China. Through the incompetence of the pilot who was taking her out 
 of the Channel, the ship struck on the Shambles off the Hill of Portland, on February 
 5, 1805. 'She struck,' says Wordsworth, 'at 5 P- m. Guns were fired immediately, 
 and were continued to be fired. She was gotten off the rock at half past seven, but had 
 taken in so much water, in spite of constant pumping, as to be water-logged. They 
 had, however, hojie that she might still be run upon Weytnouth sands, and with this 
 view continued inimping and bailing till eleven, when she went down. ... A few min- 
 utes before the ship went down my brother was seen talking to the first mate with ap- 
 parent cheerfulness; and he was standing on the hencoop, which is the point from 
 which he could (jverlook the whole ship, the moment she went down— dying, as he had 
 lived, in the very place and point where his duty stationed him.'" 
 
CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR. 217 
 
 East India Company's service, to which his family connection had led 
 him. He greatly valued moral and religious instruction for youth, as 
 tending to make good sailors. The best, he used to say, came from 
 Scotland; the next to them, from the North of England, especially from 
 Westmoreland and Cumberland, where, thanks to the piety and local at- 
 tachments of our ancestors, endowed, or, as they are commonly called, 
 free, schools abound." 
 
 Myers, commenting on this poem, asks (p. 79) : " Was there any man, 
 by land or sea, who might serve as the poet's type of the ideal hero ? 
 To an Englishman, at least, this question carries its own reply. For by 
 a singular destiny England, with a thousand years of noble history be- 
 hind her, has chosen for her best-beloved, for her national hero, not an 
 Arniinius from the age of legend, not a Henri Quatre from the age of 
 chivalry, but a man whom men still living have seen and known. For, 
 indeed, England and all the world as to this man were of one accord; 
 and when in victory, on his ship ]^ictoyy, Nelson passed away, the thrill 
 which shook mankind was of a nature such as perhaps was never felt at 
 any other death^so unanimous was the feeling of friends and foes that 
 earth had lost her crowning example of impassioned self-devotedness and 
 of heroic honour. 
 
 " And yet it might have seemed that between Nelson's nature and 
 Wordsworth's there was little in common. The obvious limitations of the 
 greal Admiral's culture and character were likely to be strongly felt by 
 the philosophic poet. . . . Wordsworth was, in fact, hampered by some 
 such feelings of disapproval. He even tells us, with that naive affec- 
 tionateness which often makes us smile, that he has had recourse to the 
 character of his own brother John for the qualities in which the great 
 Admiral appeared to him to have been deficient. But on these hesita- 
 tions it would be unjust to dwell. I mention them only to bring out 
 the fact that between these two men, so different in outward fates — be- 
 tween ' the adored, the incomparable Nelson ' and the homely poet, ' re- 
 tired as noontide dew ' — there was a moral likeness so profound that the 
 ideal of the recluse was realized in the public life of the hero, and, on 
 the other hand, the hero himself is only seen as completely heroic when 
 his impetuous life stands out for us from the solemn background of 
 the poet's calm. And surely these two natures taken together make 
 the perfect Englishman. Nor is there any portrait fitter than that of 
 Tlie Happy Warrior to go forth to all lands as representing the Eng- 
 lish character at its height — a figure not ill-matching with ' Plutarch's 
 men.' 
 
 " For indeed this short poem is in itself a manual of greatness; there 
 is a Roman majesty in its simple and weighty speech. And what eu- 
 logy was ever nobler than that passage where, without definite allusion 
 or quoted name, the poet depicts, as it were, the very summit of glory 
 in the well-remembered aspect of the Admiral in his last and greatest 
 hour ? 
 
 ■ Whose powers shed round him, in the common strife, 
 Or mild concerns of ordinary lile, 
 A constant influence, a peculiar grace ; 
 But who, if he be called upon to lace 
 
2i8 XOTES. 
 
 Sunie awful nionieut to which Heaven has joined 
 Oieat issues, good or bad for luiman kind, 
 Js kap/>y ,is a lover, wid attired 
 IVith sudden brightness, like a man i?tsfiired^ 
 
 Or again, where the hidden thought of Nelson's womanly tenderness, 
 of his constant craving for the green earth and home affections in the 
 midst of storm and war, melts the stern verses into a sudden change of 
 tone : 
 
 ■ He who, though thus endued as with a sense 
 
 And faculty for storm and turbulence. 
 
 Is yet a soul whose 7naster-bias leans 
 
 To hoineielt pleasures and to gentle scenes ; 
 
 Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be. 
 
 Are at his heart, and such fidelity 
 
 It is his darling passion to approve; 
 
 More brave for this, that he hath much to love.' 
 
 Compare with this the end of the So/t:^'- at Bioiighaiii Castle, where, at 
 the words ' alas ! the fervent harper did not know — ' the strain changes 
 from the very spirit of chivalry to the gentleness of nature's calm. 
 Nothing can be more characteristic of Wordsworth than contrasts like 
 this. They teach us to remember that his accustomed mildness is the 
 fruit of no indolent or sentimental peace; and that, on the other hand, 
 when his counsels are sternest, and ' his voice is still for war,' this is no 
 voice of hardness or of vainglory, but the reluctant resolution of a heart 
 which fain would yield itself to other energies, and have no message 
 but of love. 
 
 " There is one more point in which the character of Nelson has fallen 
 in with one of the lessons which Wordsworth is never tired of enforcing, 
 the lesson that virtue grows by the strenuousness of its exercise, that it 
 gains strength as it wrestles with pain and difficulty, and converts the 
 shocks of circumstance into an energy of its proper glow. The Happy 
 Warrior is one, 
 
 ' Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, 
 And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train ! 
 Turns his necessity to ,^lorious gain ; 
 In face ot these doth exercise a power 
 Which is our human nature's highest dower ; 
 Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bc-reaves 
 Of their bad influence, and their good receives ; 
 By objects which might force the soul to abate 
 Her feeling, rendered more compassionate ;' 
 
 and so further, in words which recall the womanly tenderness, the al- 
 most exaggerated feeling for others' pain, whicii showed itself memora- 
 bly in face of the blazing ' Orient,' and in the harbour at Teneriffe, anil 
 in the cockpit at Trafalgar. 
 
 " In such lessons as these — such lessons as 7'he Happy Warrior or the 
 Patriotic Sonnets teach — there is, of course, little that is absolutely 
 novel. We were already aware that the ideal hero should be as gentle 
 as he is brave, that he should act always from the highest motives, nor 
 greatly care for any reward save the consciousness of having done his 
 dutv. We were aware that the true strength of a nation is moral, and 
 
CHARACTER OF THE HAFFY WARRIOR. 219 
 
 not material; that dominion which rests on mere military force is des- 
 tined quickly to decay; that the tyrant, however admired and prosper- 
 ous, is in reality despicable, and miserable, and alone; that the true man 
 should face death itself rather than parley with dishonour. These truths 
 are admitted \vv all ages; yet it is scarcely stretching language to say that 
 they are known to but few men. Or at least, though in a great nation 
 there be many who will act on them instinctively, and approve them by 
 a self-surrendering faith, there are few who can so put them forth in 
 speech as to bring them home with a fresh conviction and an added 
 glow; who can sum up, like ^-Eschylus, the contrast between Hellenic 
 freedom and barbarian despotism in ' one trump's peal that set all 
 Greeks aflame;' can thrill, like Virgil, a world-wide empire with the re- 
 cital of the august simplicities of early Rome. 
 
 " To those who would know these things with a vital knowledge — a 
 conviction which would remain unshaken were the whole world in arms 
 for wrong — it is before all things necessary to strengthen the inner mo- 
 nitions by the companionship of these noble souls. And if a poet, by 
 strong concentration of thought, by striving in all things along the up- 
 ward way, can leave us in a few pages, as it were, a summary of patriot- 
 ism, a manual of national honour, he surely has his place among his 
 country's benefactors not only by that kind of courtesy which the nation 
 extends to men of letters of whom her masses take little heed, but with 
 a title as assured as any warrior or statesman, and with no less direct a 
 claim." 
 
 Mrs. Jameson, in her Coinnionplace Book, calls attention to the fact 
 that if in this poem we make the experiment of " substituting the word 
 ti'ODian for the word zvarrior, and changing the masculine for the femi- 
 nine pronoun," we shall find that it "reads equally well." She prints 
 lines 1-56 with these changes, and adds: "In all these fifty-six lines 
 there is only one which cannot be feminized in its significance, . . . 
 and which is totally at variance with our ideal of a Happy Woman. It 
 is the line 'And in himself possess his own desire.' No woman could 
 exist happily or virtuously in such complete independence of all exter- 
 nal affections as these words express." 
 
 Miss Martineau, in her Autobiography, says : " Knowing that he had 
 no objection to be talked to about his works, I told him I thought it 
 might interest him to hear which of his poems was Ur. Channing's fa- 
 vourite. I told him I had not been a day in Dr. Channing's house when 
 he brought me The Happy irarrior — a choice which I thought very 
 characteristic also. 'Ay,' said Wordsworth, 'that was not on account 
 of ihe poetic conditions being best fulfilled in that poem; but because it 
 is ' (solemnly) ' a chain of extremely valooahle thoughts. — You see, it 
 does not best fulfil the conditions of poetry; but it is' (solemnly) 'a 
 chain of extremely valooable thoughts.' " 
 
 2. That every man, etc. The ed. of 1807 has, " Whom every man," 
 etc. It was corrected in 1820, but in the last line of the poem not until 
 1845. 
 
 5. Boyish thought. The original reading (changed in 1845) was 
 "childish thought." 
 
2 20 NOTES. 
 
 7. That makes. Originally "That make;" corrected in 1827. 
 
 33. He fixes good on good alone. The reading of 1807, changed in 
 1836 to " He labours good on good to fix." 
 
 75, 76. Persevering to the last, etc. The ed. of 1807 has the follow- 
 ing note on these lines : 
 
 " ' For Kiiightes ever should be persevering. 
 To seek honour without leintisse or slouth, 
 Fro wele to better in all manner thing.' 
 
 Chaucer — The Fioure mid ilu Leaf." 
 
 7q. Or he must go to dust loithoHt his fame. The reading of 1807, 
 retained by Matthew Arnold. The ed. of 1836 reads: "Or he must 
 fall, and sleep without his fame;" the a}id being made to in 1843. 
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 Written in the spring of 1806, when Wordsworth spent two months 
 in London, and published in 1807. "Taken from life," according to 
 the author's MS. note. 
 
 3. The stately Pantheon. This building, successively a concert-hall, 
 theatre, and bazar, still stands on Oxford Street, London (nearly oppo- 
 site the Princess's Theatre), and is now (1889) a wine-warehouse. The 
 popular accentuation of the name {Pantlieon, as in the poem), though 
 sustained by the dictionaries, is etymologically wrong. 
 
 15. Dnsky-broived, Originally "dusky-faced;" changed in 1815. 
 
 37. Mark that cripple. The reading of 1827, that of 1807 being 
 " There 's a cripple." 
 
 SONiNETS. 
 
 "Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room." — Writ- 
 ten in 1806, published in 1807 as a " Prefatory Sonnet" to the series of 
 " Miscellaneous Sonnets." 
 
 3. Their pensive citadels. " That is, the world of thought, in which 
 they shut themselves out from the world of action " (T.). 
 
 6. Furness Fells. Furness is a district in the northern part of Lan- 
 cashire, adjoining Cumberland. The greater part of it is mountainous, 
 the highest peaks being more than 2500 feet high. K. says : " In 
 Wordsworth's time Furness Fells was a generic phrase for all the hills 
 east of the Duddon, south of the Brathay, and west of Windermere." 
 Furness Abbey, the ruins of which are the chief attraction of the ex- 
 treme southern portion of the Furness district, was its centre in the old- 
 en time, when it had a much larger area. 
 
 8. /// truth the prison, etc. T. cpiotes Lovelace, 'Po Althea from 
 Prison : 
 
SOAWETS. 221 
 
 " Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 N or iron bars a cage : 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 These for an hermitage " 
 
 9. Hence for tne. It was " hence to nie " until 1849. 
 
 13. The weight of too much liberty. Cf. Ode to Duty, 37 : " Me this 
 unchartered freedom tires." 
 
 14. Brief solace. The reading of 1827, the earlier being "short so- 
 lace." 
 
 " Wings have we," etc. — Written in 1S06, printed in 1807. 
 9-12. There f ltd I personal themes, tic. The reading of 1S27. The 
 ed. of 1807 has : 
 
 " There do I find a never-failing store 
 
 Of personal themes, and such as I love best ; 
 
 Matter wherein right voluble 1 am. 
 
 Two will I mention dearer tlian the rest." 
 
 13, 14. 77^1? gentle lady. The allusions to Shakespeare and Spenser 
 need no explanation. Cf. the "Dedication" to The IVhite Doe of 
 Rylstone : 
 
 " And, Mary, oft beside our blazing fire. 
 
 When years of wedded life were as a day 
 
 Whose current answers to the heart's desire. 
 
 Did we together read in Spenser's lay 
 
 How Una, sad of soul — in sad attire. 
 
 The gentle Una, of celestial birth. 
 
 To seek her knight went wandering o'er the earth;" 
 
 and, in the next stanza, the reference to " The milk-white lamb which 
 in a line she led." 
 
 In the preface to the ed. of 1815, Wordsworth says : " However im- 
 bued the surface might be with classical literature, he [Milton] was a He- 
 brew in soul; and all things tended in him towards the sublime. Spen- 
 ser, of a gentler nature, maintained his freedom by aid of his allegorical 
 spirit, at one time inciting him to create persons out of abstractions; 
 and, at another, by a superior effort of genius, to give the universality 
 and permanence of abstractions to his human beings, by means of attri- 
 butes and emblems that belong to the highest moral truths and the 
 purest sensations, — of which his character of Una is a glorious exam- 
 ple." 
 
 "Nor can I not believe," etc. — Written in 1806, published in 
 1807. It is a continuation of the preceding sonnet. 
 
 9-12. Blessings be with them, etc. These four lines are the inscrip- 
 tion under Wordsworth's statue in Westminster Abbey. They were se- 
 lected by Principal Shairp after Dean Stanley had said that he could 
 not decide what quotation from the poet to use. 
 
 " The world is too much with us." — Written in 1806, pub- 
 lished in 1807. 
 
222 NOTES. 
 
 5. T lie sea. Misprinted " This sea " in Matthew Arnold's &A'f/'/(Wj 
 (English ed.). 
 
 7. Utii^atkeird mnu like sleeping Jlon'iu's. The simile is thoroughly 
 Wordsworthian. 
 
 II. This pleasant lea. The locality referred to is not known. 
 
 13. Proteus rising fivm the sea. The first reading (changed in 1827) 
 was " Proteus coming from the sea." P'or the allusions to the change- 
 able sea-god and Triton., cf. Connis, 871 : 
 
 " By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look, 
 And the Carpathian wizard's hook ; 
 By scaly Triton's winding shell," etc. 
 
 Proteus is called tlie Carpathian wizai-d hecsease of his prophetic power 
 and his abode in the Carpathian sea; and a hook, or crook, is given him 
 because he kept the herds of Neptune. He " represented the everlast- 
 ing changes, united with ever-recurrent sameness, of the sea." 
 
 To Sleep. — Written in 1S06, published in 1807. 
 
 5. Have all been thought, etc. The ed. of 1807 has : " I 've thought 
 of all by turns ; and still I lie;" that of 1836 : " I thought of all by 
 turns, and yet I lie ;" and that of 1845 : " I have thought of all by turns, 
 and yet do lie." We follow (as M. Arnold does) the text of 1827. 
 
 13. Between dav and day. Until 1832 the reading was " betwixt day 
 and day." See on She tvas a Phantom, 24, and A ffliction of Alargai-et, 60. 
 
 On the whole sonnet cf. Shakespeare, 2 Henry IV. iii. i. 5 fob: 
 
 " O sleep, O gentle sleep, 
 Natme's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down," etc. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 Lntimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early 
 Childhood. 
 
 Written in 1803-1806, published in 1807. The following is from 
 the MS. notes of 1843: "This was composed during my residence at 
 Town-end, Grasinerc. Two years at least passed between the writing 
 of the four first stanzas and the remaining ]iart. To the attentive and 
 comjietent reader the whole sufficiently explains itself; but there may 
 be no harm in adverting here to particular feelings or experiences of my 
 own mind on which the structure of the poem partly rests. Nothing 
 was more difficult for me in childhood than to admit the notion of death 
 as a state applicable to my own being. I have said elsewhere — 
 
 ' A simple child. 
 That li.;;htly draws its breath. 
 And feels its life in everv limb, 
 Wliat should it know lif death?" - 
 
ODE ON IMMORTALITY. 
 
 223 
 
 But it was not so much from feelings of animal vivacity that my diffi- 
 culty came as from a sense of the indomitableness of the spirit within 
 me. I used to brood over the stories of Enoch and Elijah, and almost 
 to persuade myself tliat, whatever might become of others, I should be 
 translated, in something of the same way, to heaven. With a feeling 
 congenial to this, I was often unable to think of external things as hav- 
 ing external existence, and I communed with all that I saw as something 
 not apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature. Many 
 times while going to school have I grasped at a wall or tree to recall 
 myself from this abyss of idealism to the reality. At that time I was 
 afraid of such processes. In later periods of life I have deplored, as 
 we have all reason to do, a subjugation of an opposite character, and 
 have rejoiced over the remembrances, as is expressed in the lines — 
 
 ' Obstinate questionings 
 Of sense and outward things, 
 Fallings from us, vauishings ;' etc. 
 
 To that dream-like vividness and splendour which invest objects of 
 sight in childhood, every one, I believe, if he would look back, could 
 bear testimony, and I need not dwell upon it here ; but having in the 
 poem regarded it as presumptive evidence of a prior state of existence, 
 I think it right to protest against a conclusion, which has given pain to 
 some good and pious persons, that I meant to inculcate such a belief. 
 It is far too shadowy a notion to be recommended to faith, as more than 
 an element in our instincts of immortality. But let us bear in mind 
 that, though the idea is not advanced in revelation, there is nothing 
 there to contradict it, and the fall of man presents an analogy in its 
 favour. Accordingly, a pre-existent state has entered into the popular 
 creeds of many nations, and, among all persons acquainted with classic 
 literature, is known as an ingredient in Platonic philosophy. Archime- 
 des said that he could move the world if he had a point whereon to rest 
 his machine. Who has not felt the same aspirations as regards the 
 world of his own mind? Having to wield some of its elements when I 
 was impelled to write this poem on the ' Immortality of the Soul,' I took 
 hold of the notion of pre-existence as having sufficient foundation in hu- 
 manity for authorizing me to make for my purpose the best use of it I 
 could as a poet." 
 
 Coleridge, in the BicgrapMa Literaria ( Works, Harper's ed. vol. iii. 
 p. 489 fob), remarks : " To the Ode on the Intimations of Immortality 
 the poet might have prefixed the lines which Dante addresses to one of 
 his own Canzoni — 
 
 ' Canzone, i' credo, che saranno radi 
 Color, che tua ragione intendan bene, 
 Tanto lor sei faticoso ed alto.' * 
 
 ' O lyric song, there will be few, think I, 
 Who may thy import understand aright, 
 Thou art for them so arduous and so high!' 
 
 * Catizoiti Morali, lib. iv. canz. i. Tanto lor iarli faticoso e forte is the original 
 thirdline.— S. C. 
 
•24 
 
 NO TES. 
 
 But the ode was intended for such readers only as had been accustomed 
 to watch the flux and reflux of their inmost nature, to venture at times 
 into the twilight realms of consciousness, and to feel a deep interest in 
 modes of inmost being, to which they know that the attriljutes of time 
 and space are inapplicable and alien, but which yet cannot be conveyed, 
 save in symbols of time and space. For such readers the sense is suffi- 
 ciently plain, and they will be as little disposed to charge Mr. Words- 
 wortli with believing the Platonic pre-existence in the ordinary interpre- 
 tation of the words, as I am to believe that Plato himself ever meant or 
 taught it." 
 
 Emerson says of Wordsworth : " Alone in his time he treated the hu- 
 man mind well, and with an absolute trust. His adherence to his poetic 
 creed rested on real inspirations. Tiie Ode on Ininiortality is the high- 
 water mark which the intellect lias reached in this age." * 
 
 Lord Houghton (R. M. Milnes), in his address to the Wordswortli 
 Society in 1885, remarks: "If I am asked . . . what is the greatest 
 poem in the English language, I never for a moment hesitate to say, 
 Wordsworth's Ode on the Intimations of Ininiortality. That poem is to 
 me the greatest embodiment of philosophic poetry, which may decorate 
 youth, and childhood itself, with the years of grave and philosophic man- 
 hood. It comprehends the life of man." 
 
 Lord Selborne, addressing the same society in 18S6, and referring to 
 this poem, says: " I have heard some very stanch upholders of ortho- 
 dox dogmatic teaching find fault with it. All I can say is, I see noth- 
 ing in it but this — though in some respects presented in a fanciful form 
 — a recognition of the divine origin of the human soul. And if there is 
 such a thing as a human soul, it has a divine origin, and whatever there 
 be of true, beautiful, and divine comes from that origin, and from that 
 alone. All that I seem to have learned from Wordsworth. I do not 
 mention it controversially, but I mention it as part of the education of 
 my mind by the reading of Wordsworth." 
 
 George William Curtis {Harper s Magazine, vol. xx. p. 127), commenting 
 upon VVordsworth, says : " Lines of his are household words, like lines 
 of Shakespeare; and it is Wordsworth who has written one of the great 
 English poems — the Ode upon Intimations of Immortality. For sus- 
 tained splendour of imagination, deep, solemn, and progressive thought, 
 and exquisite variety of music, that poem is unsurpassed." 
 
 4. Apparelled in celestial liglit. Cf. Il'estminster Bridge, ^. 
 
 6. As it hath been. The ed. of 1S07 has " as it has been;" changed 
 in 1820. 
 
 25. The cataracts blow their trumpets. " A singularly bold metaphor, 
 stiinding out in striking contrast to the studiously simple language of the 
 second stanza" (T.). 
 
 26. The season w7'ong. As out of keeping with its joyousness. 
 
 28. The fields of sleep. " The regions of sleep, the early dawn." 
 
 * Cf. what Shairp says in the Studies in Poetry : "The Ode on Immortality marks 
 the hiRhest limit which the tide of poetic inspiration has reached in England within this 
 centnrv or indeed since the days of Milton." 
 
ODE Oy IMMORTALITY. 
 
 ^25 
 
 As T. remarks, this interpretation is less prosaic than "the sleeping 
 fields." K. paraphrases the passage thus : " The morning breeze blow- 
 ing from the fiekis that were dark during the hours of sleep." 
 
 43. When Earth herself. Originally " While the Earth herself;" 
 changed in 1827 to " While the Earth itself;" and in 1832 to " When the 
 E2arth herself." Finally, in 1836, the was dropped. 
 
 45. Culling. It was " pulling" until 1836. Neither word forms a 
 perfect rhyme with sullen. Rhymes that suggest a vulgar pronunciation 
 like cullin are particularly objectionable. See on Highland Girl, 54. 
 
 51. But there 's a tree, etc. Cf. Browning, May and Death : " Only 
 one little sight, one plant," etc. 
 
 58. Our birth is but a sleep, etc. " This ode, and especially this and 
 the following stanza, are frequently called ' Platonic' It must, how- 
 ever, be remembered that although Wordsworth coincides with Plato in 
 assigning to mankind a life previous to their human one, he difl'ers from 
 him in making life 'a sleep and a forgetting,' while Plato makes life a 
 tedious and imperfect process of f'n'aju>'/;T(f;, or reminding. With Words- 
 worth the infant, with Plato the philosopher, approaches nearest to the 
 previous more glorious state" (T.), 
 
 Cf. Tennyson, Tuw Voices : 
 
 " As old mythologies relate. 
 Some draught of Letlie might await 
 The slipping through from state to state. 
 
 And if I lapsed from nobler place, 
 Some legend of a fallen race 
 Alone might hint of my disgrace." 
 
 64. Clouds of glory. Like those "in thousand liveries dight " that 
 accompany the Sun when he " begins his state" (V Allegro). 
 
 66. Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! This line has no rhyme; 
 the only instance of the kind in the poem. In 185 there is apparently 
 meant to be a "sectional" rhyme o{ faith and death. 
 
 72. Priest. The word, as T. notes, "includes the twofold notion of 
 worshipper or ministrant and one who approaches nearest to the divin- 
 ity." 
 
 88. Eretted. T. says that this " implies frequency, not vexation;" but 
 is there not a suggestion of the latter ? And is there not a touch of 
 nature in this? 
 
 104. Persons. That is, dramatis pcrsoncr. The poet seems to have 
 had in mind Shakespeare's " All the world 's a stage," etc. {As You Like 
 It, ii. 7. 139 fol.). 
 
 no. Thou best philosopher, etc. Coleridge criticises this passage se- 
 verely in the Bioi^7-aphia Literaria, chap. xxii. Stopford Brooke, in his 
 Theologv in the English Poets (p. 273), says that it "is not Platonism, 
 and indeed, as expressed, it runs close to nonsense. We can only catch 
 the main idea among expressions of the child as the best philosopher, 
 the eye among the blind, . . . the mighty prophet, the seer blest — ex- 
 pressions which taken separately have scarcely any recognizable mean- 
 ing. By taking them all together, we feel rather than see that Words- 
 
 15 
 
226 NOTES. 
 
 worth intended to say that the child, having lately come from a perfect 
 existence, in which he saw truth directly, and was at home with God, 
 retains, unknown to us, that vision — and, because he does, is the best 
 philosopher, since he sees at once that which we through philosophy are 
 endeavoring to reach; is the mighty prophet, because in his actions and 
 speech he tells unconsciously the truths he sees, but the sight of which 
 we have lost; is more closely haunted by God, more near to the immor- 
 tal life, more purely and brightly free because he half shares in the pre- 
 existent life and glory out of which he has come." 
 
 112. That, deaf atid silent, etc. Who, though deaf and dumb, dost 
 understand the secrets of eternity. 
 
 114. Prophet. " Rather in the biblical sense of ' teller forth' than 
 that of ' fore-teller' " (T.). 
 
 117. In darkness lost, etc. This line is not in the eds. of 1807 and 
 1815. 
 
 120. Not to be put by. These lines follow in the eds. of 1807 and 
 1815: 
 
 " To whom the grave 
 Is but a lowly bed without the sense or sight 
 
 Of day in the warm light, 
 A place of thought where we in waiting lie." 
 
 122. Of heaven-born freedom on thy being s height. " Childhood is, 
 as it were, the mountain-top, the natural type of freedom and nearest 
 heaven, from which men descend by easy steps into the vale of man- 
 hood " (T.). The reading of 1807 (changed in 1815) was: "Of un- 
 tamed pleasures, on thy being's height." 
 
 134. Benediction. Until 1827 it was " benedictions." 
 137, 138. Of childhood, whether busy, etc. The reading of 1815, 
 the earlier being ; 
 
 " Of childhood, whether fluttering or at rest, 
 With new-born hope forever in his breast." 
 
 143. Fallings from tts, etc. " The outward sensible universe, visible 
 and tangible, seeming to fall away from us as unreal, to vanish in unsub- 
 stantiality " (K.). Cf. Wordsworth's introductory note. 
 
 144. Blank. "White, so undefined and unmeaning, like a colourless 
 surface" (T.). Cf. Tennyson, Two Voices: 
 
 " Moreover, something is or seems, 
 'I'hat touches me with mystic gleams, 
 Like glimpses of forgotten dreams ; 
 
 Of something felt, like something here ; 
 Of something done, I know not where ; 
 Such as no language may declare." 
 
 153. Uphold us, etc. The reading of 1807 (amplified in 1815) was: 
 " Uphold us, cherish us, and make." 
 
 158. N'or man nor boy. Neither manhood nor boyhood; the concrete 
 for the abstract. 
 
 163. That immortal sea. " As Wordsworth pictures the human .soul 
 drifting across the ocean of eternity to be tossed in its human birth upon 
 
ODE ON IMMORTALITY. 227 
 
 the shore of earth, so Longfellow, in his legend of Hiawatfia, has pict- 
 ured the soul drifting out again in death into the ocean sunset " (T.). 
 
 1S8. Our loves. The love which Nature seems to reciprocate. The 
 reading is that of 1S07, changed in 1836 to " Forebode not any sever- 
 ing," etc. 
 
 190. One delight. The one is antithetical to habitual. 
 
 196-199. The clouds that gather, etc. T. remarks: " This passage is 
 rather obscure. The meaning seems to be — The falling sun, with his 
 bright train of coloured clouds, yet brings the sobering thought of the 
 race of men who, even in the poet's lifetime, had sunk to their setting, 
 that their fellows might lord it in the zenith, crowned with victorious 
 palm." 
 
 The same critic quotes the following Latin version of the last stanza : 
 
 " O nemora, O valles, O laeti gramine clivi, 
 Parcite discidiiim nostri praedicete amoris ; 
 Jam praesens imo agnosco sub pectore nunien. 
 Quid si deposui puerilia gaudia meiite. 
 Hoc niagis aeterno vobis me foedeie juiigam : 
 Decuirentis aquae per adesas flumina ripas 
 Ipse pari passu quondam decurrere amabam, 
 Nunc quoque flumina amo : nascentis pura diei 
 Fax recreat ; quamquam O mihi moestior ire videtur 
 Sol quoties nioriens caput inter nubila condit. 
 Hand aliter vidi mortalia saecla perire 
 Scilicet, et mere hos, illos ut palma coronet. 
 Tangit enim pietas, tangunt mortalia pectus, 
 Spes agitat vitamque fovet : quo foedere florem 
 Contemplor quoties qui spiral humillimuS, intus 
 Nescio quid lacrimis non enarrabile surgit." 
 
 Professor Henry Reed, in his edition of Wordsworth, cites, as parallel 
 passages to this poem, the Excursion, ix.: 
 
 " Ah ! why in age 
 Do we revert so fondly to the walks 
 Of childhood — but that there the soul discerns 
 The dear memorial footstejis unimpaired 
 Of her own native vigour," etc. 
 
 and the Prelude, v. : 
 
 " Our childhood sits, 
 Our simple childhood, sits upon a throne 
 That hath more power," etc. 
 
 See also a fine passage in Raskin's Modern Painters, vol. ii., beginning: 
 " There was never yet the child of any promise," etc. 
 Knight quotes Henry Vaughan, Silex Scintillans : 
 
 " Happy those early days, when I 
 Shined in my angel infancy ! 
 Before I understood this place 
 Appointed for my second race, 
 Or taught my soul to fancy aught 
 But a white, celestial thought ; 
 When yet I had not walked above 
 A mile or two from my first Love, 
 And. looking back at that short space, 
 Could see a glimpse of His bright tace; 
 When on some gilded cloud or flower 
 
NOTES. 
 
 My gazing soul would dwell nn lioiir, 
 
 And in those weaker glories spy 
 
 Some shadows of eternity ; 
 
 Before I taught my tongue to wound 
 
 My conscience with a sinful sound, 
 
 Or had the black art to dispense 
 
 A several sin to every sense. 
 
 But felt through all this fleshly dress 
 
 Bright shoots of everlastingness." 
 
 EAMONT BKIDGE. 
 
 SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE. 
 
 Written and published in 1807. The poet says: "This poem was 
 composed at Coleorton while I was walking to and fro along the path 
 that led from Sir George Beaumont's farm-house, where we resided, to 
 the Hall which was building at tliat time." 
 
 The following exjilanatory note is appended to the jioem in all the cds.: 
 
 " Henry Lord Clifford, etc., who is the subject of this poem, was the 
 
 son of fohn Lord Clifford, who was slain at Towton Field, which Johr 
 
 Lord Clinbrd, as is known to the reader of English History was the 
 
 person who after the Ijattle of Waketield slew, in tiie pursuit, the young 
 
SOiVG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE. 
 
 229 
 
 Earl of Rutland, son of the Duke of York, who had fallen in the battle, 
 ' in part of revenge ' (say the authors of the History of Ciinibcrland and 
 Westnun-cland), 'for the Earl's father had slain his.' A deed which 
 worthily blemished the author (saith Speed) ; but who, as he adds, ' dare 
 promise any thing temperate of himself in the heat of martial fury? 
 chiefly, when it was resolved not to leave any branch of the York line 
 standing; for so one maketh this Lord to speak.' This, no doubt, I 
 would observe by the bye, was an action sufficiently in the vindictive 
 spirit of the times, and yet not altogether so bad as represented; 'for 
 the Earl was no child, as some writers would have him, but able to bear 
 arms, being sixteen or seventeen years of age, as is evident from this,' — 
 say the Alctnoirs of the Cotintcss of Pembroke, who was laudably anx- 
 ious to wipe away, as far as could be, this stigma from the illustrious 
 name to which she was born, — ' that he was the next child to King Ed- 
 ward the Fourth, which his mother had by Richard Duke of York, and 
 that king was then eighteen years of age: and for the small distance be- 
 twixt her children, see Austin Vincent, in his Book of A'ol'i/ity, p. 622, 
 where he writes of them all.' It may further be observed, that Lord 
 Clifford, who was then himself only twenty-five years of age, had been a 
 leading man and commander two or three years together in the army of 
 Lancaster before this time, and, therefore, would be less likely to think 
 that the Earl of Rutland might be entitled to mercy from his youth. 
 But, independent of this act, at best a cruel and savage one, the family 
 of CliflTord had done enough to draw upon them the vehement hatred of 
 the House of York: so that after the Battle of Towton there was no 
 hope for them but in flight and concealment. Henry, the subject of 
 the poem, was deprived of his estate and honours during the space of 
 twenty-four years; all which time he lived as a shepherd in Yorkshire, 
 or in Cumberland, where the estate of his father-in-law (Sir I,ance- 
 lot Threlkeld) lay. He was restored to his estate and honours in the 
 first year of Henry the Seventh. It is recorded that, ' when called to 
 Parliament, he behaved nobly and wisely; but otherwise came seldom to 
 London or the Court; and rather delighted to live in the country, where 
 he repaired several of his castles, which had gone to decay during the 
 late troubles.' Thus far is chiefly collected from Nicholson and Burn; 
 and I can add, from my own knowledge, that there is a tradition cur- 
 rent in the village of Threlkeld and its neighbourhood, his principal re- 
 treat, that in the course of his shepherd-life he had acquired great astro- 
 nomical knowledge. I cannot conclude this note without adding a word 
 upon the subject of those numerous and noble feudal edifices spoken 
 of in the poem, the ruins of some of which are at this day so great an 
 ornament to that interesting country. The Cliffords had always been 
 distinguished for an honourable pride in these castles, and we have seen 
 that, after the wars of Yoik and Lancaster, they were rebuilt; in the 
 civil wars of Charles the First they were again laid waste, and again re- 
 stored almost to their former magnificence by the celebrated Lady Anne 
 Clifford, Countess of Pembroke, etc. Not more than twenty-five years 
 after this was done, when the estates of Clifibrd had passed into the 
 family of Tufton, three of these castles, namely, Brough, Brougham, 
 
230 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 and Pendragon, were demolished, and the timber and other materials 
 sold by Thomas Earl of Thanet. We will hope that, when this order 
 was issued, the earl had not consulted the text of Isaiah, 58th chap. i2tlr 
 verse, to which the inscription placed over the gate of Pendragon Castle 
 by the Countess of Pembroke (I believe his grandmother), at the time 
 she repaired that structure, refers the reader: — 'And they that shall be 
 of thee shall build the old zvaste places: thou shall raise up the founda- 
 tions of inanv generations ; and thou shall be called, the repairer of the 
 breach, the restorer of paths to dtcell in.' The Earl of Thanet, the 
 present possessor of the estates, with a due respect for the memory of 
 his ancestors, and a proper sense of the value and beauty of these re- 
 mains of antifiuity, has (I am told) given orders that they shall be pre- 
 served from all depredations." 
 
 I. High in the breathless hall thf mi)istrel safe. Brougham Castle, 
 now in ruins, is on the banks of the Eamont, about two miles from Pen- 
 rith. The larger part of it was built by Roger Lord Clifford, son of Is- 
 abella de Veteripont. In 1412 it was attacked and laid waste by the 
 Scots. In 1617 the Earl of Cumberland feasted James I. within its 
 walls, on his return to Scotland. In 165 1, having fallen into decay, it 
 was restored, as stated above, by Lady Anne Clifford, Countess of Dorset, 
 Pembroke, and Montgomery. After her time it was neglected and al- 
 lowed to go to ruin. 
 
 7. Her thirty years of winter past, etc. The thirty years of the Wars 
 of the Roses, 1455-1485. 
 
 II. Both Roses flourish, etc. Alluding to the union of the rival houses 
 by the marriage of Henry VII. with Elizabeth of York. 
 
 27. Earth helped him with the cry of blood. " This line is from The 
 Battle of Bostvorth Field, by Sir John Beaumont (brother to the dram- 
 atist), whose poems are written with much spirit, elegance, and harmony, 
 and have deservedly been reprinted lately in Chalmers's Collection of 
 English Poets" (W.). 
 
 The allusion is to the death of Richard III. at Bosworth, the cry of 
 blood doubtless referring to the murder of the young princes in the 
 Tower. 
 
 35. Their loyalty. The reading of 1807, restored in 1820 after being 
 altered to "their royalty" in 1815. 
 
 36. Skipton. The capital of the Craven district of Yorkshire. Its 
 castle was the chief residence of the Cliffords. It was a deserted tower 
 during the time that the " Shepherd Lord" was concealed in Cumber- 
 land. During the civil wars between Charles I. and the Parliament, it 
 was lield for the king, but was besieged and compelled to surrender 
 in 1645. The following year it was ordered Ijy the Parliament that the 
 castle should be dismantled and henceforth be used only as a family res- 
 idence. As such it still remains, being now, like IJrougham Castle, in 
 the possession of the Thanet family. 
 
 37. Though she is but a lonely tower. The ed. of 1807 adds: 
 
 " fiilent, desertea of her best, 
 Without an inmate or a guest." 
 
 In 1820 these latter lines were made to read as in the text: but in 1845 
 
SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE. 231 
 
 they were omitted, and the preceding line changed to " Though lonely, 
 a deserted tower." Line 41 suffers so much by the omission that one 
 might almost fancy the couplet was accidentally dropped. The original 
 reading of 41, by the way, was " Knight, squire, yeoman, page, or 
 groom;" altered in 1836. 
 
 41. Brougham. The English pronunciation is Broom. 
 
 lifl. How glad Pctidragon, etc. Pendragon Castle, near the source of 
 the Eden, was another stronghold of the Cliffords. It was destroyed by 
 the Scots in 1341, and remained in ruins for 140 years. To this the poet 
 apparently refers in the next line. After being rebuilt it was again de- 
 stroyed during the civil wars of the Stuarts, but was restored by Lady 
 Anne Clifford in 1660. It was finally demolished in 1685. 
 
 46. Rejoiced is Bnnig/i, etc. The Castle of Brough-under-Stainmore 
 (or Stanemore), on the banks of the Hillbeck, the liltle humble stream, 
 also belonged to the Cliffords. It was destroyed by fire in 1519, and 
 only in part restored by Lady Anne in 1660. 
 
 48. Atid she that keepeth watch and ward, etc. K. says this is 
 "doubtless Appleby Castle," built before 1422. It was partially de- 
 stroyed in 1648, and was afterwards repaired by Lady Anne. The Eden 
 is the largest river in this part of England. 
 
 53. One fair house. Brougham Castle. 
 
 56. ///;« and his lady-mother dear. The " Shepherd Lord," and his 
 mother. Lady Margaret, daughter and heiress of Lord Vesci, who mar- 
 ried the Clifford of Shakespeare's Henry VI. 
 
 75. On Carrock's side. Carrock Fell (2174 feet) is opposite Bowscale 
 Tarn, on the other side of the river Caldew. 
 
 91. Mosedales groves. The valley referred to here is to the north of 
 Blencathara or Saddleback (K.). This is a mountain, 2787 feet high, a 
 few miles northeast of Keswick. 
 
 94. Glendcramakin s lofty springs. This river rises in the high ground 
 north of Blencathara. It unites with St. John's Beck to form the Greta. 
 
 97. Sir Lancelot Threlkeld. See Wordsworth's note above. 
 
 118. Simple glee. Originally "solemn glee;" changed in 1845. 
 
 iig. Nor yet for higher sympathy. The reading of 1845. That of 
 I S07 was : 
 
 " And a cheerful company, 
 That learned of him submissive ways. 
 And comforted his private days." 
 
 In 1836 the first line became "A spirit-soothing company." 
 
 124. And both the undying fish, etc. " It is imagined by the people 
 
 of the country that there are two immortal fish, inhabitants of this tarn, 
 
 which lies in the mountains not far from Threlkeld " (W.). Bowscale 
 
 Tarn is to the north of Blencathara. 
 128, 129. Tliey moved about in open sight, etc. Tlie reading of 1807, 
 
 changed in 1836 to : 
 
 " And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright. 
 Moved to and fro, for his delight." 
 
 131. On the riiountaiiLS. Changed in 1S36 to " Upon the moun- 
 tains." 
 
232 
 
 AOTES. 
 
 133. And the caves. Changed in 1836 to " And into caves." 
 
 137. Fnce of thing. The reading of 1S07, that of 1836 being " The 
 face of thing." 
 
 138, 139. And if men, etc. The reading of 1827, which diflfers from 
 that of 1807 only in having coidd for "can." The ed. of 1836 has 
 "And if that men;" and that of 1832 changes the next line to "His 
 tongue could whisper words of might." 
 
 145. On the bh)od of Clifford calls. "The martial character of the 
 ClifTords is well known; . . . and, besides several others who perished 
 in the same manner, the four immediate progenitors of the person in 
 whose hearing this is supposed to be spoken all died in the field " (W.). 
 
 159-160. Alas! the fervent harper, etc. This is the reading of 1807, 
 changed in 1845 into : 
 
 " Alas ! the impassioned minstrel did not know 
 
 How. by Heaven's grace, this Clifford's heart was framed; 
 How he, long forced in humble walks to go," etc. 
 
 174. 77ie good lord Clifford. After his restoration to his estates, he 
 lived a comparatively quiet life, lie was much at Bolton near by, 
 where he studied astronomy and alchemy with the aid of the monks. In 
 1513, when nearly sixty years old, he was at Flodden, leading "the 
 flower of Craven." He died in 1523, and was buried in Uie choir of 
 Bolton Priory. 
 
 LAODAMIA. 
 
 Written at Rydal Mount in 1S14, published in 1815. The MS. 
 notes say: "The incident of the trees growing and withering put the 
 subject into my thoughts, and I wrote with the hope of giving it a lof- 
 tier tone than, so far as I know, has been given to it by any of the An- 
 cients who have treated of it. It cost me more trouble than almost any- 
 thing of equal length I have ever written." * 
 
 Mvers (p. 113) remarks: "Under the powerful stimulus of the .sixth 
 .,'Kneid — allusions to which pervade Laodaiiiia \ througliout — with un- 
 usual labour, and by a strenuous effort of tlie imagination, Wordsworth 
 was enabled to depict his own love in cxcelsis, to imagine what aspect it 
 might have worn, if it had been its destiny to deny itself at some heroic 
 call, and to confront with nolileness an extreme emergency, and to be 
 victor (as Plato has it) in an Olympian contest of the soul. For, indeed, 
 the 'fervent, not ungovernable, love,' which is the ideal that Protesilaus 
 is sent to teach, is on a great scale the same affection wdiich we have 
 
 * And he appears to have had a proportionally high opinion of it. Mrs. Alaric Watts 
 in her /,///' of Watts, says : " He asked me what 1 thought the finest elegiac composi- 
 tion in the language; and when I diffidently suggested I.ycidas. he replied: 'You are 
 not far wrong! It may, I think, be affirmed that Milton's Lycidas and my Laodamia 
 are twin immortals.' " 
 
 t Laodatiiia should be read (as it is given in Mr. Matthew Arnold's admirable vol- 
 ume of selections) with the enrlter conclusion ; the accoyidiaxxn is less satisfactory ; and 
 llie tkird, with its sermonising tone, " thus all in vain exhorted and reproved," is worst 
 
LAO DA MI A. 
 
 ^-Zl 
 
 been considering in domesticity and peace : it is love considered not as 
 a revolution but as a consummation; as a self-abandonment not to a 
 laxer but to a sterner law; no longer as an invasive passion, but as the 
 deliberate habit of the soul. It is that conception of love which springs 
 into being in the last canto of Dante's Purgatory — which finds in Eng- 
 lish chivalry a noble voice — 
 
 ' 1 could not love thee, dear, so much, 
 Loved 1 not honour more' 
 
 For, indeed (even as Plato says that Beauty is the splendour of Truth), 
 so such a Love as this is the splendour of Virtue; it is the unexpected 
 spark that flashes from self-forgetful soul to soul, it is man's standing 
 evidence that he ' must lose himself to find himself,' and that only when 
 the veil of his personality has lifted from around him can he recognize 
 that he is already in heaven." 
 
 Mr. Aubrey de Vera, in his " Recollections of Wordsworth" {Essays, 
 vol. ii. p. 2Sg), says of his father, the late Sir Aubrey de Vere : " He had 
 been one of Wordsworth's warmest admirers when thev number was 
 small, and in 1842 he dedicated a volume of poems to hi.n. He taught 
 me when a boy of eighteen years old to admire the great bard. I had 
 been very enthusiastically praising Lord Byron's poetry. My father re- 
 plied,' Wordsworth is the great poet of modern times.' Much surprised, 
 I asked,' And what may his special merits be?' The answer was,' They 
 are very various; as, for instance, depth, largeness, elevation, and, what 
 is rare in modern poetry, an entire purity. In his noble Laodamia they 
 are chiefly majesty and pathos.' A few weeks afterwards I chanced to 
 take from the library shelves a volume of Wordsworth, and it opened on 
 Laodamia. Some strong calm hand seemed to have been laid on my 
 head, and bound me to the spot till I had come to the end. As I read, 
 a new world, hitherto unimagined, opened itself out, stretching far away 
 into serene infinitudes. The region was one to me unknown, but the 
 harmony of the picture attested its reality. Above and around v.'ere 
 indeed 
 
 ' An ampler etlier. a diviner air. 
 And fields invested with purpureal gleams ;' 
 
 and when I reached the line, 'Calm pleasures there abide — majestic 
 pains,' I felt that no tenants less stately were fit to walk in so lordly a 
 precinct. I had been translated into another planet of song — one with 
 larger movements and a longer year. A wider conception of poetry had be- 
 come mine, and the Byronian enthusiasm fell from me like a bond broken 
 by being outgrown. The incident illustrates poetry in one of its many 
 characters — that of the ' Deliverer.' The ready sympathies and inexpe- 
 rienced imagination of youth make it surrender itself easily, despite its 
 l)etter aspirations, or in consequence of them, to a false greatness; and 
 the true greatness, once revealed, sets it free. As early as 1824 Walter 
 Savage Landor . . . had pronounced Wordsworth's Laodamia to be ' a 
 composition such as Sophocles might have exulted to own, and a part of 
 which might have been heard with shouts of rapture in the regions he 
 describes' — the Elvsian Fields." 
 
234 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Laodamia (or Laodameia, as some prefer to write it) was the daughter 
 of Acastus, one of the Argonauts. She was the wife of Protesilaus, a 
 Thessalian chief who devoted liimself to the deatli predicted by the Del- 
 phic oracle for him who should first touch the Trojan shore. When the 
 news of his fate reached Laodamia, she implored the gods that he might 
 be allowed to return to the upper world. The prayer was granted, but 
 only that he might remain three hours with her, and she died heart- 
 broken when the brief reunion was over. It was said that the nymphs 
 planted elms around the grave of Protesilaus which grew until they were 
 high enough to command a view of Troy, when they withered away, 
 springing up again from their roots only to wither again — " a constant in- 
 terchange of growth and blight," as the poet relates. 
 
 1-4. With sacrifice before the risi/is^ iiior>!, etc. The reading is that 
 of 1815, retained by M. Arnold. In 1827 it was changed to 
 
 " With sacrifice before the rising morn 
 
 Vows have I made by fruitless liope inspired ; 
 And from the infernal gods, 'mid shades forlorn 
 Of night, my slaughtered lord have I required." 
 
 Sacrifices to the gods of the lower world were properly made before 
 sunrise. Cf. Virgil, Aiiieid, vi. 242-258. 
 
 2. Keqitired. In its etymological sense of "asked again." In Shake- 
 speare the word often means to ask or beg; as in Antony and Cleopatra, 
 iii. 12. 12 : 
 
 " Lord of his fortunes, he salutes thee, and 
 
 Requires to live in Kgypt ; which not granted, 
 
 He lessens his requests, and to thee sues 
 
 To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, 
 
 A private man in Athens." 
 
 11. Her bosom heaves, etc. Cf. yEneid, vi. 46 fol. 
 
 12. And she expects the issne in repose. After this stanza the MS. 
 had these two stanzas, omitted in printing : 
 
 " That rapture failing, the distracted queen 
 
 Knelt, and embraced the statue of the god: 
 ' Mighty the boon I ask, but Earth has seen 
 
 Kffects as awful from thy gracious nod. 
 All-ruling Jove, unbind the mortal chain. 
 Nor let the force of prayer be spent in vain !' 
 
 Round the high-scaled temjile a soft breeze 
 Along the column* sighed — all else was still — 
 
 Mute, vacant as the face of summer seas, 
 No sign accorded of a favouring will. 
 
 Dejected she withdraws — her palace-gate 
 
 Enters — and, traversing a room of state, 
 
 O terror! what hath she perceived?" etc. 
 
 IQ. Mild lleniies spake. The Greek god, with whom the Latin Mer- 
 cury came to be identified. For his 7vand, see ^Eneid, iv. 242. 
 
 27. But unsubstantial form, etc. Cf. A'lneid, ii. 794 or vi. 699. 
 
 45. Could not li'ithJiold. The reading of 1820, the earlier being " did 
 not withhold." 
 
 * So Knight gives it, but we suspect a misprint for "colunms." 
 
LAO DA MI A. 
 
 235 
 
 46. Generous. Noble. 
 
 51. Which then. The ed. of 1815 had " That then;" changed in 1820. 
 58. Thou shotildst elude. The original reading, changed in 1S45, was 
 " That thou shouldst cheat." 
 
 65. Parcce. The Fates. 
 
 66. A Stygian hue. A deathly pallor. See 93 below. Stygian^i 
 as of the lower world. Cf. the Latin Stygius. 
 
 68. Know, 7'irtue loere not virtue, etc. The reading of 1815, changed 
 in 1836 to " Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys," etc. 
 
 71. Duly. In due time, with the lapse of time. I£rebus^ihe lower 
 world; as often in I^atin. 
 
 76. A fervent, not ungovernable, lor'e. The reading of 1820, that of 
 1815 being " The fervor — not the impotence of love." 
 
 79. Did not Hercules, etc. The allusion is to the Alcestis of Euripi- 
 des, where Hercules brings back the heroine from the lower world and 
 restores her to her husband Admetus. Cf. Milton, On his Deceased 
 Wife : 
 
 " Methought I saw my late espoused saint 
 Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, 
 Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, 
 Rescued from death by force though pale and faint." 
 
 82. Vej-nal bloom. The reading of 1815 (changed in 1827) was 
 " beauty's bloom." 
 
 83. Medea's spells, etc. yEson, the father of Jason, was restored to 
 youth by the magic of Medea. Cf. Shakespeare, M. of V. v. i. 12 : 
 
 " In such a night 
 Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old ^son." 
 
 go. And though his favourite seat, etc. An Alexandrine, like 157 
 below. 
 
 101,102. Spake of heroic arts, ^\.c. Cf, yi!:neid,Yi. 653. The read- 
 ing is that of 1827, that of 1815 being : 
 
 " Spake, as a witness, of a second birth. 
 For all that is most perfect upon earth." 
 
 Landor objected to the "second birth" on the ground that the expres- 
 sion had been "degraded by Conventiclers." Wordsworth defended it 
 at the time, but evidently made up his mind afterwards that it suggested 
 Christian rather than classical associations. 
 
 103. Imaged. The word, as T. remarks, "introduces the notion of 
 the visionary, unsubstantial nature of the world of the dead." 
 
 105. A>t ampler ether, etc. Almost a translation of ^neid, vi. 640 : 
 
 " Largior hie campos, aether et lumine vestit 
 Purpureo, solemque suuni, sua sidera norunt." 
 
 120. ll'hat time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. IVhat time (=at 
 or during the time when) was a favourite idiom with the old poets, and 
 was sometimes used in prose. Cf. Ps. Ivi. 3, N'umb. xxvi. 10, Job, vi. 17. 
 The full phrase at zuhat time occurs in Dan. iv. 5. 
 
 Aulis was a port at the mouth of the Euripus in Boeotia, where the 
 
^36 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Greek fleet assembled before sailing for Troy, but was detained by a 
 calm on account of the anger of Artemis, whom Agamemnon had of- 
 fended. The goddess was at length appeased by the sacrifice of Iphi- 
 genia. Cf. Tennyson, Dream of Fair IVpiiicn, etc. 
 
 122. The oracle, upon the silent sea. The reading of 1815 (changed 
 in 1820) was : " Our future course, upon the silent sea." 
 
 131. These fountains, Jloivers. The these " brings back the attention 
 to the presence of Protesilaus in his old home" (T.). 
 
 133. Suspense. Hesitation on our part. 
 
 137. But lofty thought, etc. My high resolve put into action set me 
 free from this inward struggle. 
 
 I3g. And thou, though strong in loTe, art all too iveak. Matthew Ar- 
 nold, in his Selections (English ed.), puts a semicolon after tveak, con- 
 necting In reason with what follows; but this is probably a misprint. 
 All the standard eds. point as in the text. 
 
 143. I'he invisible world, etc. "Since the invisible world with thee 
 hath sympathized so far as to permit my return, let thy fortitude draw 
 this sympathy still closer by making thee more like the paiisionless happy 
 beings of the other world " (T.). 
 
 146. Toivards a higher object. The reading of 1S15, changed in 1836 
 to " Seeking a higher object." 
 
 147. That end. Until 1827 it was " this end." 
 
 149. Her bondage prove. That the bonds of selfishness might prove 
 the mere shadow of fetters when opposed to love. T. compares Tenny- 
 son, Locks ley Hall : 
 
 " Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might — 
 Smote the chord of self that, trembling, passed m music out of sight." 
 
 We take it \}ci^^\. prove is in the same construction as be annulled ; but 
 all the standard eds. and Arnold's Selections put a colon after annulled, 
 apparently making /r(?7'(? imperative. 
 
 158-163. Ah I judge her gently, etc. The reading of 1S15. See foot- 
 note on p. 232 above. Wordsworth made repeated efTorts to improve 
 the stanza, but only to its injury. The ed. of 1827 has : 
 
 " By no weak pity might the gods be moved; 
 
 She who thus perished, not without the crime 
 Of lovers that in reason's spite have loved. 
 
 Was doomed to wander in a grosser clime, 
 Apart from happy ghosts that gather flowers 
 Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers." 
 
 In 1832 the 4th line of this was changed to "Was doomed to ^^•ear 
 out her appointed time." In 1843 the first four lines took this form ; 
 
 " She — who, though warned, exhorted, and reproved, 
 Thus died, from passion des[)erate to a crime — 
 By the just gods, whom no weak pity moved, 
 Was doomed to wear out her appointed time," etc. 
 
 In 1845, the first two lines were made : 
 
 " Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved. 
 
 She perished ; and, as for a wilful crime," etc. 
 
VARNOJV VISITED. 
 
 237 
 
 167. Fondly. Foolislily; the original meaning of the \vorc], and the 
 ordinary one in Shakespeare. Cf. C. of E. iv. 2. 57 : "As if Time were 
 in debt ! how fondly dost thou reason !" 
 
 173. T/ie trees' tall summits, etc. Wordsworth adds this note : " For 
 the account of these long-lived trees, see Pliny's iVatin-al Ilistorv, lib. 
 xvi. cap. 44; and for the features in the character of Protesilaus see liie 
 Iphigeuin i)i Aulis of Euripides. Virgil \_^Eneid, vi. 447] places the 
 shade of Laodamia in a mournful region, among unhappy lovers, 
 
 ' His Laodamia, 
 
 It comes.' " 
 
 YARROW VISITED. 
 
 Written in September, 1814, and published in 1820. The poet says 
 in the MS. notes of 1843 : " As mentioned in ray verses on the death of 
 the Ettrick Shepherd, my first visit to Yarrow was in his company.* 
 We had lodged the night liefore at Traquhair, where Hogg had joined 
 us and also Dr. Anderson, the editor of the British Poets, who was on 
 a visit at the Manse. Dr. A. walked with us till we came in view of 
 the Vale of Yarrow, and, being advanced in life, he then turned back. 
 The old man was passionately fond of poetry, though with not much of 
 a discriminating judgment, as the volumes he edited suflSciently show. 
 But I was much pleased to meet with him, and to acknowledge my obli- 
 gation to his collection, which had lieen my brother John's companion 
 in more than one voyage to India, and which he gave me before his de- 
 parture from Grasmere, never to return. Through these volumes I be- 
 came first familiar \\\\.h Chaucer, and so little money had I then to 
 spare for books, that, in all probability, but for this same work, I should 
 have known little of Drayton, Daniel, and other distinguished poets of 
 the Elizabethan age, and their immediate successors, till a much later 
 period of my life. I am glad to record this, not from any importance 
 of its own, but as a tribute of gratitude to this simple-hearted old man, 
 whom I never again had the pleasure of meeting. I seldom read or 
 think of this poem without regretting that my dear sister was not of the 
 party, as she would have had so much delight in recalling the time 
 when, travelling together in Scotland, we declined going in search of 
 this celebrated stream, f not altogether, I will frankly confess, for the 
 reasons assigned in the poem on the occasion." 
 
 * In this Exlemfiore Effusion upon the Death 0/ James Hogg, written in No\-em- 
 ber, 1835, t''fi P"6t says: 
 
 " Wlien first, descending from the moorlands, 
 I saw the stream of Yarrow glide 
 Along a l)are and open valley, 
 The Ettrick Shepherd was my guide." 
 
 t See the poem of y'arrow Uttvisitcct, p. 103 above. 
 
238 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 13. Saint Majys Lake. See p. 209 above. 
 
 25. IVhere was it that the famous Flower, etc. Here, as Sliairp 
 notes in his Aspects of Poetry, "Wordsworth fell into an inaccuracy; 
 for Mary Scott, the real ' Flower of Yarrow,' never did lie bleeding 
 on Yarrow, but became the wife of Wat of Harden and the mother 
 of a wide-branching race. Yet Wordsworth speaks of /lis bed, evident- 
 ly confounding the lady ' Flower of Yarrow ' with that ' slaughtered 
 youth ' for whom so many ballads had sung lament. This slight diver- 
 gence from fact, however, no way mars the truth of feeling, which makes 
 the poet long to pierce into the dumb past, and know something of the 
 pathetic histories that have immortalized these braes." Cf. Scott's note 
 on Sai)it Alary s Lake, partly quoted on p. 209 above : " Near the lower 
 extremity of the lake are the ruins of liryhope Tower, the birthplace 
 of Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and famous by the 
 traditional name of the Flower of Yarrow." 
 
 31. The water-itn-aith ascended thrice. Cf. Logan, The Braes of 
 
 yarrow : " Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost; 
 
 It vanished with a shriek of sorrow; 
 Thrice did the water-wraitli ascend 
 And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow." 
 
 38. Sorroiu. For the rhyme, see on Llighhind Girl, 54; also for stat- 
 iire, nature (50, 52) and gather, heather (66, 68) below. 
 
 45-48. Meek loveliness, etc. " No words in the language penetrate 
 more truly and deeply into the very heart of nature. It was one of 
 Wordsworth's great gifts to be able to concentrate the whole feeling of 
 a wide scene into a few words, simple, strong, penetrating to the very 
 core. Many a time, and for many a varied scene, he has done this, but 
 perhaps he has never put forth this power more haj^pily than in the 
 four lines in which he has summed up for all time the true quality of 
 Yarrow. Yoti look on Yarrow, you repeat these four lines over to your- 
 self, arid you feel that the finer, more subtle essence of nature has never 
 been more perfectly uttered in human words. There it stands complete. 
 No poet coming after Wordsworth need try to do it again, for it has 
 been done once, perfectly and forever " (Shairp). 
 
 55. Newark' s torvers. The scene of Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
 The castle was built by James \\. of Scotland. A massive square tower, 
 now unroofed and ruinous, surrounded by an outward wall, is all that 
 remains of it. It is on the banks of the Yarrow, about three miles from 
 Selkirk. 
 
 62-64. ^ covert for protection, etc. The reading of 1827, that of 
 1820 being : " it promises protection 
 
 To ail the nestling brood of thoughts 
 Sustained by chaste affection." 
 
 66. Wild wood. The original reading (changed in 1827) was "wild 
 wood's." 
 
 87. Will dwell with me, etc. " Having traversed the stream from St. 
 Mary's Loch to Newark and Bowhill, he leaves it with the impression 
 that sight has not destroyed imagination — the actual not effaced the 
 ideal." Cf. the closing stanzas of Yarrow Uni'isited. 
 
TO B. R. HAYDON.— NOVEMBER i. 239 
 
 TO B. R. HAYDON. 
 
 Written in 1815; puljlished in the Examiner, March 31, 1816, and 
 afterwards in the ed. of 1820. No alterations have been made in the 
 text. 
 
 Sending this sonnet to Haydon, December 21, 18 15, Wordsworth said 
 that it " was occasioned, I might say inspired, by your last letter." This 
 was probably Haydon's letter of November 27, in which he says: " I 
 have benefited and have been supported in the troubles of life by your 
 poetry. I will bear want, pain, misery, and blindness; but I will never 
 yield one step I have gained on the road I am determined to travel 
 over." 
 
 8. Desert. For the rhyme, see p. 202 above. 
 
 NOVEMBER i. 
 
 Written in 1815 ; published in the Examiner, Jan. 28, 1S16, and 
 later in the ed. of 1820. 
 
 3. Smooth as the sky can shed. The reading of 1837. As first print- 
 ed it was " as smooth as Heaven can shed;" changed in 1832 to " smooth 
 as the heaven can shed." 
 
 14. Has filled. The reading of 1845, that of 1816 being " Have 
 filled." 
 
 INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 Written in 1821, published in 1822. 
 
 I. 77^1? royal saint. Henry VI., who founded the college in 1440, 
 and himself laid the first stone of the chapel, which is the most famous 
 and the most beautiful of all the buildings of the University. The great 
 effect of the interior is due to its height (78 feet), to the beauty and 
 splendour of the stained glass, and to the magnificent fan-tracery of 
 the roof. 
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 Written at Rydal Mount in 1825, published in 1827. 
 
 In the eds. from 1827 to 1843 the following was printed as a second 
 
 stanza : 
 
 " To the last point of vision, and beyond. 
 
 Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain 
 ("Twixt thee and thine a never-failin.s; bond) 
 
 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : 
 Yet mightst thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing 
 All independent of the leafy spring." 
 
240 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 It now appears as the eighth stanza of a poem entitled ./ Morning Ex- 
 ercise, and dated 1828 by Knight. In a note to that piece Wordsworth 
 says : " I could wish the last five stanzas of this to be read with the poem 
 addressed to the skylark." They are as follows (with the next preced- 
 ing stanza, without which the kinds in the first line that follows might 
 be supposed a misprint for birds) : 
 
 The daisy sleeps upon the dewy lawn. 
 
 Not lifting yet the head that evening bowed ; 
 
 But he is risen, a later star of dawn, 
 Glittering and twinkling near yon rosy cloud ; 
 
 Bright gein instinct with music, vocal spark ; 
 
 'I'he happiest bird that sprang out of the Ark ! 
 
 Hail, blest above all kinds! — Supremely skilled 
 Restless with fixed to balance, high with low. 
 
 Thou leav'st the halcyon free her hopes to build 
 On such forbearance as the deep may show ; 
 
 Perpetual flight, unchecked by earthly ties, 
 
 Leav'st to the wandering bird of paradise. 
 
 Faithful, though swift as lightning, the meek dove ; 
 
 Yet more hath Nature reconciled in thee; 
 So constant with thy downward eye of love, 
 
 Yet, in aerial singleness, so free ; 
 So humble, yet so ready to rejoice 
 In power of wing and never-wearied voice. 
 
 To the last point of vision, and beyond, etc. (as above). 
 
 How would it please old Ocean to partake. 
 
 With sailors longing for a breeze in vain, 
 'J'he harmony thy noies most gladly make 
 
 Where earth resembles most his own domain ! 
 ITrania's self might welcome with pleased ear 
 These matins mounting towards her native sphere. 
 
 Chanter by heaven attracted, whom no bars 
 To daylight known deter from that pursuit, 
 
 'T is well that some sage instinct, when the stars 
 Come forth at evening, keeps thee still and mute ; 
 
 For not an eyelid could to sleep incline 
 
 Wert thou among them, singing as they shine ! 
 
 10. With instinct. Until 1832 the reading was " with rapture." 
 12. True to the kindred points of heaven and home. .Stopford Brooke 
 remarks: "It is one of Wordsworth's poetic customs to .see things in 
 t'.ie ideal and the real, and to make each make the other poetical. He 
 jilaces the lark in a ' privacy of glorious light.' but he brings him home 
 at last to his ' nest upon the dewy ground.' It is the very thing that he 
 always does for man." Cf. Hogg, The Lark : " Thy lay is in heaven — 
 thy love is on earth." 
 
'SCORiV NOT THE SONNET." .,41 
 
 "SCORN NOT THE SONNET." 
 
 According to the author, " composed almost extempore [in 1827] in 
 a short walk on the western side of Rydal Lake;" and published the 
 same _vear. Cf. the sonnet, " Nuns fret not," etc., p. iig above. 
 
 3. S/iakcspcare unlocked /lis heart. Cf. Browning, House : 
 
 " ' Hoity-toity ! A street to explore, 
 
 Your house tlie exception ! " IVitk this same key 
 Shakespeare unlocked liis heart " once more!' 
 
 Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he !" 
 
 Mr. Swinburne replies: "No whit the less like Shakespeare, but un- 
 doubtedly the less like Browning." Coleridge, Sir Henry Taylor, Ros- 
 setti, and Victor Hugo agree with Wordsworth and Swinburne in re- 
 garding Shakespeare's Soiiinds as autobiographical. The only poet 
 besides Browning on the other side, so far as we are aware, is R. H. 
 Stoddard. 
 
 4. Tetrarch's zvoiind. His unrequited love for Laura. 
 
 5. Tiisso. His works include two volumes of sonnets, published in 
 1581 and 1592. 
 
 6. Camoe/is. Luis de Camoens, the epic poet of Portugal, who was 
 banished to Macao in 1556 (on account of his satire. Disparates iia In- 
 dia), and while in exile wrote the Lnsiad, and also many sonnets, lyrics, 
 etc. His name is usually accented on the first syllable in English, but 
 Wordsworth follows the Portuguese pronunciation. 
 
 8. Dante. See his Vita lYiioTa. 
 
 10. It cheered mild Spenser, etc. Spenser wrote 92 sonnets; and in 
 the 80th he says : 
 
 " After so long a race as I have rim 
 Through Faery land, which those six books compile, 
 Give leave to rest me being haife fordonne, 
 And gather to niyselfe new breath awhile." 
 
 14. Too feiv. Milton wrote only 23 sonnets, including those in 
 Italian. 
 
 THE WISIHNG-GATE. 
 
 Written at Rydal Mount in 1S28; published in the Keepsake, 1S29, 
 and in the ed. of 1832. 
 
 " In the vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old highway leading to 
 Ambleside, is a gate, which, time out of mind, has been called the Wish- 
 ing-gate, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a fa- 
 vourable issue "(W.). See cut on p. 151. 
 
 31. Veal even. The reading of 1829 (changed in iS32)\\as "Yes! 
 even." 
 
 40. lite local goiiiis. The Genius loci. 
 16 
 
242 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 64. And yearn. In 1S36 this was made " And thirst." 
 
 67. The church-clock" s knclI. The bell of Grasmere church. 
 
 THE TRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 
 
 Written at Rydal Mount in 1831, published in 1835. Wordsworth 
 says : " The rock stands on the right hand a little way leading up the 
 middle road from Rydal to Grasmere. We have been in the habit of 
 calling it the Glowworm Rock from the number of glowworms we have 
 often seen hanging on it as described. The tuft of primrose has, I fear, 
 been washed away by the heavy rains." The rock is easily recognized 
 now, though the primrose is gone. 
 
 See Mr. Hutton's comments on the poem, p. 171 alcove. 
 
 21. To her sphere. That is, to her orbit. As sphere is used by 
 Shakespeare, Milton, and other of our old writers, it means the crystal- 
 line sphere, in which, according to the Ptolemaic astronomy, the heav- 
 enly body was fixed and by whose motion it was carried round. Cf. 
 Milton, ilyiun on Nativity, 125 : " Ring out, ye crystal spheres," etc. 
 
 YARROW REVISITED. 
 
 Written in 1S31, published in 1S35. In the preface to the volume 
 ( Yarroio Revisited, and Other Poems), Wordsworth says : 
 
 "In the autumn of 1S31, my daughter and I set off from Rydal to 
 visit Sir Walter Scott before his departure for Italy. This journey had 
 been delayed by an inflammation in my eyes till we found that the time 
 appointed for his leaving home would be too near for him to receive us 
 without considerable inconvenience. Nevertheless we proceeded and 
 reached Al:)botsford on Monday. I was then scarcely able to lift up my 
 eyes to the light. How sadly changed did I find him from the man I had 
 seen so healthy, gay, and hopeful, a few years before, when he said at 
 the inn at Tatterdale, in my presence, his daughter Anne also being there, 
 with Mr. Eockhart, my own wife and daughter, and Mr. Quillinan, — ' I 
 mean to live till I am ei,i^hty, and shall write as long as I live.' lUit to 
 return to yVbbotsford, the inmates and guests wc found there were Sir 
 Waller, Major Scott, Anne Scott, and Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart, Mr. Lid- 
 dcll, his lady and brother, and Mr. Allan the painter, and Mr. Laidlow, 
 a very old friend of Sir Walter's. One of Burns's sons, an ofTicer in the 
 Indian service, had left the house a day or two before, and had kindly 
 expressed his regret that he could not await my arrival, a regret that I 
 may truly say was nuilual. In the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Eiddell sang, 
 ancl Mrs. Lockhart chanted old ballads to her liarp; and Mr. Allan, 
 hanging over the back of a chair, told and acted odd stories in a humor- 
 ous way. With this cxhii)ilion anil his daughter's singing. Sir Walter 
 
YAKROIV REVISITED. 
 
 243 
 
 was much amused, as indeed were we all as far as circumstances would 
 allow. But what is most worthy of mention is the admirable demean- 
 our of Major Scott during the following evening, when the Liddells were 
 gone and only ourselves and Mr. Allan were present. He had much to 
 sufTer from the sight of his father's infirmities and from the great change 
 that was about to take place at the residence he had built, and where he 
 had long lived in so much prosperity and happiness. But what struck 
 me most was the patient kindness with which he supported himself un- 
 der the many fretful expressions that his sister Anne addressed to him or 
 uttered in his hearing. She, poor thing, as mistress of that house, had 
 been subject, after her mother's death, to a heavier load of care and re- 
 sponsibility and greater sacrifices of time than one of such a constitution 
 of body and mind was able to bear. Of this Dora and I were made 
 so sensible that, as soon as we had crossed the Tweed on our depart- 
 ure, we gave vent at the same moment to our apprehensions that her 
 brain would fail and she would go out of her mind, or that she would 
 sink under the trials she had passed and those which awaited her. On 
 Tuesday morning Sir Walter vScott accompanied us and most of the 
 party to Newark Castle on the Yarrow. When we alighted from the 
 carriages he walked pretty stoutly, and had great pleasure in revisiting 
 those his favourite haunts. Of that excursion the verses Yarrow Revis- 
 ited are a memorial. Notwithstanding the romance that pervades Sir 
 Walter's works and attaches to many of his habits, there is too much 
 pressure of fact for these verses to harmonize as much as I could wish 
 with other poems. On our return in the afternoon we had to cross the 
 Tweed directly opposite Abbotsford. The wheels of our carriage grated 
 upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream, that there flows somewhat 
 rapidly; a rich but sad light of rather a purple than a golden hue was 
 spread over the Eildon hills at that moment; and, thinking it probable 
 that it might be the last time Sir W^alter would cross the stream, I was 
 not a little moved, and expressed some of my feelings in the sonnet be- 
 ginning — ' A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain.' At noon on 
 Thursday we left Abbotsford, and in the morning of that day Sir Walter 
 and I had a serious conversation tete-a-tete, when he spoke with grati- 
 tude of the happy life which upon the whole he had led. He had writ- 
 ten in my daughter's album, before he came into the breakfast-room 
 that morning, a few stanzas addressed to her, and, while putting the 
 book into her hand, in his own study, standing by his desk, he said to 
 her in my presence — ' I should not have done anything of this kind but 
 for your father's sake : they are probably the last verses I shall ever 
 write.' They show how much his mind was impaired, not by the strain 
 of thought, but by the execution, .some of the lines being imperfect, and 
 one stanza wanting corresponding rhymes : one letter, the initial S, had 
 been omitted in the spelling of his own name. In this interview also 
 it was that, upon my expressing a hope oi his health being benefited by 
 the climate of the country to which he was going, and by the interest 
 he would take in the classic remembrances of Italy, he made use of the 
 quotation from Yarroii) UiivisiteJ as recorded Ijy me in the Musings at 
 Aquapendcnte six years afterwards. Mr. Lockhart has mentioned in 
 
244 
 
 lYOTES. 
 
 Ills Life of him what I heard from several quarters while abroad, both 
 at Rome and elsewhere, that little seemed to interest him but what he 
 could collect or heard of the fugitive Stuarts and their adherents wiio 
 had followed them into exile. Both the Yarroiv Ri'Tisiti'd and the son- 
 net were sent him before his departure from England. Some further 
 particulars of the conversations which occurred during this visit I should 
 have set down liad they not been already accurately recorded by Mr. 
 Lockhart. I first became acquainted with this great and amiable man 
 — Sir Walter Scott — in the year 1803, when my sister and I, making a 
 tour in Scotland, were hospitably received by him in Lasswade upon the 
 banks of the Esk, where he was then living. We saw a good deal of 
 him in the course of the following week : the particulars are given in 
 my sister's Journal of that tour." 
 
 The following is the passage in the jMiisiiii^s at Aiiiiapciidciitc to \\hich 
 Wordsworth refers above : 
 
 " One there surely was, 
 ' The Wizard of the North.' with anxious hope 
 Brought to tliis genial climate, wlien disease 
 Preyed upon body and mind — yet not the less 
 Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words 
 That spake of bards and minstrels ; and his spirit 
 Had flown with mine to old Helvellyn's brow, 
 Where once together, in his day of strength, 
 We stood rejoicing, as if earth were free 
 From sorrow, like the sky above our heads. 
 
 Years followed years, and when, upon the eve 
 or his last going from Tweed-side, thought turned, 
 Or by anotlier's sympathy was led, 
 'I'o this bright land, Hope was for him no friend, 
 Knowledge no help ; Imagination shaped 
 No promise. Still, in more than ear-deep seats, 
 Survives for me, and cannot but survive, 
 The tone of voice which wedded borrowed words 
 To sadness not their own, when, with faint smile 
 Forced by intent to take from speech its edge, 
 He said, ' When I am there, although 't is fair, 
 'T will be another Yarrow.' Prophecy 
 More than fulfilled, as gay Campania's shores 
 Soon witnessed, and the City of Seven Hi. Is. 
 Her sparkling fountains and her mouldering lornbs; 
 And more than all, that eminence which showed 
 Her .splendours, seen, not felt, the while he stood 
 A few short steps — painfid they were — apart 
 Froin Tasso's convent-haven and retired grave."' 
 
 In a note on the passage, 
 
 " yet not the less 
 Had his sunk eye kindled," etc 
 
 the poet says : " His, Sir Walter Scott's eye, did in fact kindle at them, 
 for the lines ' Places forsaken now,' and the two that follow* were 
 
 * " Pl.ices forsaken now, though livnig still 
 
 The muses, as they loved them in the days 
 Of the old minstrels and the Border bards." 
 
 ']"hese lines occur in a reference to the sccncrv of Cumberland and the Border which 
 precedes the passage in the Miisijigs quoted above. 
 
YAKKOIV REVISITED. 
 
 ?45 
 
 ailopted from a poem of mine which nearly forty years ago was in ]iart 
 read to him, and he never forgot them." 
 
 Again, on the reference to "old Helvellyn's brow," Wordsworth 
 says : " Sir Humphry Davy was with us at the time. We had ascend- 
 ed from Patterdale, and I could not but admire the vigour with which 
 Scott scrambled along that horn of the mountain called ' Striding Edge.' 
 Our progress was necessarily slow, and was beguiled by Scott's telling 
 many stories and amusing anecdotes, as was his custom. Sir H. Davy 
 would have probably Ijeen better pleased if other topics had occasion- 
 ally been interspersed, and some discussion entered upon : at all events 
 he did not remain with us long at the top of the mountain, but left us 
 to find our way down its steep side together into the vale of Grasmere, 
 where, at my cottage, Mrs. Scott was to meet us at dinner." 
 
 There is also the following note on the line, "A few short steps — pain- 
 ful they were — apart :" " This, though introduced here, I did not know 
 till it was told me at Rome by Miss Mackenzie of Seaforth. . . . She 
 accompanied Sir Walter to the Janicular Mount, and, after showing him 
 the grave of Tasso in the church upon the top, and a mural monument 
 there erected to his memory, they left the church and stood together on 
 the brow of the hill overlooking the city of Rome ; his daughter Anne 
 was with them, and she, naturally desirous, for the sake of Miss Mac- 
 kenzie especially, to have some expression of pleasure from her father, 
 half reproached him for showing nothing of that kind either by his 
 looks or voice : ' How can I,' replied he, ' having only one leg to stand 
 upon, and that in extreme pain !' so that the prophecy was more than 
 fulfilled." 
 
 Shairp, in his Aspects of Poetry, remarks : " The poem is a memorial 
 of the very last visit Scott ever paid, not to Yarrow only, but to any 
 scene in that land which he had so loved and glorified. A memorial of 
 that day, struck off on the spot, even by an inferior hand, would have 
 been precious. But when no less a poet than Wordsworth was there to 
 commemorate this, Scott's last day by his native streams, and when into 
 that record he poured so much of the mellow music of his autumnal 
 genius, the whole poem i-eaches to a quite tragic pathos. As )'ou croon 
 over its solemn cadences, and think of the circumstances out of which it 
 arose and the sequel that was so soon to follow, you seem to overhear in 
 every line 'the still sad music of humanity.' " 
 
 2. IVinsoine Marro'w. See on Yarroio Unvisited, 6 above. 
 
 5. A^ewai-k' s castle-gate. See on Yarrow Visited, 55 above. 
 
 47. And Care ituiylavs. The ed. of 1835 has "waylay;" changed in 
 1837- 
 
 50. Eildon-hill. The Tremoutiitm of the Romans (cf. "Eildon's 
 triple height " in the next poem), to the south of Melrose. The highest 
 summit is 1385 feet above the level of the sea. According to the old 
 legend, the hill was originally a uniform cone, but a demon, at the di- 
 rection of Michael Scott, divided it into three peaks. Cf. the Lay of 
 the Last Minstrel, ii. 144 : 
 
 " And, warrior, I could say to thee 
 The words that cleft Eildon Hills m tliree." 
 
246 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 53. Sorrento's breezy waves. On the southern shore of the Bay of 
 Naples. 
 
 70. Wherever they. The reading of 1S35 (changed in 1837) was 
 " Where'er thy path." 
 
 81. Aiid what-for this frail ivorld, etc. " After the expression of 
 the hope of what Italy may do to restore Scott, Wordsworth passes on to 
 reflect on the power of ' localized Romance ' to elevate and beautify ex- 
 istence, . . . and then the poem closes with a farewell benediction to 
 the stream whose immemorial charm his own three poems have so great- 
 ly enhanced " (Shairp). 
 
 Q3. Ah, no ! Knight, in his Selections, has " Oh, no !" for which his 
 collation of the texts gives no authority. 
 
 102. Too timidly. Cf. Lay of Last Minstrel, introd. 27 : 
 
 " He passed wliere Newark's stately tower 
 Lof)ks out from Yarrow's birchen bower; 
 The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
 No liunibler resting-place was nigh. 
 With hesitating step at last 
 The embattled portal arch he passed," etc, 
 
 103. Not the last I Cf. line 8 above. 
 
 ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM 
 ABBOTSFORD FOR NAPLES. 
 
 Written in 1831, published in 1835. 
 
 3. Eildon s triple height. See on Yarro7v Revisited, 50. 
 
 13. The midland sea. The Mediterranean. 
 
 14. Parthenope. Naples, which was built on the site of an ancient 
 place called Parthenope after the Siren of that name. Wordsworth fol- 
 lows Virgil and Ovid in referring to Naples as Parthenope. Cf. Milton, 
 Comus, 879 : " By dead Parthenope's dear tomb." 
 
 DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS. 
 
 Written at Rydal Mount in 1832, published in 1S35. See Mr. 
 Ilutton's comments on the style, p. 169 above. 
 
 50-53. The priests, etc. The reading of 1835 (changed in 1836) was : 
 
 " The solemn rites, the awful forms, 
 Founder amid fanatic storms ; 
 The priests are from their altars thrust. 
 The temples levelled with the dust." 
 
 69. The Eternal Will. The reading until 1836 was " the Almighty 
 Will." 
 
MOSSG/EL FARM. 
 
 247 
 
 71. Divine monition Nature yields. The ed. of 1835 has " Her ad- 
 monitions Nature yields ;" and that of 1836 " Divine admonishment she 
 yields." The text dates from 1845. 
 
 MOSSGIEL FARM. 
 
 Written in 1833, published in 1835. The poet says: " Mossgiel 
 was thus pointed out to me by a young man on the top of the coach on 
 my way from Glasgow to Kilmarnock. It is remarkable that, though 
 Burns lived some time here, and during much the most productive pe- 
 riod of his poetical life, he nowhere adverts to the splendid prospects 
 stretching towards the sea and bounded by the peaks of Arran on one 
 part, which in clear weather he must have had daily before his eyes. In 
 one of his poetical elfusions he speaks of describing ' fair Nature's face ' 
 as a privilege on which he sets a high value; nevertheless, natural ap- 
 pearances rarely take a lead in his poetry. It is as a human being, emi- 
 nently sensitive and intelligent, and not as a poet, clad in his priestly 
 robes and carrying the ensigns of sacerdotal office, that he interests and. 
 affects us. Whenever he speaks of rivers, hills, and woods, it is not so 
 much on account of the properties with which they are absolutely en- 
 dowed, as relatively to local patriotic remembrances and associations, 
 or as they ministered to personal feelings, especially those of love, 
 whether happy or otherwise; — yet it is not always so. Soon after we 
 had passed Mossgiel Farm we crossed the Ayr, murmuring and winding 
 through a narrow woody hollow. His line — ' Auld hermit Ayr strays 
 through his woods ' — came at once to my mind with Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, 
 and Doon, — Ayrshire streams over which he breathes a sigh as being 
 unnamed in song; and surely his own attempts to make them known 
 were as successful as his heart could desire." 
 
 4. The daisy. Cf. Burns's To a Mountain Daisy, written "on turn- 
 ing one down with the plough, in April, 1786." 
 
 6. Hie peaks of Arran. Arran is a mountainous island off the coast 
 of Ayrshire, at the mouth of the Firth of Clyde. 
 
 9. Bield. Shelter (Scottish). The quotation is from the poem men- 
 tioned above. 
 
 "MOST SWEET IT IS WITH UNUPLIFTED EYES." 
 
 Written in 1833, published in 1S35. 
 
 5-8. Pleased rather, eic. The MS. reading was : 
 
 " Pleased rather with that soothing after-time 
 Whose seat is in the mind, occasion's qneen I 
 Else nature's noblest objects were, I ween, 
 A yoke endured, a penance undergone." 
 
 10. Commerce. Communion, intercourse. Cf. Hamlet, iii i. Iio : 
 ' Could beauty have better commerce than with honesty ?" Milton uses 
 
24^ 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 the verb in a similar way; as in II Penscrcso, 39: "And looks com- 
 mercing with the skies." 
 
 "A POET!— HE HATH PUT HIS HEART TO SCHOOL." 
 
 Written and published in 1842. Wordsworth says: "I was im- 
 pelled to write this sonnet by the disgusting frequency with which the 
 word artistical, imported with other impertinences from the Germans, 
 is employed by writers of the present day : for artistical let them substi- 
 tute artificial, and the poetry written on this system, both at home and 
 abroad, will be for the most part much better characterized." 
 
 Cf. Wordsworth's picture of the true poet in ^l Poet's Epitaph : 
 
 " But who is he, with modest looks 
 And clad in homely russet brown ? 
 He murmurs near the running bronUs 
 A nnisic sweeter than their own. 
 
 He is retired as noontide dew, 
 
 Or fountain in a noonday grove ; 
 And you must love him ere to you 
 
 He will seem worthy of your love. 
 
 The outward shows of sky and earth. 
 
 Of hill and valley he has viewed ; 
 And impulses of deeper birth 
 
 Have come to him in solitude. 
 
 In common things that round us lie 
 
 Some random themes he can inijiart, — 
 The harvest of a quiet eye 
 
 That broods and sleeps on his own heart." 
 
 5. T/n' art he nature. Cf. the Winters Tale, iv. 4. Sg : 
 
 " Yet nature is made better by no mean 
 
 r.ut nature makes that mean; so, over that art 
 Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
 That nature makes. ... 
 
 This is an art 
 Which does ttiend nature— change it rather; but 
 The art itself is nature." 
 
 "GLAD SIGHT WHEREVER NEW Willi OLD." 
 
 Written and published in 1845. 
 
 7, 8. Unless, 7i>hile with admiring eye, etc. "It is benignly ordained 
 that green fields, clear blue skies, running streams of pure water, rich 
 groves and woods, orchards, and all the ordinary varieties of rural nature 
 should find an easy way to the afiecticns of ail men. P.ut a taste be- 
 yond this, however desirable it may be tliat every one should po.s.sess it, 
 is not to be implanted at once; it must be gradually developed both in 
 
ADDENDA. 
 
 249 
 
 nations and individuals. Rocks and mountains, torrents and wide-spread 
 waters, and all those features of nature which go to the composition of 
 such scenes as this part of England is, distinguished for, cannot, in their 
 finer relations to the human mind, be comprehended, or even very im- 
 perfectly conceived, without processes of culture or opportunity of ob- 
 servation in some degree habitual " (W.). 
 
 ADDENDA. 
 
 " WoRDSWORTHSHlRK." — The English Lake District, or " Words- 
 worthshire," as James Russell Lowell has aptly called it, occupies a por- 
 tion of the three counties of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Lanca- 
 shire, which is about forty-five miles in extreme length and breadth. It 
 is a charming region, but how much has the poet added to its attrac- 
 tions ! Even its market value has been immensely enhanced by the 
 process. Some one has said that the mere mention of a locality by Scott 
 has increased its value more than the highest farming could do; and the 
 >.ame is true of this district and Wordsworth. It would have been a re- 
 sort for tourists if he had not lived and sung there, but by no means to 
 the extent that it now is; and some portions of it would be quite unknown 
 and unvisited were it not that Wordsworth found them out in his lonely 
 "tramps" among the hills, and made them famous by his verse. 
 
 Wiudermerc, or more properly IViiiaiidermerc, is perhaps the most 
 noted of the lakes, and is the one which the tourist, coming from the 
 south by rail, usually visits first. It is about eleven miles long, and av- 
 erages about a mile in breadth. In some places it is 240 feet deep. 
 Bowness, situated near the middle of the lake, on its eastern shore, is a 
 favourite point of view and centre of excursions. At the Ferry (see cut 
 on p. 159), about three quarters of a mile south of Bowness, the banks 
 approach each other so that the passage across is not more than a quarter 
 of a mile. A short distance above Bowness there is a fine view of the 
 lake (see cut on p. 37) from a hill on the road to Ambleside. A mile 
 and a quarter beyond this pleasant little town, and rather more than two 
 miles from the upper end of Windermere, we reach Rydal, a village 
 near the lower end of Ryctal IFater(p. 46), a lakelet scarcely half a mile 
 in length, and a quarter of a mile in breadth. Nab Scar (1300 feet 
 high) rises from its northern bank, and a little way up its side is Rydal 
 Alount* (p. 8), the poet's residence for thirty-seven years. " It seems 
 
 * Myers, in his interesting cliapter on "The English Lakes" (p. 4g\ says: "Rydal 
 Mount has probably been oftener described than any other English poet's home since 
 Shakespeare; and few homes, certainly, have been moulded uito such close accordance 
 with their inm.ues' nature I'he house, which has been altered since Wordsworth's 
 day, stands, looking southward, on the rocky side of Nab Scar, above Rydal Lake. 
 The garden was described by Bishop Wordsworth immediately after his uncle's death, 
 while every terrace-walk and flowering alley spoke of the poet's loving care. He tells 
 of the ' tall ash-tree, in which a thrush has sung, for hours together, during many years ;' 
 of the ' laburnum in which the osier cage of the doves was hung ;' of the stone steps ' in 
 the interstices. of which grow the yellow flowering poppy, and the wild geranium or 
 
250 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 to have been ingeniously set aside out of the common road, though not 
 completely isolated. It is a kind of bird's-nest upon the rugged bosom 
 of the mountain. Interlaced around it with care are all species of 
 thickly growing shrubs and vines. Its front windows have a splendid 
 prospect over the deeply scooped vale of Rydal Water and Grasmere, 
 and the mountains beyond. It is a very plain and almost rough dwell- 
 ing externally, though with a peerless site." Higher up the hill is A'ydal 
 Hall, the seat of the De Flemings, in the midst of a fine park with many 
 grand old trees. The celebrated Rydal Falls are at the back of the hall. 
 There are two falls, nearly half a mile apart, the lower one (p. 36) Vjeing 
 the more beautiful. Seen through a window of the old summer-house 
 hard by, it appears like a picture set in a frame. 
 
 " A short way on from Rydal Mere, and strung to it by a silver stream- 
 let, is the heart of all the lakes, Grasmere, which is somewhat larger than 
 its sister mere. As the road creeping around under Nab Scar passes the 
 middle part of the lake, it runs near the ll'is/iijig-gate (p. 151) sung by 
 Wordsworth in those tripping verses with such solemn ending. Here 
 one looks down upon one of the most lovely and softly peaceful scenes 
 on earth, and yet with a certain sober grandeur about it quite impossible 
 to describe." 
 
 A little further on we come to Towji-eiid, a small group of houses, 
 among which is the cottage that was the first home of Wordsworth in 
 the district (p. 15) and to which he brought his young bride in 1802. 
 We soon reach the village of Grasmere, which is at the head of the lake, 
 four miles from Ambleside. The parish church of St. Oswald (p. 176) 
 is a quaint little edifice, and adjoining it is the burying-ground with the 
 modest tombstones of the poet, his sister, his wife and her sister (p. 16), 
 his only daughter Dora, and her husband Edward Quillinan (p. 167). 
 Wordsworth's is of black slate, and is the middle one in the group (p. 
 167). The marble tablet, shown on p. 34, is within the church, over the 
 pew which he frequently occupied. 
 
 Allan Bank (p. 16) is on higher ground behind the village. After 
 Wordsworth removed to the rectory (p. 16), it was for some time occu- 
 pied by De Quincey. 
 
 Following the common track of tourists who have but a few days for 
 the Lakes, we should keep on by the same road over the pass of Dun- 
 mail Raise (p. 135), the summit of which is ^83 feet above the sea. A 
 heap of stones at this point is said to mark the scene of a battle between 
 Dunmail, King of Cumberland, and the Saxon Edmund, in 945. The 
 former was defeated and slain, the eyes of his two sons were put out by 
 
 Poor Robin '^ ' oav 
 
 With bis red stalks upon a sunny day.' 
 
 And then of the terraces — one levelled for Miss Feuwick's use, and welcome to himself 
 in aged years ; and one [p. 9] ascending, and leading to the ' far terrace ' on the moun- 
 tain's side, where the poet was wont to murmur his verses as tliey came. Within the 
 house were disposed his simple treasures: the ancestral almery [p. 10], on which the 
 names of unknown Wordsworths may be deciphered still ; Sir George Beaumont's pict- 
 ures, . . . and the cuckoo clock which brought vernal thoughts to cheer the sleepless 
 bed of age, and which sounded its noonday snmmons when his spirit fled" 
 
ADDENDA. 
 
 251 
 
 order of Edmund, and the territory was given to Malcolm, King of Scot- 
 land. The ascent of this pass was a favourite walk of Wordsworth's.* 
 The summit is two miles and a half from Grasraere, and Helvellyn (31 18 
 feet) then comes in sight on the other side, with the lake of Thirlmere 
 (p. 115) at its base. Presently we reach the small inn and church of 
 
 Wythbiirn (p. 129)— u . v,, u r 
 
 a humble house of prayer, 
 Where Silence dwells, a maid immaculate. 
 Save when the Sabbath and the priest are there, 
 And some few hungry souls for manna wait." 
 
 The eastern shore of Thirlmeref is now skirted for nearly two miles. 
 The lake itself is a mile longer, but only a quarter of a mile wide. At 
 one point it is so narrow that a picturesque foot-bridge has been thrown 
 across it. 
 
 The stream issuing from Thirlmere flows through the Vale of St. John 
 (p. 123), the entrance to which soon appears on the right of the road, 
 with Elencathara (see p. 231) at the farther end. As we go on we get 
 a good view of the famous Castle Rock, the scene of Scott's Bridal of 
 Triermain. As the poem tells us, 
 
 " With toil his way the king pursued 
 By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood. 
 Till on his course obliquely shone 
 The narrow Valley of Saint John 
 Down sloping to the western sky. 
 Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. 
 ***** 
 
 But midmost of the vale a mound 
 Arose, with airy turrets crowned. 
 Buttress and rampire^ circling bound, 
 
 And mighty keep and tower ; 
 Seemed some primeval giant's hand 
 I'he castle's massive walls had planned, 
 A ponderous bulwark to withstand 
 
 Ambitious Nimrods power." 
 
 From some points of view the resemblance to a castle is very striking. 
 
 * Cf p. 202 above, where he tells of climbing it at two o'clock in the morning to get 
 the latest news from France. 
 
 t Myers (p. 51) remarks: "It is chiefly round two lines of road leading from Gras- 
 mere tliat Wordsworth's associations cluster — the route over Dunmail Raise, which led 
 him to Keswick, to Coleridge and Southey at Greta Hall, and to other friends in that 
 neighbourhood ; and the route over Kirkstone, which led him to Ullesvvater, and the 
 friendly houses of Patterdale, Hallsteads, and Lowther Castle. The first of these two 
 routes . . skirts the lovely shore of Thirlmere — a lonely sheet of water, of exquisite 
 irregularity of outline, and fringed with delicate verdure, which the Corporation of Man- 
 chester has lately bought to embank it into a reservoir. Dedecoruin J>reiiosns onptor ! 
 'I'his lake was a favourite haunt of Wordsworth's ; and upon a rock on its margin, 
 where he and Coleridge, coming from Keswick and Grasmere. would often meet, the 
 two poets, with the other members of Wordsworth's loving household group, inscribed 
 the initial letters of their names. To the 'monumental power' of this Rock of Names 
 Wordsworth appeals, in lines written when the happy company who engraved them iiad 
 already been severed by distance and death : 
 
 ' O thought of pain, 
 That would impair it or profane ! 
 And fail not Thou, loved Rock, to keep 
 Thy charge when we are laid asleep,' 
 The rock may still be seen, but is to be submerged in the new reservoir." 
 
252 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 There is nothing more of special interest on the road to Keswick un- 
 til we reach a height called Castle Rigs;, a mile from the town. Here 
 we get a beautiful view of Derwentwater and Iiassenthwaite lakes, with 
 the valley of the Derwent between them, the two peaks of Skiddaw, and 
 the Newland Mountains. Southey and Coleridge thought this the finest 
 part of the Lake Region; and the poet Gray declared that, on leaving 
 Keswick, when he turned round at this place to take a parting look at 
 the landscape, he was so charmed that he "had almost a mind to go 
 back again." 
 
 Derweiitwaicr (p. 57) is half a mile from Keswick. It is about three 
 miles long, and a mils and a half wide, "expanding within an amphi- 
 theatre of mountains, rocky but not vast, broken into many fantastic 
 shapes, peaked, splintered, impending, sometimes pyramiilal, opening by 
 narrow valleys to the view of rocks that rise immediately beyond, and 
 are again everlooked by others." 
 
 Greta Ilall, long the residence of Southey, is near Keswick, and he 
 lies buried in the Crosthwaite churchyard, about three quarters of a mile 
 distant. 
 
 A favourite excursion from Keswick is by the east side of Derwent- 
 water to Boi'roivdale, the valley through which the Derwent flows into the 
 lake. The Lodore empties at nearly the same point, and a little way up 
 the stream is the fall that Southey has immortalized ; but only after 
 heavy rains is it at all true to his description. 
 
 Eagle Crag (p. 93) is seen towering on the left as we go up the Bor- 
 rowdale valley. Farther on the steep ascent of Borrowdale Hause begins. 
 The pass is 1190 feet high, and commands admirable views of the valley 
 we have left. On the other side Iloiiistcr Crag (p. iv.), the grandest in 
 the district, lifts an almost perpendicular wall of rock to the height of 
 1500 feet. The road descends rapidly into the Buttermere valley to the 
 lake (p. 75) from which it derives its name. This is but a little more 
 than a mile in length and half a mile in breadth, and hemmed in by some 
 of the highest and steepest of the Cumbrian mountains. A small brook 
 connects it with the larger lake of Crummock. The return to Keswick 
 is usually made by a more direct but less beautiful road through the 
 Newlands Valley. 
 
 Vllestvater (p. 145) is generally visited either from Ambleside or Kes- 
 wick. The lake, which has been compared to the Swiss Lucerne, is 
 nine miles long, with an extreme breadth of three quarters of a mile. It 
 is zigzag in shape, forming three " reaches " of unequal length, closed in 
 by mountains. It disputes the palm with Derwentwater for varied 
 wildness and beauty. The Eaniont (j). 228) is the outlet of Ulleswater. 
 
 The Langdale Pikes (p. 87) are a pair of mountains known res|ject- 
 ively as Harrison Stickle (2401 feet) and Pike o* Stickle (2323 feet). 
 Though neither so lofty nor so massive as many heights in the district, 
 they are conspicuous from so many points that none are more familiar 
 to the tourist. They are a little north of west from Ambleside, at a 
 distance of al)out seven miles, and are oftenest visited from that town. 
 Stickle Tarn (p. 256) lies at the base of Harrison Stickle. 
 
" WORDSVVORTHSHIRE." 
 
!54 NOTES. 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 O BLITHE new-comer ! I have heard, 
 
 I hear thee and rejoice. 
 O cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, 
 
 Or but a wandering voice .'' 
 
 While I am lying on the grass 
 
 Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
 From hill to hill it seems to pass. 
 
 At once far ofif and near, 
 
 Though babbling only to the vale 
 Of sunshine and of flowers. 
 
 Thou bringest unto me a tale 
 Of visionary hours. 
 
 Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! 
 
 Even yet thou art to me 
 No bird, but an invisible thing, 
 
 A voice, a mystery ; 
 
 The same whom in my schoolboy days 
 
 I listened to — that cry 
 Which made me look a thousand ways 
 
 In bush and tree and sky, 
 
 To seek thee did I often rove 
 Through woods and on the green ; 
 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love, 
 Still longed for, never seen. 
 
 And I can listen to thee yet, 
 
 Can lie upon the plain 
 And listen, till I do beget 
 
 That golden time again. 
 
 O blessed bird ! the earth we pace 
 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial, faery place, 
 
 That is fit home for thee ! 
 
ADDENDA. 255 
 
 The above poem (see preface) should have followed Yarrow Unvis- 
 iti'd, p. 106, It was composed in 1804 in the orchard at Town-end, and 
 published in 1807. Of all his poems this was Wordsworth's special fa- 
 vourite; but the critics of the time regarded it as ridiculous and afTected. 
 Pulgrave says of it : " This poem has an exaltation and a glory, joined 
 with an exquisiteness of expression, which place it in the highest rank 
 amongst the many masterpieces of its illustrious author." 
 
 3, 4. Shall I call thee bird, etc. In the preface to the ed. of 1815, 
 Wordsworth cites these lines as an example of imagination : "This con- 
 cise interrogation characterizes the seeming ubiquity of the voice of the 
 cuckoo, and dispossesses the creature almost of a corporeal existence ; 
 the imagination being tempted to this exertion of her power by a con- 
 sciousness in the memory that the cuckoo is almost perpetually heard 
 throughout the season of spring, but seldom becomes an object of sight." 
 
 6-8. Thy tzwf old shout, etc. The reading of 1807 was : 
 
 " I hear thy restless shout: 
 
 From bill to hill it seems to pass 
 About, and all about !'' 
 
 That of 1S15 was : 
 
 "Thy loud note smites my ear! — 
 From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
 At once far off and near!" 
 
 In 1820 it was changed to the present text, which was restored in 1845 
 after having been changed in 1832 to 
 
 " Thy twofold shout I hear, 
 That seems to fill tlie whole air's space, 
 As loud far off as near." 
 
 g-ii. Thoiii^h habhUng only, etc. The ed. of 1807 reads: 
 
 " To me, no babbler with a tale 
 Of sunshine and of flowers, 
 Thou tallest, cuckoo ! in the vale," etc 
 
 That of 18 1 5 has : 
 
 " I hear thee babbling: to the vale 
 Of sunshine and of flowers. 
 And unto me thou bring'st a tale," etc. 
 
 That of 1S20 reads the same except that And in the last line is changed 
 to Bill. In 1827 the text was finally settled as it now stands. 
 
 17. Tht' same 7vho)n. " The same that " would be better, aside from 
 the use of whom for a bird, which may be justified by the personifica- 
 tion, as in Brougham Castle, 16. 
 
 Hart-Leap Well (p. 191). — The locality is close to a wayside inn 
 called the Halfpniny House, which is on the direct road from Leyburn 
 to Richmond. All the stones have now disappeared, and only one of 
 the trees overhanging the well was left a few years ago. Very likely 
 this last relic of Sir Walter's pleasure-house may now be gone. 
 
INDEX OF WORDS AND PHRASES 
 EXPLAINED. 
 
 aching joys, 185. 
 /Eson, 235. 
 Alcestis, 235. 
 Allan Bank, 16, 250. 
 ampler ether, 235 
 apostolical (derivation). 205. 
 apparelled m celestial light, 
 
 224. 
 Appleby Castle, 231. 
 Arran, 247. 
 
 art be nature, thy, 248- 
 Aulis, 235. 
 
 beating up (nautical), 207. 
 bield, 247. 
 blank, 226. 
 Hlencathara, 231. 
 Borrowdale, 252. 
 both Roses flourish, 230. 
 Bowness, 249. 
 Bowscale Tarn, 231. 
 boy (=boyhood), 226. 
 braes, 208. 
 Brough, 231. 
 Brougham Castle, 230. 
 Burns (allusion), 190. 
 Butterniere, 252. 
 
 Canioens, 235. 
 
 Carrock, 231. 
 
 Castle Rock, 251. 
 
 Castle Rigg, 252 
 
 cataracts blow their trum- 
 pets, 224. 
 
 celandine, the small, 193 
 
 Chatterton, 196. 
 
 church-clock's knell, 242. 
 
 clouds of glory, 225. 
 
 Clovenford, 208. 
 
 commerce ( = communion), 
 247. 
 
 complains (rhyme), 1S3. 
 
 Conway, 180. 
 
 cry of blood, 230 
 
 culling (rhyme) 225 
 
 Dante (sonnets), 235 
 Derwentwater, 252. 
 
 17 
 
 Desdemona (allusion), 221. 
 
 desert (rhyme), 202. 
 
 Dove, the. 187. 
 
 Dryborougli, 209. 
 
 duly, 235. 
 
 Duumail Raise, 250. 
 
 Eagle Crag, 252. 
 Kamont (river), 230. 
 Eden (river), 231. 
 Eildon-hill, 245, 246. 
 elde.st child of Liberty, 199- 
 Enimeline, 192. 
 Erebus, 235. 
 espouse the sea, 199. 
 Esthwaite Lake, 182. 
 
 fallings from us, 226. 
 fare ( ^go), 203. 
 farthest Hebrides, 20S. 
 fever of the world, 185. 
 fields of sleep, 224. 
 Elower of Yarrow, 238. 
 flowers laugh before thee, 
 
 etc., 215. 
 fondly (= foolishly), 237. 
 frae, 209. 
 
 fretted (with ki.sses), 225. 
 function apostolical, 205. 
 Furness Fells, 220. 
 
 Galla Water, 208. 
 generous (-=noble\ 235- 
 genial, i86. 
 
 Glenderamakin, the, 231. 
 good lord Clifford, 232. 
 Gowbarrow Bark, 211. 
 Grasmere, ^50. 
 grasped my hand, igo. 
 Greta Hall, 252. 
 
 happy ( = fortunate), 207. 
 Hart-leap Well, 190. 
 haugh, 208. 
 have (rhyme), 207. 
 Hawes, 192. 
 Hawkshead, 17, 1S9. 
 Helvellyn, 2?i. 
 
 Hercules, 235. 
 Hermes, 234. 
 holms, 209. 
 Honister Crag, 252. 
 housing, 197. 
 hung upon, 185. 
 
 imaged, 235. 
 I incommunicable, 213- 
 
 ! 
 
 kerchief-plots, 194. 
 Keswick, 252. 
 
 King's College Chapel, 239. 
 know (rhyme), 183. 
 
 Langdale I'ikes, 252. 
 Laodamia, 235. 
 lintwhite, 209. 
 living (water), 191. 
 local genius, 241. 
 Lodore, the, 252. 
 lowly wise, 215. 
 Lucy, 186. 
 
 machine, 211. 
 
 man ( = manhood\ 226. 
 
 manners, 202. 
 
 marrow (Scotch), 208, 245. 
 
 Matthew, 189. 
 
 Medea, 235. 
 
 mews, 203. 
 
 midland sea, 246. 
 
 Milton (sonnets), 241. 
 
 mnment's ornament, 211. 
 
 morrice train, 203. 
 
 Mosedale, 231. 
 
 Mossgiel Farm, 247. 
 
 Newark Castle, 238, 245. 
 no (rhyme), 183. 
 
 Pantheon, 220. 
 paramour, 191. 
 Parcje, 235. 
 Parthenope, 246. 
 Pendragon, 231. 
 pensive citadels 32^ 
 persons (drama; ic , 225. 
 
258 
 
 INDEX OF WORDS AND PHRASES. 
 
 Petrarch's wound, 241. 
 picture of the mind, 185. 
 pilewort, 194 
 plains (rhymej, 183, 190. 
 priest, 225. 
 prophet, 226. 
 Protesilaus, 234. 
 Proteus, 222. 
 pursuing (rhyme), 194. 
 
 quietness of thought, 215 
 
 required, 234. 
 Richmond, 192. 
 royal saint, 239. 
 rustling (trisyllable), 203. 
 Rydal Falls, 250. 
 Rydal Mount, 16, 249. 
 Rydal Water, 249. 
 
 Saint John's Vale, 251. 
 Saint Mary's Lake, 209, 238. 
 sanctuary (=asylum), 193. 
 
 Selkirk, 208. 
 
 Shakespeare unlocked his 
 
 heart, 241. 
 shoon, 194. 
 
 silence of the seas, 20S. 
 Skipton, 230. 
 sober pleasure, 186. 
 sole (i^single), 205. 
 Sorrento, 246. 
 Spenser (sonnets^ 241. 
 sphere, 242. 
 Stickle Tarn, 252. 
 strath, 209. 
 Stygian hue, 235. 
 Swale, the, 191. 
 swallow-wort, 194. 
 
 Tasso (sonnets), 241. 
 temper (—moisten), 189. 
 Thirlmere, 251 
 thorough, 205, 209. 
 thou best philosopher. 235. 
 Threlkeld, Sir Lancelot, 23 1. 
 
 thrid, 194. 
 throstle, 182. 
 Tiviotdale, 209. 
 Toussaint I'Ouverture, 200. 
 Town-end, 250. 
 Triton, 222. 
 
 Ulleswater, 252. 
 Una (Spenser's', 221 
 unchartered, 215. 
 undying fish, 231 
 Ure, the, 191. 
 
 water's pleasant tune, 189. 
 water-wraith, 238. 
 what time, 235. 
 wilding, 190. 
 Windermere, 249. 
 winter, thirty years of 230. 
 Wishing-gate, the, 241, 250. 
 Wood Street, 178. 
 Wye, the, 1S4. 
 Wythburn, 251. 
 
 THIKLMliKt. 
 
AFTERNOONS WITH THE POETS. 
 
 AFTERNOONS WITH THE POETS. By C. D. Deshler. 
 
 Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 75. 
 
 This pleasing work is made up of citations from the poets, accom- 
 panied with easy and familiar discussions of their merits and peculiari- 
 ties. Seven afternoons are thus agreeably occupied, and take the shape 
 of as many interesting chapters. The participants are the " Professor ' 
 and his pupil, who are represented as on terms of the utmost intimacy, 
 and express their sentiments to each other with perfect freedom. * * * 
 Mr. Deshler has happily selected the sonnet, and confined his view of 
 the poets to their productions in this single species of verse. * * * The 
 author's extensive research has been accompanied by minute scrutiny, 
 faithful comparison, and judicious discrimination. His critical observa- 
 tions are frank, honest, good-natured, yet just, discreet, comprehensive, 
 and full of mstruction. It would be difficult to find a volume that in so 
 small a compass offers equal aid for the cultivation of literary taste, and 
 for reaching an easy acquaintance with all the great poets of the Eng- 
 lish tongue. The style is pure and transparent, and though colloquial 
 in form, it is exceedingly correct and elegant, embodying every chaste 
 adornment of which language is capable. — Boston Transcript. 
 
 A very unconventional and pleasant book. — N. V. Herald. 
 
 The substance of the book is decidedly meritorious, far better than 
 most of the criticism published in these days. It shows careful study, 
 extensive reading, a nice taste and discrimination, and also a genuine 
 appreciation and insight which are rare. — N, Y. Evening Express. 
 
 A volume of much literary interest, and is very pleasantly written.* * * 
 Mr. Deshler's discussions of literature are extremely interesting. * * * It 
 will be a source of enjoyment to all who have a taste for poetiy, and can 
 appreciate the highest triumphs of poetic art as displayed in the sonnet. 
 — Hartford Post. 
 
 We have to thank Mr. Deshler for a collection of some of the most 
 exquisite sonnets in the English language, with an animated, apprecia- 
 tive, and suggestive comment which shows a fine poetical taste and is an 
 interesting and mstructive guide in a charming field. — N. Y. Mail, 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
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ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 
 
 EDITED BY JOHN MORLEY. 
 
 The following volumes are now ready : 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON By Leslie Stephen. 
 
 EDWARD GLBBON By J. C. Morison. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT By R. H. Hutton. 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY By J. A. Symonds. 
 
 DAVID HUME By t. H. Huxley. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH By William Black. 
 
 DANIEL DEFOE By William Minto. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS By Principal Shairp. 
 
 EDMUND SPENSER By R. W. Church. 
 
 WILLIAM M. THACKERAY By Anthony Trollope. 
 
 EDMUND BURKE By John Morley. 
 
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 GEOFFREY CHAUCER By A. W. Ward. 
 
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 LORD BYRON By John Nichol. 
 
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 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH By F. W. H. Myers. 
 
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 WALTER SAVAGE LAN DOR By Sidney Colvin. 
 
 THOMAS DE QUINCEY By David Masson. 
 
 CHARLES LAMB By Alfred Ainger. 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY By R. C. Jebb. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS By A. W. Ward. 
 
 THOMAS GRAY By E. W. Gosse. 
 
 JONATPIAN SWIFT By Leslie Stephen. 
 
 LAURENCE STERNE By H. D. Traill. 
 
 THOMAS B. MACAULAY....... By J. C. Morison. 
 
 HENRY FIELDING By Austin Dobson.' 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 JOSEPH ADDISON By W. J. CourThope. 
 
 LORD BACON By R. W. Church. 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE By H. D. Traill. 
 
 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY By J. A. Symonds. 
 
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THOMAS GRAY. 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF THOMAS GRAY. Edited, with 
 Notes, by William J. Rolfe, A.M., formerly Head 
 Master of the High School, Cambridge, Mass. Illus- 
 trated. Square i6mo, Paper, 40 cents ; Cloth, 56 cents. 
 (^Uniform with Rolfe' s Shakespeare?) 
 
 Mr. Rolfe has done his work in a manner that comes as near to per- 
 fection as man can approach. He knows his subject so well that he is 
 competent to instruct all in it ; and readers will find an immense amount 
 of knowledge in his elegant volume, all set forth in the most admirable 
 order, and breathing the most liberal and enlightened spirit, he being a 
 warm appreciator of the divinity of genius. — Boston Traveller. 
 
 The great merit of these books lies in their carefully edited text, and in 
 the fulness of their explanatory notes. Mr. Rolfe is not satisfied with 
 simply expounding, but he explores the entire field of English literature, 
 and therefrom gathers a multitude of illustrations that are interesting in 
 themselves and valuable as a commentary on the text. He not only in- 
 structs, but stimulates his readers to fresh exertion ; and it is this stimu- 
 lation that makes his labor so productive in the school-room. — Saturday 
 Evening Gazette, Boston. 
 
 Mr. William J. Rolfe, to whom English literature is largely indebted 
 for annotated and richly illustrated editions of several of Shakespeare's 
 Plays, has treated the " Select Poems of Thomas Gray " in the same way 
 — ^just as he had previously dealt with the best of Goldsmith's poems. — 
 Philadelphia Press. 
 
 Mr. Rolfe's edition of Thomas Gray's select poems is marked by the 
 same discriminating taste as his other classics. — Springfield Republican. 
 
 Mr. Rolfe's rare abilities as a teacher and his fine scholarly tastes ena- 
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 There could be no better exercise for the advanced classes in our schools 
 than the critical study of our best authors, and the volumes that Mr. Rolfe 
 has prepared will hasten the time when the study of mere form will give 
 place to the study of the spirit of our literature. — Louisville Courier- 
 yournal. 
 
 An elegant and scholarly little volume. — Christian Intelligencer, N. Y, 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 r^~ Sent hy tnail^ fosiage prepaid, to any pari of t/ie United S/ates or Canada, oh 
 receipt of the price. 
 
ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF ROBERT BROWNING. Edited, 
 with Notes, by William J. Rolfe, A.M., formerly Head 
 Master of the High School, Cambridge, Mass., and Hel- 
 oiSE E. Hersey. Illustrated. i6mo, Paper, 40 cents; 
 Cloth, 56 cents. {^Uniform with Rolfe s Shakespeare?) 
 
 Probably no critic yet has gone to the heart of Browning's true signifi- 
 cance as does Miss Hersey. There is something in the fineness of her 
 insight and her subtle, spiritual sympathy that truly interprets him, while 
 others write in a more or less scholarly manner about him. Miss Mer- 
 sey's work indicates the blending of two exceptional qualities — the po- 
 etic sympathy and the critical judgments. She feels intuitively all the 
 poet's subtle meanings ; she is responsible to them by virtue of temper- 
 ament ; yet added to this is the critical faculty, keen, logical, and con- 
 structive. — Boston Travetler. 
 
 To say that the selections have been made by Mr. Rolfe is to say that 
 they have not only been made by a careful and accurate scholar, but by 
 a man of pure and beautiful taste. . . . The Notes, which fill some 
 thirty pages, are admirable in their scope and brevity. — N. Y. Mail and 
 Express. 
 
 We can conscientiously say that both the arrangement of the selec- 
 tions and the fulness, as well as the illuminating character, of the anno- 
 tations are all that the most exacting taste could require ; and the whole 
 work is well fitted to charm the poet's established admirers, and to 
 awaken in others who have not been among these a new sense of 
 Browning's strength and beauty as a writer. — Hartford Times. 
 
 The " Select Poems of Robert Browning" is a marvel of industrious 
 editing, wise, choice, and excellent judgment in comment. . . . An intro- 
 duction, a brief account of Browning's life and works, a chronological 
 table of his works, and a series of extracted critical comments on the 
 poet, precede the series of selections. Besides these there are at the end 
 of the book very extensive, valuable, and minutely illustrative notes, to- 
 gether with addenda supplied by Browning himself on points which the 
 editors were unable fully to clear up. — N. Y. Star. 
 
 Published uy HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 t^" Harper & Brothers will send tlu above work hy mail, postage pref-aid, to any 
 part of the United States or Canada, on receipt o/ the price. 
 
ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCUEON AND OTHER DRA- 
 MAS. By Robert Browning. Edited, with notes, by 
 William J. Rolfe, A.M., and Heloise E. Hersey. 
 With Portrait. i6mo, Paper, 40 cents ; Cloth, 56 cents. 
 (Uniform with Rolfe^s Shakespeare.) 
 
 Prepared in the same thorough manner as the previous volume upon 
 the Select Poems of the same author and the numerous manuals of Mr. 
 Rolfe. No poet needs, for the average reader, such an interpretation 
 as is here given more than Browning. Read carefully, with reference to 
 the notes of the editors, the richness of the great poet's thoughts and 
 fancies will be the better apprehended. — Zioii's Herald, Boston. 
 
 Out of the eight dramas which the poet wrote between 1837 and 1845 
 the three most characteristic ones have been selected, and a full idea of 
 his dramatic power may be gained from them. A synopsis of critical 
 opinions of Mr. Browning's works is included in the volume. The same 
 careful scholarship that marked Professor Rolfe's editions of Shakespeare 
 is shown in this edition of Browning. The lovers of the poet will be 
 pleased to have old favorites in this attractive form, while many new 
 readers will be attracted to the author by it. Robert Browning will fill 
 a larger space in the world's eye in the future than he has done already. 
 — Brooldyn Utiioit. 
 
 The introduction and notes are all that could be desired. — N. Y. Sun. 
 
 The book itself is not only a compact compilation of the three plays, 
 but it is valuable for the commentatory notes. The editing work has 
 been done in an able manner by Professor Rolfe and Miss Hersey, who 
 has gained a high place among the modern Browning students. — Phila- 
 delphia Bulletin. 
 
 This dainty volume, with flexible covers and red edges, contains not 
 merely Browning's dramas, with the author's latest emendations and cor- 
 rections, but notes and estimates, critical and explanatory, in such vol- 
 ume, and from sources so exalted, that we have not the temerity to add 
 one jot or tittle to the aggregate. — A'! Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Harpkr & Brothers will send the abme work by mail, postag;e prepaid, to any 
 part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 SELECT POEMS OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Edited, 
 with Notes, by William J. Rolfe, A.M., formerly Head 
 Master of the High School, Cambridge, Mass. Illus- 
 trated. i6mo. Paper, 40 cents ; Cloth, 56 cents. {Uni- 
 form with Rolfe' s Shakespeare^ 
 
 The carefully arranged editions of " The Merchant of Venice " and 
 other of Shakespeare's plays prepared by Mr. William J. Rolfe for the 
 use of students will be remembered with pleasure by many readers, and 
 they will welcome another volume of a similar character from the same 
 source, in the form of the " Select Poems of Oliver Goldsmith," edited 
 with notes fuller than those of any other known edition, many of them 
 original with the editor. — Boston Transcript. 
 
 Mr. Rolfe is doing very useful work in the preparation of compact 
 hand-books for study in English literature. His own personal culture 
 and his long experience as a teacher give him good knowledge of what 
 is wanted in this way. — The Congregationalist, Boston. 
 
 Mr. Rolfe has prefixed to the Poems selections illustrative of Gold- 
 smith's character as a man, and grade as a poet, from sketches by Ma- 
 caulay, Thackeray, George Colman, Thomas Campbell, John Forster, 
 and Washington Irving. He has also appended at the end of the 
 volume a body of scholarly notes explaining and illustrating the poems, 
 and dealing with the times in which they were written, as well as the 
 incidents and circumstances attending their composition, — Christian 
 Intelligencer, N. Y. 
 
 The notes are just and discriminating in tone, and supply all that is 
 necessary either for understanding the thought of the several poems, or 
 for a critical study of the language. The use of such books in the school- 
 room cannot but contribute largely towards putting the study of English 
 literature upon a sound basis ; and many an adult reader would find in 
 the present volume an excellent opportunity for becoming critically ac- 
 quainted with one of the greatest of last century's poets. — Appletoii's 
 Journal, N, Y. 
 
 PuiiLisuED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Sent by mail, positige prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, r.i 
 receipt of the price. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 WITH NOTES BY WM. J. ROLFE, A.M. 
 
 The Merchant of Venice. 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 JIanilet. 
 
 As Yon Like it. 
 
 Henry the Fifth. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Henry the Eighth. 
 
 A Midsnninier-Night's Dream. 
 
 Kichard the Second; 
 
 Richard the Third. 
 
 Much Ado Abont Notliing. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Konieo and Juliet. 
 
 Othello. 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 The Winter's Tale. 
 
 King John. 
 
 Henry IV. Part I. 
 
 Henry IV. Part II. 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 The Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 All 's Well That Ends Well. 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Cynibelinfe. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Two tfentlemen of Verona. 
 
 Love's Labour 's Lost. 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 Henry VI. Part I. 
 
 Henry VI. Part 11. 
 
 Henry VI. Part III. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Pericles, Prince of Tyre. 
 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen. 
 
 Poems. 
 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Titus Andronicus. 
 
 Illustrated. i6mo, Cloth, 56 cents per vol. ; Paper, 40 cents per vol. 
 
 FRIENDLY EDITION, complete in 20 vols., i6mo, Cloth, $30 00; 
 Half Calf, $60 00. {So/d only in Sets.) 
 
 In the preparation of this edition of the English Classics it has been 
 the aim to adapt them for school and home reading, in essentially the 
 same way as Greek and Latin Classics are edited for educational pur- 
 poses. The chief requisites are a pure text (expurgated, if necessary), 
 and the notes needed for its thorough explanation and illustration. 
 
 Each of Shakespeare's plays is complete in one volume, and is pre- 
 ceded by an Introduction containing the " History of the Play," the 
 "Sources of the Plot," and "Critical Comments on the Play." 
 
 From Horace Howard Furness, Ph.D., LL.D., Editor of the ''New 
 Variorum Shakespeare.^'' 
 
 No one can examine these volumes and fail to be impressed with the 
 conscientious accuracy and scholarly completeness with which they are 
 edited. The educational purposes for which the notes are written Mr. 
 Rolfe never loses sight of, but like "a well-experienced archer hits the 
 mark his eye doth level at." 
 
Rolfe's Shakespeare. 
 
 r>o>n F. J. FuRNiVALL, Director of the Nexv Shakspere Society, London. 
 The merit I see in Mr. Rolfe's school editions of Shakspere's Plays 
 over those most widely used in England is that Mr. Rolfe edits the plays 
 as works of a poet, and not only as productions in Tudor English. Some 
 editors think that all they have to do with a play is to state its source 
 and explain its hard words and allusions ; they treat it as they would a 
 charter or a catalogue of household furniture, and then rest satisfied. 
 But Mr. Rolfe, while clearing up all verbal difficulties as carefully as any 
 Dryasdust, always adds the choicest extracts he can find, on the spirit 
 and special " note " of each play, and on the leading characteristics of its 
 chief personages. He does not leave the student without help in getting 
 at Shakspere's chief attributes, his characterization and poetic power. 
 And every ])ractical teacher knows that while every boy can look out 
 hard words in a lexicon for himself, not one in a score can, unhelped, 
 catch points of and realize character, and feel and express the distinctive 
 individuality of each play as a poetic creation. 
 
 From Prof. Edward Dowden, LL.D., of the University of Dublin, Ah- 
 thor of " Shakspere : His Mind and Art.'''' 
 I incline to think that no edition is likely to be so useful for school and 
 home reading as yours. Your notes contain so much accurate instruc- 
 tion, with so little that is superfluous; you do not neglect the aesthetic 
 study of the play ; and in externals, paper, type, binding, etc., you make 
 a book " pleasant to the eye " (as well as " to be desired to make one 
 wise") — no small matter, I think, with young readers and with old. 
 
 From Edwin A. Abbott, M.A., Author of "■ Shakespearian Grammar.'''' 
 I have not seen any edition that compresses so much necessary infor- 
 mation into so small a space, nor any that so completely avoids the com- 
 mon faults of commentaries on Shakespeare — needless repetition, super- 
 fluous explanation, and unscholar-like ignoring of difficulties. 
 
 From Hiram Corson, M. A., /';<y«'«^r of Anglo-Saxon and English 
 Literature, Cornell University, Ithaca, A^. V. 
 In the way of annotated editions of separate plays of Shakespeare, for 
 educational purposes, I know of none quite up to Rolfe's. 
 
Holfe^s Shakespeare. 
 
 From Prof. F. J. Child, of Harvard University. 
 
 I read your " Merchant of Venice " with my class, and found it in every 
 respect an excellent edition. I do not agree with my friend White in the 
 opinion that Shakespeare requires but few notes — that is, if he is to be 
 thoroughly understood. Doubtless he may be enjoyed, and many a hard 
 place slid over. Your notes give all the help a young student requires, 
 and yet the reader for pleasure will easily get at just what he wants. 
 You have indeed been conscientiously concise. 
 
 Under date of July 25, 1879, Prof. Child adds: Mr. Rolfe's editions 
 of plays of Shakespeare are very valuable and convenient books, whether 
 for a college class or for private study. I have used them with my 
 students, and I welcome every addition that is made to the series. They 
 show care, research, and good judgment, and are fully up to the time in 
 scholarship. I fully agree with the opinion that experienced teachers 
 have expressed of the excellence of these books. 
 
 Frovi Rev. A. P. Peabody, D.D., Professor in Harvard University. 
 
 I regard your own work as of the highest merit, while you have turned 
 the labors of others to the best possible account. I want to have the 
 higher classes of our schools introduced to Shakespeare chief of all, and 
 then to other standard English authors ; but this cannot be done to ad- 
 vantage unless under a teacher of equally rare gifts and abundant leisure, 
 or through editions specially prepared for such use. I trust that you 
 will have the requisite encouragement to proceed with a work so hap- 
 pily begun. 
 
 From the Examiner and Chronicle, N. Y. 
 
 We repeat what we have often said, that there is no edition of Shake- 
 speare which seems to us preferable to Mr. Rolfe's. As mere specimens 
 of the printer's and binder's art they are unexcelled, and their other 
 merits are equally high. Mr. Rolfe, having learned by the practical ex- 
 perience of the class-room what aid the average student really needs in 
 order to read Shakespeare intelligently, has put just that amount of aid 
 into his notes, and no more. Having said what needs to be said, he stops 
 there. It is a rare virtue in the editor of a classic, and we are propor- 
 tionately grateful for it. 
 
4 RoIfe''s Shakespeare. 
 
 From the N. Y. Times. 
 
 This work has been done so well that it could hardly have been done 
 better. It shows throughout knowledge, taste, discriminating judgment, 
 and, what is rarer and of yet higher value, a sympathetic appreciation of 
 the poet's moods and purposes. 
 
 From the Pacific School yournal, San Francisco. 
 
 This edition of Shakespeare's plays bids fair to be the most valuable 
 aid to the study of English literature yet published. For educational 
 purposes it is beyond praise. Each of the plays is printed in large clear 
 type and on excellent paper. Every difficulty of the text is clearly ex- 
 plained by copious notes. It is remarkable how many new beauties one 
 may discern in Shakespeare with the aid of the glossaries attached to 
 these books. . . . Teachers can do no higher, better work than to incul- 
 cate a love for the best literature, and such books as these will best aid 
 them in cultivating a pure and refined taste. 
 
 From the Christian Union, N. Y, 
 
 Mr.W. J. Rolfe's capital edition of Shakespeare ... by far the best edi- 
 tion for school and parlor use. We speak after some practical use of it 
 in a village Shakespeare Club. The notes are brief but useful ; and the 
 necessary expurgations are managed with discriminating skill. 
 
 From the Academy, London. 
 
 Mr. Rolfe's excellent series of school editions of the Plays of Shake- 
 speare . . . they differ from some of the English ones in looking on the 
 plays as something more than word - puzzles. They give the student 
 helps and hints on the characters and meanings of the plays, while the 
 word-notes are also full and posted up to the latest date. . . . Mr. Rolfe 
 also adds to each of his books a most useful " Index of Words and 
 Phrases Explained." 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 l^" A iiy of the above works will be sent by mail, postaf^e f'repaid, to any fart of tlie 
 United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 
 
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